Revolution Comes

Grell slammed against the wall.  Dust liberated by the impact billowed out and fell upon the scene.

A young face appeared.  “What is her name?” he demanded.  Impossibly young.  Grell tried to rise, and felt the pressure of an invisible hand against his throat.  Too young, but it was there.

“Revealer of Silver,” he rasped.

“Yes.  Revealer of Silver.  Not the Revealer of Gold.  NOT the Revealer of Lead!”

Grell coughed.  “Why do you – ”

“Names!  Names have a point.  Titles must be carefully adhered to, or else they become broken, and then all that is left is chaos.”  The young face looked over his shoulder.  “Some of us would like to prevent that, Princess.”

The Princess of Eight, a figure in delicate pink, shifted her parasol and favored the pair with a ferocious grin.  Abruptly, the pressure on Grell slackened.  Pushing himself up off the wall, he stood with one hand braced behind him.

So.  The Princess of Eight.  A silent Walker in Twilight.  The Revealer of Silver. Grell’s eyes shifted to the young face, who was eyeing the Princess uncertainly.  And a Man in the Mists who favors precision.

This was going to be interesting.