It was one of the last houses on the street. A tall, regal, dilapidated house on the southern part of town. The owner's had a bit of land to go along with the lot, but the house was just one of many like it in the small neighborhood. The lock on the front door was still busted, and the door itself was only ever so slightly ajar. Everything within the house was put exactly where it was intended. There were pictures and paintings on the wall of a family of four, all Baelthanese. Two daughters standing happily in front of their parents, all with dark black hair. Upstairs were four bedrooms. The master bedroom had a massive bed and eloquent decorations fit for someone of high nobility. Or at least someone who thought they ought to be considered high nobility. Two of the rooms were outfitted for each of the two girls in the pictures. They were extremely similar, suggesting that the two girls were twins. The fourth bedroom looked like it was meant for a daughter much younger than the two in the pictures, but everything inside of the room was covered in white sheets as if to preserve it, except for the bed. Whoever's room this was must not have been around very long. Sitting on the bed was a tall Baelthanese woman, wearing a black dress with red accents on the shoulders and corset. Two incense were burning on the night stand behind a note that read, "The debt has been paid." After having sat there for hours, she stood up and made her way downstairs.

The decent into the basement was damp and smelled of death. At the bottom of the stairs was a metal door, that with the turn of a key and click of a lock, opened. Something shifted in the corner. Eyes looked up to meet their captor, followed shortly by whimpering and sobbing. The tall Baelthanese woman from the photos was chained against the wall next to her dead husband, naked and missing two fingers on her right hand. She cried out, "p-please, you don't have to do this.. I have money.."

Her captor approached, lighting a candle to reveal herself to her prisoner, who stared in awe and asked, "Wh-who are you?" But she only found emptiness in her captor's eyes. She hardly fought as she was unchained and lead upstairs.

She was brought into a room with just a single entrance, two large oak doors. Inside of the room was a black grand piano. The cover board was propped open and the keys revealed. Candles and incense had been lit and placed around the room in a ceremonial fashion. Another set of chains had been nailed to the wall in front of the piano, and the woman was soon locked in them. They locked around the woman's wrists, and weren't long enough for her to do much more than lean against the wall, which she was struggling to do. It had been days since she had been locked in her own basement. She cried out once more, "wh-who are you? Why are you doing this?"

Empty eyes stared right through her, "If you're quiet, it will be easier for you, Rachel." Rachel's captor pulled the bench out from beneath the piano at sat at it, lifting the cover to reveal the ivory keys. Her fingers slid across the keys eloquently, getting a feel for the instrument. She took a deep breath, exhaled, and pressed the keys. Rachel was quiet, staring at the floor while the woman played passionately before her. It was a sad piece, that told a story of a girl forced into a murderous lifestyle for the sake of making her parents rich. There were a few gentler moments, but the soothing sound of the higher notes was often followed by the crashing of deeper toned keys. The piece soon fell into beautiful chaos, flooding the house with the cries of sorrow, pain, and loss. Rachel looked up, eyes full of tears as her chest pounded. The pianist played harder, more violently, screaming the foul truths of her story through the strings of the piano. Every chord, every note ached at the hearts of the women in the room. As quickly as the chaos had begun, it stopped. Seconds passed with sheer silence, before the pianist pressed the pedals and began playing, calmer yet just as dark and empty. The girl was broken and fading, the tempo increasing, becoming faster, and faster, and faster until one final crash ended the piece with a deep, long chord.

Rachel was staring at the pianist, whose eyes were still empty and hollow, even after playing such an emotional piece. She struggled, but after a few minutes managed to whisper, "y-you're my... daughter..."

The pianist nodded in agreement and stood from the bench. She closed the piano and slid the bench back beneath it. The room was silent, but Rachel was still replaying the song over and over again in her mind, as if the walls of the house were echoing it over and over again. She approached Rachel and finally spoke, "The other two never made it."

"But you did, sweetheart. You came back. I always knew tha-"

A finger pressed against Rachel's lips, instructing her to be quiet. "Right now I only need one thing from you. Say my name, and I will release you."

Rachel took a moment, gazing up in guilt almost as if she were struggling to remember her own daughter's name. She stared intently in the woman's eyes before uttering, "You are Illaya Astapor, and you will always be my daughter."

Illaya's face was cold and empty as she nodded. She wrapped her arms around Rachel and embraced her. Rachel wept, "only an Astapor can play like that. I-I have so many questions. We have so much to talk about. Gods, how old are you now, sixteen, seventeen?"

"Twenty-Five."

"Wait that's not right, you were seven when we had to send you away, and it has only been ten years."

Rachel didn't see the knife coming as it punctured her abdomen. She shrieked in pain and terror, "y-you're not my daughter!"

Illaya stepped away from Rachel but kept a hand on the dagger, "I am not your daughter, I am her ghost." She twisted the blade and ripped it across Rachel's stomach, letting her innards fall and hang out. Illaya took extra care to ensure that none of the blood ruined this dress.

She made her way to the door. Rachel struggled but clung to life, turning her head towards Illaya. She didn't have to strength to speak. Illaya turned and spoke for the final time in her life, "With your death comes the end of the Astapor family. I owed your daughter one last debt the day she died, and she held so much shame and dishonor for your family that this was what she asked for."

....W-Who... a-are.... y-you....

"The angel of death, and tonight I am the ghost of Illaya Astapor." Illaya shut the double-doors and left the house back through the front door, and walked right out of existence.

Thalia walked up the street, making her way to the Dancing Horseman. She stopped at an alleyway where a few crates were stacked. After opening a specific crate, she retrieved a bag containing her leather suit and cloak, blades and all.

A voice cooed inside of the woman's head, Thank you, Fireheart.