Signed in blood is a ritual offering to the keeper of stories per the terms of our pact. Let all parties be aware these are tales of horror. They may not be suitable for all audiences. Listener discretion is advised. Cat ducks behind a parked car as soon as she clears the door at the bottom of the stairway. There are still a few people on the street, but for the first time since she's come to Ardent Hollow, she doesn't seem to be the immediate focus of attention. The few stragglers, her father among them, are all making a beeline for the entrance of the courthouse in the center of the town square. She watches as Jason climbs the steps warily, nodding to a balding man in his mid-50s who's holding the door open for him and a few others. In a moment he's out of sight, and the man holding the door follows. Kat is alone on the square, her breath rising in plumes on the crisp evening air. She waits another minute, letting the cold seep through her bones while making sure no one else is coming. Once she's satisfied, she breaks cover and heads for the steps of the courthouse. She braces herself as she reaches for the doors, fearing for a moment that they'll be locked and she'll be out of luck. But they swing open easily as she pulls, and she remembers Mrs. Summers telling them that locked doors are a rarity in Ardent Hollow. As someone who's been running her whole life, Kat marvels at their sense of certainty. The main antechamber of the courthouse is empty, though she can hear the murmuring of a crowd from behind the double doors ahead. Her steps echo across the tiled floor as she approaches, and she stops for a moment, her eyes pulled to a gigantic mural on her right, painted in a style that makes her think of old history books. The colors are faded and the imagery confusing. A trail of covered wagons border the main tableau, a blond, bearded man at the helm of one of them, a small girl with straw-colored hair and a cloth doll seated besides. Another scene portrays a lush, pristine valley. Yet another shows the raising of a church. But her eye is drawn to two scenes in particular. The first shows the blond man from before kneeling at the young girl's bedside, his head buried in his hands as her emaciated face stares upward. Following her gaze, Kat reaches the top of the mural, where the young girl, apparently recovered from her ailment, sits atop a large throne, a smiling doll placed in her lap. At the foot of the throne there lies a winged lioness in repose, its eyes gleaming, mouth curved up into a grin that seems almost human. Behind them there is a chain of young girls standing hand in hand. Unlike the blonde girl, her doll, and the lioness, these children aren't smiling. They can't because they have no mouths. Their eyes are at once pleading, terrified, and ecstatic. Kat stares, her hand covering her own mouth as she studies their expressions. Her heart leaps in her throat as the double doors to the main courtroom open with a bang. What the fuck? She hears a young man's voice echo through the antechamber as she ducks into an adjoining hallway. She jams her eyes shut as two sets of footsteps approach. Dude, hurry up! We're gonna miss it. She braces against the wall, drawing on the magic within, should she need to defend herself. Any moment now. Dude, relax. I can't hold it anymore. I don't know what she's waiting for, but I'm not gonna piss myself during ascension. She hears another door open and peeks around the corner to see two teenagers charging into the men's room. She waits for them both to disappear before heading back out and approaching the main chambers. A small sign points to a stairway to the upper gallery, and she begins to climb until she reaches another set of doors. She lifts her hand to open them and stops. She can still turn back. Somehow she's made it this far unseen. For once, this creepy ass town doesn't have all eyes locked on her. She can return to the apartment, eat some lasagna, and leave whatever lies behind these doors to her asshole father to deal with. He doesn't want her here anyway. He wants to keep secrets? Let him. What does it matter to her? She lets the question hang in her mind. It doesn't. This is stupid. She's being stupid. She begins to pull her shaking hand back from the cool metal of the handle. Without warning, the image of her mom from Stolis's vision rises to the surface. Alicia Turner Argyle wouldn't turn back, no matter what a man told her. She may be the child of the Argonaut, but she's her mother's daughter too. Holding her breath, she slowly turns the handle and slips inside. The first thing that strikes her is the noise. The courtroom is packed, a cacophony of voices rising and reverberating off of the chamber walls. But as she gets her bearings, she begins to notice the absolute enormity of the space. The courthouse and its adjoining city hall are large, no doubt, but there must be hundreds of people in this one room alone. Maybe the entire town. The chamber and its upper gallery seem to warp and stretch in a way that makes her head ache and her ears ring. There's no way this room should be able to hold so many, but here they all are. She creeps silently up to one of the polished wooden benches that descend in rows