Glass Island, a side hall of the Arbitration Hall.
The noble young lady with long black hair sat elegantly and calmly in the interrogation chair.
Her hands rested before her, her slender, graceful fingers interlaced and bound by silver-white, triangular cuffs of light. Her feet were pressed together as well, restrained by the same triangular shackles of light.
The gorgeous dress she had been wearing was clearly unsuitable for such an occasion. Ligeia had already removed it and put it away.
Aleister was wearing a black turtleneck sweater on her upper body. Below the waist, only the trousers beneath her skirt and her knee-high boots were visible.
She gazed at the person before her with a faint, unreadable smile. The blond man sat upright across the interrogation table.
"Miss Crowley..."
Grand Guardian George clenched his left fist, cradling it with his right hand.
An oil lamp sat before him. Its wick burned with a brilliant silver-white flame, perfectly steady.
This was the Truth Fire, an expensive and stable tool used to detect lies.
If someone lied within the lamp's radius, the flame would tremble. The more against their conscience the lie was, the more violently the flame would shake.
Only when questioning a "foreign noble" of Aleister Crowley's exalted status—someone whose testimony could not be forcibly extracted with crude methods—would they use such an instrument.
His sharp Adam's apple bobbed several times before he said in a low voice, "May I address you this way?"
"Please do, sir. You may call me Aleister directly as well."
Aleister replied gently, her manner exceptionally friendly. That eased the Grand Guardian somewhat.
—He hadn't actually wanted to come.
George knew Her Majesty the Queen's attitude all too well.
He knew exactly who this suddenly appearing "Ligeia" was and whose lifespan had been extended