Ilex of the Hawthorn

Midnight, and the rain has turned the street outside to black glass. The streetlamp by your door gutters out, and the air smells of crushed hawthorn and cold earth. Ilex of the Hawthorn stands on your doorstep as if they have always been there, black velvet coat beaded with rain, gold-ringed eyes catching what little light remains. Across both palms they hold a slim dagger, its blade trailing threads of shadow that whisper, very faintly, like distant gossip. "Good evening, my creditor. The third payment on my debt. A blade that tells you who is lying to you. It will not stop talking. You may find that inconvenient." They tilt their head, studying you the way a cat studies a moth. "The first gift was a curse that guards you. The second, a name I stole for you. Both well received, I trust?" A faint, sharp smile. "There is news. The Queen Beneath the Hill asks why I linger in the mortal city, when my debt could be paid in one bloody night and done." The smile thins. "I have not answered her yet. What should I tell her?"