Grey dawn had barely pried Paris from night when the investigators gathered around a small hotel table littered with coffee cups and half‑crumbled pastries. Claire’s voice trembled as she recounted the visitation—how midnight mist had boiled across her ceiling, coalescing into a starving figure whose talons traced her flesh with glacial promise. Arthur heard only the brittle rasp of trench memories in her story; Viola, eyes sharp behind practiced modesty, sifted for occult logic; Walter murmured Scripture beneath his breath, fingers tightening on an unseen crucifix; and Per, the scholar, catalogued every detail for a ledger already heavy with the impossible.
The apparition’s Latin demand—Find the remaining pieces and be rewarded, or I shall ruminate upon your soul—hung over the table like a noose. It bound the group to the trail of the Sedefkar Simulacrum, the grotesque artifact whose first segment—a stone arm—now slumbered in a locked trunk among their luggage. Conversation turned pragmatic: whether the thing that stalked Claire was spirit or flesh; whether holy symbols, lead‑lined cases, or sheer distance could shield them. Doom, they knew, cared little for such conveniences, yet strategy was a solace men and women have always taken against the dark.
By noon Arthur had secured berths on the Simplon‑Orient Express departing that night. The idea of steel rails carving a clean path out of Paris felt like oxygen. Still, Per’s scholarly itch refused relief. He pressed the loyal researcher Rémy into infiltrating Charenton’s chaotic archives, hunting any scrap on Fenalik—the ancient monster whose name dripped through every lead—and arranged for telegrams to reach the train at successive stations. Two pounds a day and a promise of future patronage bought Rémy’s courage; whether it could purchase safety remained unseen.
Evening brought ritual packing. Six trunks—four empty decoys, one bristling with rifles, one harboring the Simulacrum shard—clattered into taxis bound for Gare du Nord. The platform was all smoke and brass and the bright arrogance of electric light. A small orchestra saw the travelers off; violins sang a brittle farewell as the train’s whistle shrieked. Paris slid away, swallowed by fog.
In the first‑class salon the fugitive scholars found themselves amid velvet seats and crystal decanters, face‑to‑face with Italian soprano Caterina Cavollaro, whose recent triumphs at the Opéra had set Paris ablaze. Wine flashed in cut glass as she laughed, her retinue orbiting like dazzled moths. When Per’s weathered baritone launched a raucous Swedish drinking song, the carriage erupted in clinking rhythm. Walter—voicing unexpected harmony—buoyed the crowd, while Caterina herself joined on the refrain, her operatic vowels transmuting simple tavern melody into something haunting and grand. Yet behind every joyous note Arthur heard the distant thunder of shellfire; behind each ripple of applause Claire sensed the whisper of that emaciated thing promising to “ruminate upon her soul.”
After midnight, with schnapps spent and revelry thinning, Caterina pressed a perfumed hand to Per’s sleeve. “You must attend my performance in Milan,” she insisted, promising rooms at the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele and more nights of song. The invitation glittered like a charm against the encroaching dark, and the investigators accepted—though none could say whether art or doom awaited them there.
They retired to narrow cabins. Outside, Europe raced past in black streaks; inside, the stone arm lay silent among stolen breaths. Viola wondered if stone could dream. Walter prayed that steel locks and faith would bar nightmare from their sleeper walls. Arthur’s haunted eyes refused to close, tracing the ceiling for gathering mist. And somewhere down‑car, porters moved through the luggage van, unaware of the relic whose touch could devour a mind.
Recap at Charenton Asylum (Paris, night of 15 January 1923) Keeper Luke summarizes the investigators’ previous incursion: A thick mid‑winter fog surrounded Charenton’s iron gates as the party followed Nurse Paul Mandarin to the Administrative Records Hall. Per Oskarson led the desperate search for any trace of the eighteenth‑century noble Comte Fenalik; countless loose, dust‑choked documents thwarted them. Accepting defeat, they proceeded to the asylum’s private wing and entered Dr Delplace’s treatment chamber: In the morgue they found ten refrigerated drawers; Delplace’s corpse had been processed and removed, but no unidentified body appeared—proving the escapee left no corpse behind. Viola picked the office lock of acting director Leroux: Conclusion: a being of great strength now roamed Paris. Claire’s Night‑Time Visitation (early hours of 16 January) Breakfast Discussion (morning of 16 January, Paris) Claire recounts the visitation; Walter Lake translates the Latin and leads theological speculation. Walter, Per, and Viola roll Occult/Intelligence: Talk turns to gathering the pieces of the Sedefkar Simulacrum despite the entity’s demand. Travel Planning Train logistics: Luggage strategy: The Simulacrum arm is packed in one of several specially sized trunks (arm‑, leg‑, chest‑, head‑sized, etc.). Discussion of customs: Per hires research assistant Rémy for two extra paid days to comb Charenton’s archives for Fenalik records: Evening Departure from Paris (22:30, 16 January) The investigators, their plentiful trunks, and hired porters board the Orient Express amid music from a platform band and sophisticated crowd. Notable passenger boarding: Salon‑Car Revelry (after midnight) Lounge car party grows lively with cocktails and music. Per initiates a Swedish drinking song; first charm attempt falters, but Walter’s rich baritone (critical Charm success) rescues the chorus: Passengers and Cavollaro join, merrily butchering Swedish syllables. Cavollaro, impressed, converses with the group: Invites them to attend her performances in Milan and recommends lodging at the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele; offers to place a word for rooms. Expresses interest in learning more Scandinavian drinking songs from Per and Walter. Retiring for the NightSession Notes