#I do not know how to give my weaving an image description apologies for that

[havegaysex]

I figured out how to do a diagonal color shift on the loom today. The teacher wasn't in the room a lot so I figured it out by myself and I really like how it turned out, I'm excited to do more samples with this technique.

I'm using Tabby weave to give it structure while I do just block weaving on the same peddle back and forth

[lamiasluck]

Mimicry

My best friend @emptynarration so lovingly requested more god Edward. So here’s him at his best: an angy doctor boi. Someone saw it fit to dress up as him and impersonate his image for a quick buck. Edward does wear a mask, after all. It’s not the hardest thing to do. Doesn’t end so well for the imposter

Tags: @alvie-ashgrove @theshysepticeye @verse2wo @ferociousfangirlofmanyfandoms @juju-on-that-yeet @m4delin 

Warnings: Injuries, threats, Edward is just very angry it’s spooky

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It was a peaceful day. For once, Edward wasn’t going around and interacting with the annoying humans. Instead, he found himself relaxing in Author’s and Host’s domain for some quiet time. His mask and cloak was off, leaving him much more ready for leisure. Just a shame things never go as planned. These humans always had nonsense to give him.

Host stiffened in his seat. His bandages became more stained with blood as he grimaced. A vision flashed through his mind. Greed, ignorance, manipulation. He jerked in place, clutching his head once the vision finished. Edward and Author paused their conversation as they noticed. 

“What’s wrong?” Edward asked. 

The vision was quick, but clear in its message. “Imposter...” 

“What?” Edward exchanged a look with Author, who just shrugged. 

This hadn’t happened before. “Just... see.” Host extended his hand and let the strings of fate appear from his fingertips. They went over and gently wrapped around Edward’s head. 

In an instant, Edward saw something back on earth. A man was dressed as him, addressing a crowd of worshippers that didn’t know any better. He had the whole plague getup the doctor had. Very easy to hide one’s identity. No human even knew what Edward truly looked like. They didn’t deserve the privilege of seeing him. 

Edward shot up from his seat and tore the strings away. “How dare they?!” He seethed. The bravery this imposter had to do this. “Damned pest.” He got his mask, stood up and threw his cloak over his shoulders. “Stay here. I’ll deal with this imposter myself.” He was gone with not a second to spare. 

Author and Host let him leave without more trouble. “Will he be okay?” Author asked. 

“More than fine,” Host replied with a grin. He knew what was about to happen. Simply watching would be for the best. 

Back on earth, there was a man preaching to a crowd. “Yes, yes, I’ll grant all you fine people years of good health. I only ask for your finest riches in return.” He was clad in a plague doctor’s outfit he made himself. After some research on the god of health, he managed to make, what he believed to be, an accurate replica of the god. Descriptions varied from legend to legend, but if rarely anyone else saw Edward, then a little error in his costume would go unnoticed. 

Edward shifted into a human disguise, a short man with a messy mop of black hair, and weaved into the centre of the worshipping crowd. He got a good view of the imposter at work. This man’s game was clearly for riches and praise. It was surprising he didn’t try to get the humans to grovel at his feet. Edward had to fight the urge to scowl at the sight.

“Yes, yes, I’ll bless all you fine people with a life of good health,” the imposter said. “All I humbly ask is for compensation for my hard work.”

This guy wasn’t even trying to be authentic. Edward would never speak this nicely to stupid humans, he didn’t care for manners when speaking to those below him. How insulting. His image was being used for such scummy means. Something only these worthless humans could come up with. He wanted to end this man right here and now, but he wanted to wait; might as well get more reason to ruin this man’s life.

The worshippers were spewing their appreciation for such a “blessing.” They prayed to their beloved god. Must’ve been odd to see Edward not saying a word. The actual god merely stared down his double. It became obvious of the tension when the worshippers actually did kneel down to pray more; he stayed standing. 

“My friend,” the imposter noticed his sour attitude, “is there something wrong?”

“The god of Health would never call a human a friend,” Edward responded. These differences were really getting on his nerves now. “Actually, he never visits anyone outside of medical facilities,” he looked around at the street they were in, “certainly not some alleyway in the middle of nowhere.”

Everyone fell silent at the claim. The imposter began getting shifty, easy to tell even with the cheap mask. Edward stood his ground, even crossing his arms and frowning. He would never kneel for such a worm.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Be careful of your words, lest you want damnation.”

Well, that was somewhat like something Edward would say. Not good enough, though. “You’re doing something much worse,” he seethed. “A real god would never lie like this.”

“I’m not lying, you heretic!” the imposter screamed in frustration. “Stop this at once! I will not stand for such blasphemy in my name! A real god would want you out of their sight!” He snapped his fingers as if calling for action. 

