The sound of the plummetting trickle of water from an unknown source was a faint, lingering sound akin to a whispering shadow. The sound of light, mumbling footsteps was the only life from the dark, crooked place. Beyond the sinister pitch-black darkness was a small light being illuminated from the dim lamp Faustina was holding.

Where was she heading?

The stairs were endless. Spiraling down. There was no jubilant music of the festival anymore. There was only silence.

And in the silence, she reached the rump. Her feet landed onto the cold cobblestone floor. Faustina narrowed her eyes as the light illuminated tiny, filthy creatures—rats. They instantaneously shuffled across the darkness, averting the light.

Faustina walked forward, and then the sound of the trickling water got louder, as well as a new sound began to arise. The sound of the stream. She inhaled an unfamiliar stench—and as she shambled forward, walking to the source of the flowing water, the scent grew stronger.

Upon reaching the threshold—a division between a stream and ground, Faustina soon knew where she was.

The sewers.

Faustina again was stuck in a decision between choosing two paths. But the routes have no distinction to each other—with the exception of their direction. Left and right. They were the same— dark, uninviting, and sinister. Faustina slithered her hand down to her pocket—

Only with her hand to be stopped short by a tight grip.

Faustina gasped, dropping the lamp on the floor in surprise. Her heart sped up as she saw no one now—the grip was gone. The light was dead—and her company was the darkness of the sewers.

"Wh-who's there?" Faustina asks.

There was no reply.

Faustina called once more. "Show yourself. I-I'm... here to... for a business!"

And in the darkness there appeared light.

A man on a hooded cloak. Freckles spreading over his nose and his face. In the warmth of the light, she saw his eyes. Tired, droopy eyes.

"Yer late." He says. "Tis better be good. R'else that punk'll pay."

"You... you're Owen?"

"Owen Lopez." He answers. "Now, state yer biz. I have a child to feed."

"I told ye on the note that ye'd have to arrive BEFORE midnight. I waited for hours for ye. Do ye know that children wake up at night and they're very much likely cry when ye don't tend to them? Of course ye don't know. Yer still a child!"

Faustina immediately drew the necklace out, and then extended her arms to Owen—in her palm was the necklace. "I'm sorry... it's just that... I kind of had errands to attend to."

Owen blinked. "Why'd you have this..."

Faustina blinked. "Pardon?" Faustina asks, a bit suspicious of Owen. Is she giving the necklace to the right person? But it seemed so, bases on how he acted.

Owen stared at the necklace, and then with his gloved hand, he reached to it slowly. Tentatively. He clicked on the snowflake, which caused the locket to open. Faustina did not see what was inside—Owen promptly shut the locket after opening it, as if he did not want to see the image within.

"Mister Lopez..."

"Whatta jerk." He says. "'Nd I came for this? Tell that punk I don't need 'nythin." He says. "I don't need it. You go and take it back."

"B-but, he wants you to have this. I can't—"

"Then I'm giving it to you," Owen says with finality. "Get that off my sight,"

"'ere," Owen exclaims, giving her the lamp. "Get outta here."

"But I—"

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"Go,"

"I..." Faustina parted her mouth to speak—only to stop as she heard a painstakingly familiar voice.

"F A U S T I N A~!"

Faustina blinked, as she turned around slowly. Her heartbeat sped up like multiple knocks on a barren door. She felt a bead of cold sweat in her skin, as she trembled in emotions that only she felt to only one person. The owner of the voice.

In the darkness, Faustina saw a purple-red glow, dim with gloom.

And in it was a silhouette.

"FOUND YOU."