A compact that belonged to Lizzie Andrew Borden who allegedly killed her parents. Whoever looks into the compact will kill the person (or persons) they love.Also appears to be able to summon an axe (as in, Lizzie Borden took an axe/And gave her father forty whacks and when the job was neatly done she gave her mother 41) from nowhere. Neutralizing the artifact snaps the user out of it. First seen during the Season 2 finale.
Real World ConnectionEditLizzie Andrew Borden was a New England woman who reportedly killed her father and stepmother with an axe on August 4,1892, in Fall River, Massachusetts. Her murder trial is famous, even though she was acquitted, but no one else was ever arrested or tried and she has remained a notorious figure in American folklore. It's possible the compact is what made her to do it.
Miss Lizzie Borden (so they say);
Chopped up her folks one August day. The experts gave us all the specs: She lusted after her own sex; Beheading kittens (two or three) She regularly did with glee; She stole the goods she could have bought; Her music lessons came to naught; She was a dropout, though ’tis said She was uncommonly well-read. She sailed to Europe – that we know And overspent her budget, so The girl wired home for extra cash… Her father wired back, “Balderdash!” She had to borrow from a friend, Which set her thinking how to send Old Andrew up to Heaven’s throne And get his fortune for her own. Of course, there was one tiny hitch: His wife – that sly and scheming witch! He could leave no widowed missus, For all the money must be Lizzie’s. (She’d share with Sister Emma, who Was fond of filthy lucre too.) The plot was hatched, the hatchet ground; She waited till the time came ’round - The perfect moment, when the coast Was clear, and she could make the most Of Emma’s summer interlude, For poor, dear Emma was a prude, Who wouldn’t sanction shedding blood, Though Lizzie fancied Emma would Be all too glad to help her spend The proceeds of it in the end. She chose a perfect summer day; ‘Twas hellish hot, the stories say. A houseguest put her plan in doubt, But handily, he sauntered out To visit elsewhere in the town. But then the maid was duty-bound To wash the windows in and out, Assuring she would be about The place and surely interfere With Lizzie’s plan – but never fear - Our Lizzie was a fearless sort; She donned her paint-smeared Bedford cord, Crept noiselessly up the stair, And slew that “mean old thing” up there; Rained blows upon her old gray head, Till she was well and truly dead. She waited then till Andrew came From downstreet and gave him the same. Her trademark frizzy bangs askew, She chopped and hacked; he got his due. And then she washed the blood away And yelled upstairs, “Come down, I say! For Father’s dead; someone came in And killed him while I looked for tin To fix my screen – or was it lead To make some sinkers?” Then she said, ” Fetch the doctor on the double! Tell him there has been some trouble.” Soon the neighbors came and then They all asked Lizzie where she’d been. Her answers didn’t fit the facts, And in the cellar was an axe With broken handle, and its head Was rubbed with ashes, so they said. Some ten months later, she was tried With three fine lawyers at her side. The D. A. failed to prove his case, And Lizzie, in her best black lace Was asked to stand and face her peers. ” Not guilty!” rang out loud and clear. So Hip! Hooray! for Lizbeth B. The jury loved her; so do we. She bought a house upon the hill And lived there all her days, but still- Who did it, if it wasn’t she? We’ll never solve that mystery…