They say that money talks, and when Yelena listened, she heard whispers of promise. Born of an aristocratic house, she had been furnished with all the comforts of society, and equal amounts of deathly tedium into the bargain.

Even in an age of steam and brass miracles, she grew weary of the pomp, the circumstance, the gluttony. Surely there was something greater to which she could turn her talents, and her near-limitless resources?

It began with parlour tricks, conjured to stave off the ennui of the entitled as they gathered during evenings of leisure. From these inauspicious beginnings, Yelena would wade through a sea of charlatans until she caught wind of something grander. A shadowed society that transcended trickery and touched upon the art itself. Elusive, exclusive- the House of Bliss.

Her purse spoke loudly now, as her silver crossed the palms of all the right people that she might be granted audience. Duly embraced, she trained her sights upon the true art, the space between spaces, the strings with which to draw down the stars.