Exploration Mission Report 466-FR-01 (Level 3)
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This is when the most unexpected anomaly of the day manifests.

Marguerite stays immobile at first, as if she had not understood what I said.

Dr Vicat: Miss? Do you hear me?

She then explodes into a large amount of yellow substance. The entire building soon follows, giving rise to a tidal wave of Cottage Pottage threatening to engulf all researchers and Knights. Msgr Battilana and myself are trapped. Charles Sirc takes it on himself to evacuate the remaining personnel. As I feel the substance starting to cover my face, I hear a few muffled words from Battilana.

Msgr Battilana: I told you so!

I regain consciousness in a room similar to the Main Lounge, but without any windows, doors, tables or ornamental furniture. There are only paintings on the wall depicting close-ups of eyes, and fragments of skeletons on the floor. As I stand back up, I notice Battilana staring at the skeletons with a terrified expression.

Dr Vicat: This is really getting under my skin.

Msgr Battilana: You are horrible! This is not the time for jokes! We are in great danger!

Dr Vicat: I know, but I'm strangely calm, for a reason I can't put my finger on.

I inspect the walls to try to find an exit.

Dr Vicat: So you knew we were going to end up like these poor skeletons, and you didn't say anything?

Msgr Battilana: I could not disclose it! You know how it is!

Dr Vicat: You guys in disciplinary have no idea how to behave on terrain. In an unknown and potentially dangerous location, communication is key. Amnesticizing later is better than dying immediately.

Msgr Battilana: Our mission was clear: enter, deposit the bag, leave. It was you who messed everything up!

Dr Vicat: Good lord, everything's coming together now! You weren't doing any research, it was an execution! You bring people here and Marguerite does the dirty work for you!

Msgr Battilana: The Concilium forbids us from killing without giving the deceased a proper catholic interment. It is usually not an issue, but in the case of notable individuals, leaving behind information regarding the nature of their disappearance is not desirable. We therefore resorted to using a third party.

Dr Vicat: So that's where all those skeletons scattered around Rome came from. They didn't drink the pottage, you put them in the cottage.

A door appears in front of us. Battilana rushes towards it.

Msgr Battilana: Damned, there is no handle!

Dr Vicat: Let me try.

I place my hand in front of the door. A handle appears.

Msgr Battilana: How did you do that?

Dr Vicat: I'm descended from Pierre Murat, you're not.

Behind the door is an entirely empty room, besides the same paintings as earlier. A puddle of yellow pottage emerges from the floor, then takes on the shape of Marguerite. As I think back to the events of this day, a memory surges into my mind.

Dr Vicat: Battilana, I have good news for you: we're not going to die today. But you will need to stay silent, not move and let me handle things. I can't explain everything right now, but I just realized why we're here.

This memory is not mine: it's Pierre Murat's. It is engraved in the mind of all his descendants and holds the key to the SCP-466-FR mystery.

It is 1810. Pierre holds a prestigious position at Napoleon I's Singular Imperial Academy. His salary is respectable, his job is fascinating and what his colleagues think of him is nothing short of admiration. Despite all this, there is still one thing he misses terribly: a spouse. Pierre never had much success with women and now that a large part of his time is taken by his work, he has lost any hope of conquering a lady's heart. However, when one has accumulated as much occult knowledge as Pierre Murat, there is always an unorthodox way to do things.

One night, he brings forth an array of instruments each more unsettling than the last to his alchemy station, as well as a pot. He chants formulas stolen from the most fearsome thaumaturges until he seems satisfied: the blank canvas has been created, he can now paint all the traits he desires. Hazel eyes. Hair black as jet. Skin white as milk. Lips red like the heart of a blaze. A body warm and soft to the touch like the water of a hot bath. A temperament stronger than the strongest of all peppers. But most importantly, his spouse will need to always keep a part of him with her. Pierre unties his signature black bow-tie and throws it into the pot. Finally, he places in a bouquet of ox-eye marguerites as a first gift to his new bride.

Of course, occult processes fail to perfectly recreate the complexity of Man. Marguerite is only human in appearance, she remains composed of the original clumpy yellow soup prepared by Pierre Murat. This perfect, irresistible form for the researcher is not locked, it can be altered at will.

When the SAI is dissolved in 1814, all of Pierre Murat's equipment is seized. His bride, who sometimes takes on the shape of furniture when sleeping, is part of the confiscated items. Devastated, the researcher sees no other options than moving out as far away as possible and forgetting his past life. He would later become an innkeeper, marry a non-anomalous woman and never see Marguerite again.

That is where we are today. Marguerite foolishly recognized Pierre Murat's face in my own. Now, what becomes of Monsignor Battilana and myself will depend on my ability to be convincing in this role.

I take a step towards Marguerite.

PoI-1702: You came in, you saw me, and you didn't say a thing. You talked to me like I was only a stranger.

Dr Vicat: You're so beautiful when you're angry.

Marguerite looks away, smiling. The paintings on the walls now depict landscapes with warm tones.

PoI-1702: I'm trying to scold you, let me be serious.

Dr Vicat: We've been standing long enough. Let's sit down.

A pool of yellow substance appears and transforms into a table and two chairs.

Dr Vicat: I was not expecting to see you, is all.

PoI-1702: Didn't you recognize your cottage? I had to train a lot to take that shape.

Dr Vicat: A cottage is a cottage. Well… except you. You're the worst-tempered cottage in the entire country.

Marguerite giggles.

Dr Vicat: Can I at least ask why you killed so many people?

PoI-1702: Every time someone gathered the same ingredients you used to give me life, I thought it was you trying to reunite. You can't imagine how frustrated I would be when I always saw someone else… most of the time, I tried to smile as if nothing was wrong, give them a drink and wait until they were gone, but sometimes… I snapped. Is that bad?

Dr Vicat: Let's say I don't love it.

PoI-1702: Now that you're here, will you stay with me?

Dr Vicat: Sadly, that's not possible. I found a new job, just as demanding as the old one. But I promise I'll come visit from time to time.

Marguerite looks away. The paintings now depict winter landscapes. I run my hand through her hair. She leans in for a kiss. I place my hand on her leg. She leans against me. Just before losing any and all professionalism, I hear an annoyed sigh from Monsignor Battilana.

Dr Vicat: Look… my coworker and I must return to our jobs. I'll be back tonight, alright?

PoI-1702: You better come on your own will, or I'll find you and engulf you like earlier.

I giggle and give Marguerite one last kiss. She turns into a puddle of pottage, along with the building, before disappearing completely. Now free again, the priest and myself are welcomed by relieved researchers and Knights.

Dr Sirc: You got us worried sick! Everything alright? What happened?

Dr Vicat: I'll tell you all about it, but don't be jealous.

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