like an amphitheater in the upper gallery. The dozens of townsfolk who have spilled over from below chatter to their neighbors with gleeful anticipation, their eyes returning again and again to the raised dais in the center of the room below. In a normal courtroom, this would be the judge's bench with a witness stand. Here, however, there is only a large stone seat that Kat recognizes as the throne from the mural. It's carved from light gray Lannanstone, veined in blue and adorned with symbols that Kat can't make out. It looks both soft and incredibly cold. And the longer Kat looks, the more she feels pulled toward it, and the deeper the sense of impending dread in her gut becomes. She forces herself to look away, searching briefly for her father in the crowd, but failing to pick him out. The townsfolk are almost overwhelmingly white, with the exception of a handful of black and brown folk scattered throughout the crowd. Young children run up and down the aisles between the benches and the chairs below. Older folks have claimed many of the seats up front, their gray and silver adorned heads bobbing in animated discussion. There are farming families, patriarchs distinguished by their battered boots and jawn deer hats. Imposing wives next to them with meticulously styled hair to offset their calloused hands and varicose veins. Well-to-do business owners with pot bellies and burst blood vessels from one too many nights spent at the town's only bar. High school kids who snipe at each other from across the aisles, gossiping just as much as their parents. The crowd reeks of sweat, gas station pizza, animal feed, and Chanel No. 5. The chatter around them rises and falls in waves. Kat catches snippets of it here and there. Most are curious as to the late start of the proceedings. The princess is many things, apparently, but late isn't one of them. People are worried, excited, hungry. The voices continue to build, swelling to almost a roar, and then, all at once, they cease. For a moment, all Kat can hear is her own breathing, which sounds so loud in her ears that she's afraid the townsfolk in front of her will turn to investigate and she'll be discovered. She doesn't need to worry, however. Every other set of eyes in this impossibly cavernous room are drawn to a man in his mid-40s who has just entered the room from what would normally be the judge's chambers. He's tall, well built, with a large black beard that threatens to swallow his face. He wears a plain gray suit with a checkered tie, and despite the unruliness of his beard, the rest of his hair is slicked back. All rise, he says, and despite the fact that he is speaking at a regular volume, Kat can hear his words as clearly as if he were right next to her. The crowd stands, an obedient hive. Her Highness, Princess Sophie! He gestures to the door from which he came while dropping to his knees in a bow. The entire crowd follows as one, and for a split second, Kat is the only one on her feet. Had the bearded man not cast his gaze to the floor, he could easily see her in the back of the gallery. She hunches down quickly, eyes glued to the doors the man had entered from. Slowly, one of the doors swings open, and a girl not much older than Kat walks out. Her long, silken hair is black like the bearded man's. She wears an old-fashioned dress with frills and a high collar. In her hands she carries a cloth doll that Kat recognizes, not just from the mural outside, but from the grocery run she and her father had made hours earlier. She stifles a gasp as she pulls the dots together. The girl that had been stalking her every move in the grocery store was the princess herself. As if on cue, Princess Sophie turns her eyes up to where Kat is hiding and smiles. The soccer mom sitting immediately in front of Kat titters, but Kat can't control the shudder that passes through her. She knows I'm here. The girl with the doll takes a seat on the waiting throne and lifts a regal hand. Her host of subjects sits in synchrony, their collective breath held in anticipation. I am so sorry, dear ones, the girl says, voice dripping in sweetness. I know you all must have been oh so terribly worried at my lateness. I understand that we have special guests this evening, and I took extra care to make myself presentable. She smiles at this, her eyes once again darting to the upper gallery. A collective sigh ripples through those in attendance, peppered with quiet aws, as if they had all just seen a kitten do something particularly adorable. Cat almost gags. Before we begin our kit together, Princess Sophie continues, I would very much like to meet our newcomers. Your Highness, Jason's voice rings out as every head in the space swivels to look at him. If I may approach. The girl on the throne locks eyes with him directly. He meets her narrowing gaze for a moment, then casts his eyes downward in deference at her amused grin. Through his periphery, he watches as she nods slightly, and the bearded man stands to his full height. Jason also rises to his feet, stepping into the aisle, and begins to approach the throne. He can feel all eyes on him, but cutting through all of them is the big man's imposing glare. The man's lip curls a hair, revealing a pointed