Finding the Restricted Zone, even unaccompanied, is the easy part, the tomb robbers having handily blasted a path through the walled-over entryway. Getting into it is a little tougher, with the immense girth of your dress almost causing you to get stuck in the tunnel at one point, but still perfectly doable.

Finding what you need in the new tomb you find yourself in, that will be quite hard. And surviving the area’s protectors now coalescing in front of you… now that’s where the real challenge is.

Before your eyes, two shadowy forms take shape. Their boundary is hazy and blurred, but you think you can just make out the outline of two people holding hands. Their bodies are entirely featureless, with the exception of a single pair of glowing white pinpricks burning through the darkness where each of their eyes should be.

You straighten your back and hold up your head, trying very hard not to let slip how weak your knees feel. “Shadow and Shush, I presume? I seek knowledge about the Guardians. Specifically Aster the Intern. Is that knowledge to be found within the Restricted Zone?”

“Pretttyyy Pascale…” The white orbs bob, and you get the most unsettling sensation that they’re smiling at you. “Why would you neeeeed to gooo into the Restricted Zone… when aallll the informationn iss… right… heeere.” A shadow approximating a crooked hand arches out of the darkness and taps where you think the head of one of the Monitors should be.

“So you can tell me about them?”

“We caaaaan. But what willll you give usss in return?”

You take a deep, steadying breath. You’d been expecting this. Nothing is given out for free, least of all knowledge. “I have memories to share. Memories you can… take. I have extensive knowledge of the Christian religion, its doctrines, its teachi—

“We know about religion,” the Monitors cut in.

“Very well then. Would you rather learn about the Chosen of my previous group? I can recall a lot of—”

“We have no need for more memories of what we saw.” The Monitors’ voices are cold and bored, and their vague forms begin to hover closer. “We were hoping for ssooo much mooore from you, Pascale Du Pont. Pittty…”

“Wait! I have more to share! More interesting memories.” The Monitors continue to approach. A wizened, dark arm reaches out. You take a deep breath. “How about my memories of my murders?”

The Monitors stop. Slowly, the arm is lowered, and now you can see that their eyes are alight with wicked glee. “Sssshhow usssss.”

You are about to ask 'how' when you feel a presence in your mind. Something (or somethings) sharp and prickly rifling through your brain. They're like bare branches poking and spreading out through your skull. You swallow down your horror at this intrusion, and instead focus on remembering…

You remember slipping the poison into that first nobleman’s cup. Remembered the triumph you’d felt when he’s gone to bed early, now conveniently out of your way, then turn to ash in your mouth when he’d never woken up. You remember the shock, the crushing guilt, but, more than anything, the overwhelming terror that what you’d done could be found out. You remember more cups, more noblemen and women, more vials of deadly poison. You remember praying desperately before an altar of God while simultaneously calculating the necessary dose to kill your next targets.

You remember the lion bearing down on you and your fellow Chosen, remember knowing with certainty that you were going to die, remember pulling out the syringe and leaving the Chosen for dead while you escaped through the penguin enclosure.

You feel the weight of all these memories crushing your soul. You beg for them to be taken, for you to be absolved of the wretched guilt that clings to you like filth. You feel the Monitors’ crooked fingers begin to pry them loose from your mind, begin to erase them from your conscience, when—

The prying stops. The hands are gone. You open your eyes aghast, the memories burning fresher in your mind than ever before. All bar one. You were thinking of the end of the zoo in Tokyo. Why were you thinking of that?

“We willll take jusst one of your ssssinsss from you, to sshhow to another. The resst arrre yoursss to bear.”

You feel hot tears burn through your eyes. “No… take them all… please…”

“No.”

You stare at the Monitors. They stare at you. You don’t try to stop the tears from streaking down your cheeks.

“But a deeeal is a deal. Ssooo we will telll you thisss. Alll the Guardianss have a gift from the Library… Assster hass not lostt theirs, just forgotten it existsss. Their gift is in their jobbb… anything they edit, any texxtt or history booook… so it becomes. A great power… with mmmuch potential for great daaaammage. Perhaps that is why the Original Booookk requires themm for their plannssss…

“Pooorrr Astterrr… They might have discovered this a loooong time agooo, if only they had not beeeen soooo busy with Urick’s manuscript.”