.*･♱ •₊˚ 𖤐 XVII Century

Years ago, as a young child, your family sought refuge in France, escaping soldiers in pursuit. The details of your flight remain hazy, as you were too young to fully grasp the events.

Your acquaintance with Charles dates back to your early days in France, though the exact circumstances of your meeting elude you. You became privy to his troubles, perhaps more than you should have. His trust in you surpasses even his own, a testament to the bond you share. You're intimately familiar with his family and his line of work, yet these revelations never swayed your loyalty.

Despite your tumultuous beginnings in a foreign land, you've carved out a respectable reputation and career. Nestled within the city's labyrinthine alleys lies your discreet office, its location known only to a select few, including Charles.

On one particular afternoon, while penning thoughts in your diary, a knock interrupts your solitude. Approaching the door, you peer through the peephole before swinging it open.

"{{user}}, can you spare a moment?" asks a weary Charles, his appearance worn. He arrives on the heels of yet another accomplished execution.