canine tooth that looks just a bit too long for Jason's liking. I wonder if he wants to be friends, Jason's inner asshole whispers, forcing him to stifle a grin. If that part of him is speaking up, then his chances of walking out of here intact just plummeted. He keeps his head level and his stride measured. He has to show proper respect to the princess, but if tall, dark, and ugly up there gets the notion that he can intimidate Jason, then the whole plan becomes that much more difficult. Jason stops just short of the Dais and stoops down on one knee. Princess Sophie nods her approval. Arise, stranger, and give us your name. Highness, Jason says as he returns to standing, eyes still averted downward. My name is Jason Argyle, but the pilgrims of the eastward path know me as the Argonaut. I have come to offer you my service. Princess Sophie claps her hands excitedly, the cloth doll staring at Jason from its perch in her lap. Oh, how absolutely wonderful! The Argonaut is a name that even I recognize, insulated as I am from so much of the gossip back home. You're a busy little boy, aren't you? Jason holds his tongue and waits. But, she continues, you didn't come to play with us all by your lonesome, did you? My daughter is ill, Your Highness, he says, studying the base of her throne with his gaze. I did not want to risk making it worse. Oh no, how dreadful! That simply won't do it all, will it? Shall I send a doctor to her? We could have one this instant. Something about the tone of her voice unsettles him, like she's sitting on a punchline to an incredible joke, but doesn't want to share. He chances a look up to find her distracted, her eyes scanning above his head. No, that won't be necessary. But I am so grateful to your Highness for her generosity. He feels her eyes shift back to him and averts his gaze just in time. Then tell me, if there's nothing I can do for you, Argonaut, then what is it you can do for me? For all his many faults and shortcomings, Jason Argyll is a man who knows his moment when he sees it. I'm happy you asked, Highness. If you know who I am, then you know my profession. As a former archivist of the Order of King James. Jason sees the bearded man tense up at the mention of the order, and a discontented murmur ripples through the crowd like a shark gliding beneath the waves. I was charged with researching lore. As a broker, I've become an expert in all sorts of negotiations. I'm hoping there might be a way to put both skills to use for the good of your home. At the last word, Jason lifts his gaze to lock eyes with the princess and holds her stare. It lasts only a moment, but he sees the exact spark of recognition he was hoping for. He quickly looks down again. He can feel the townsfolk leaning in, suddenly curious in a way that casts hundreds of anxious, prying eyes his way. That's fine. So long as the big man didn't see what happened, they should still be in business. I'm sure I don't know what you mean, the girl says, her voice taking on a bored lilt. But I suppose we may find a place for you after the ascension. For now, take your seat. We've kept my darling subjects waiting long enough. With that, the puzzled stares of the townsfolk are instantly replaced by rapturous excitement, all eyes returning to the girl as she stands apart from her throne, doll in hand. The time is finally here, my loves, she says, her eyes scanning the room. The winter solstice has arrived, and with it the shedding of old skins and the ascension of a new vessel. The crowd cheers and the sound is thunderous. The seasons may change, Princess Sophie continues, her voice effortlessly and impossibly rising over the roar of the masses. The years may drift by. I can renew you, she says as she waves her hand, as you renew me. With these words, the crowd is on their feet, surging in as they approach the Dais. The elders up front part ways, letting three sets of parents approach at the head of the sea of townfolk. Between each of them there stands a young girl, each one a few years younger in age and appearance than the princess. Each one clutching their parents' hands tightly, whether out of fear or excitement, Jason can't tell. With another wave from Princess Sophie, the crowd again falls silent. She walks up to the first girl, looking down into her eyes in a stare that is both dreamy and ravenous. The girl stares back, breath held. After a moment, Princess Sophie breaks away, walking to the next girl in line. The first girl looks up at her parents in confusion and then starts crying softly. Her father turns away slightly as her mother bends down to give her a hug. Princess Sophie repeats the ritual again with the next girl, who is trembling as she squeezes her parents' hands with white knuckles. This time she holds the gaze longer and after a minute breaks away and looks up at the crowd. This one. The crowd cheers, the sole dissenting voice being the wail of the third girl, who wasn't approached at all. The chosen girl jumps into her mother's arms, weeping joyfully as both parents embrace her. She has pretty red hair and a pair of sparkling blue eyes that radiate the most exuberant happiness. It's those eyes that haunt Jason when he eventually lies down to sleep later. Something in them that was so happy to leap into the void, until they weren't. As the noise of the crowd dies down, the parents of the young girl bring her forward to join Princess Sophie before the Lannin stone seat. The girl hugs her father, then turns as her mother kisses her forehead, pulls her close, and whispers something to her. Jason can't hear the words. But he doesn't need to to know what the mother is saying. Some version of we're so proud of you. He feels his stomach starting to turn. Princess Sophie takes a step forward. Are you ready? Yes, the younger girl replies. Then come, my love. Come and ascend. With that, Princess Sophie lifts the cloth doll with its ravenous painted smile toward the girl, and the girl reaches forward to take it. The crowd leans in, and Jason finds he can't breathe as the lines and angles of the room around them shudder and writhe. The bile rises in the back of his throat, saliva flooding his mouth as his body prepares to vomit. He struggles to keep it down, to hold himself together. He has to do something, anything for God's sake, and his vision blurs knowing that he can't. This is the game. It always was. Princess Sophie, one hand still on the doll, starts to shake violently. The younger girl, holding the other side of the doll, looks back to her mother, confused. She looks like she's trying to pull away. Mom! Mom, what's? The words are cut short as the smaller girl also begins to convulse. Both girls scream, blood pouring from the eyes, nose, and mouth of Princess Sophie as a sick, jaundiced glow emanates from the doll. In another moment the light dies, and the empty husk of what was Princess Sophie falls to the ground. Blood continues to seep from the shell, pooling slowly beneath the vacant head. Princess Sophie looks out at her adoring subjects, this time through a set of brilliant blue eyes. A joyous ascension to you all, my dear ones, she says with a dazzling smile. Jason fights to maintain his balance, desperately forcing his face to return to its mask of cool competence. Those eyes will be on him again soon. Before it settles in place, however, he looks once more at the body of the girl who was once Princess Sophie. The bearded man has knelt down to scoop the corpse up, cradling her gently in his arms and wiping the blood from her lips and eyes. Jason knows the look on the man's face, that hollow-eyed grief, and in that moment would give anything to wrap his hands around his throat. So he had given his daughter up too, once upon a time. In the back of his mind, unbidden, Jason hears the voice of his father repeating words he hadn't heard in years. There's something about that guy I don't like about myself. Jason forces his eyes back to the princess to find her studying him with cold, quiet amusement. She walks up to him and beckons him close. I would like a word after the festivities. He has just enough time to nod before the doors to the chamber burst open with a thunderous bang, louder than any shotgun. There are screams as the crowd begins to scatter away from the swinging doors. Jason feels himself shoved to the side as the bearded man charges forward, placing himself between Princess Sophie and the pair of intruders walking calmly into the chamber. The woman is an austere blonde in a cornflower blue dress, her hand clutching a golden necklace as she eyes the mass of townsfolk. The man next to her strides forward in a cream-colored suit, his wand already extended toward Jason. So sorry to interrupt, Jean Blackwood shouts, his voice transmitted perfectly to every ear in the house. But we've got business with that man there. Hand him over quietly, and the girl he brought with him, and we'll be on our way. Jason knows he needs to look at the hunters who have been on his trail for so long. Knows he needs to ready himself. But in this moment, his eyes are locked on a lone figure in the upper gallery. A young girl who looks more like her mother every day, especially now. Her eyes are pink from crying, but her jaw is set. She stands there, the power within her threatening to explode outward. He's never been so proud and so terrified. She meets his stare, and he pours every ounce of power he possesses into a single, desperate thought. Run! She looks at him for a long moment, and then she does. Return in two weeks, dear travelers, as hidden truths are unburied, desperate deals are struck, and the door to escape draws ever closer to being shut. Maybe forever. This episode was written, performed, produced, and mixed by Evan Okuana. Our intro music is by Anna Dagger and Hannah Ekstrom. Outro music is by Backdrop. You can find more at Signedandbloodcast.com. If you liked what you heard, follow and subscribe on your favorite podcast platform. It makes a huge difference for an indie show like this. Want to feed a little energy back into the magic that keeps Signed and Blood alive? Leave a rating or a review. For those who wish to go further, there's a Buy Me a Coffee link in the show notes. Every bit helps. And I'll send you blessings through my Chaos Magic practice during our monthly ritual of thanks. Thank you for listening. Until next time, keep your eyes to the ground, your hands to yourself, and your intentions signed in blood.