Some had the gall to stand up to grab Edward. They held onto his arms, but he continued to stare down the other. With an inhuman strength, he jerked against his captors and stepped forward. “The real god despises you.” He clutched at his sweater’s collar, before pulling it down and revealing his scar. “The real god wants to strike you down where you stand.” His eyes glowed a bright blue. The imposter gasped, stepping back wearily, but it was far too late. The scruffy man Edward made as a disguise was soon gone and replaced with the powerful god everyone knew. His mask couldn’t hide his bright, furious eyes. “The real god is standing before you!”

He stormed up to his imposter and ripped off the mask, showing the imposter’s shocked face. He looked at the mask, “This is a cheap knockoff,” and crumpled it into a heap of worthless fabric. 

The worshippers gasped as the mask was ripped off. They screamed insults at him for betraying their devotion. “I… well, I can explain-!” he tried to reason, but Edward silenced him.

“You’ll pay for this!” Edward grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up in the air. He turned to face the crowd. The imposter dangled in the air, scrambling to explain himself. Or, more accurately, him trying to apologize to the god he ripped the image from. 

“I’m sorry!”

“Shut up!” All the imposter could see was the bright, furious eyes of Edward. The mask wasn’t enough to hide his anger, but at least it was made correctly. “Pathetic. You’re a pathetic worm.” 

The imposter struggled in vain, while the worshippers went down to grovel before their real god. Even the ones that grabbed him, who were near tears with sorrow over manhandling a god. Edward looked at all of them, unimpressed. “I will never visit anyone without reason. None of you deserve the privilege of my presence.” He then glared at the culprit. “And you.” His voice was like a venom.

“I’m sorry!” He was crying by now; weak and mumbling incoherently. 

“I don’t care, worm,” Edward seethed. “How dare you think yourself worthy of mimicking my image? You don’t deserve any title of power, let alone the one I earned through my work. You heretic.” His hand glowed, this time, a darker blue. It looked near black. “The only thing you deserve is the mark of a sinner.” 

The man screamed as a burning mark scorched onto his forehead. A cursed, permanent mark that will tell everyone of his sins; symbolized by a snake. His eyes rolled back as he twitched weakly in Edward’s hold, passed out cold. A now condemned man laid before the fearful onlookers.

“You are nothing. You’re below the maggots that will writhe and feast on your dead body,” he threw him to the ground in front of them, “because you will wish you were dead after all this.” He stepped on his chest and ground his foot in, enjoying how the imposter cried out in his sleep. “I’ll be waiting for you in the afterlife. Then, your real punishment can start. For now, you’re nothing but a husk.” There was no response, so Edward kicked him away and looked at everyone else. “Learn from this pathetic being, or else you will wind up with the same fate.” 

The worshippers looked at the imposter passed out from fear. They understood the message clearly. “We’re sorry, our grace,” one muttered, forehead pressed to the ground. The same ones that grabbed Edward, went over to pick up the heap. They weren’t careful with the body.

“Be more observant next time. Use those tiny human brains for something good for once,” he seethed. “And pray you don’t see me again like this.”

It was a clear message. Everyone cowered before the furious god, unable to look away from his glowing, blue eyes. They would’ve stayed frozen, if not for another warning.

“Leave,” Edward ordered. “All of you.” The worshippers were quick to scramble away, muttering apologies and goodbyes. He watched them leave, before looking at the destroyed mask the imposter wore. “How tacky,” he scoffed as he picked it up. Cheap stitching, ugly material and the wrong frame. It looked like something bought from a costume store.

He deserved better than this. Walking away, he planned on telling Dark about this sin and getting some sort of help. People could only mimic him with his anonymous appearance, but these humans didn’t deserve to see his face. Not after they’ve ruined it. This event would surely send a message to any other minds that were dumb enough to consider this mimicry. A light blue glow surrounded him as he teleported back to the gods. These damn humans were getting too cocky.

[pi-cat000]

MSA time travel idea (part 36)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, Vivi POV, 8, 9, 10, Lewis POV, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, Lance POV 18, 19, Lewis POV 2, 21 , 22, Vivi POV 2, 24, 25  Lewis POV 3,  Mystery POV , Vivi POV 3, 29, Lewis POV 4, 31, ViVi POV 4 , 33, 34, Lewis POV 5

Part 37: Here

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Content Warning: (chapters got some light descriptions of blood right out of the gate. So watch out for that.)

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Mystery POV:

Blood splatters, leaving a long trail which arcs in a circle around him. Mystery flings Lewis’s arm, now containing the cursed abomination, across the ground. It bounces twice, skidding to a stop several feet away. He bares his teeth, snarling, fanning out his tails so he occupies as much space as physically possible. It is a warning to anything that would dare challenge him. The forsaken creature twitches and spasms pathetically, helpless without a proper host. Only his sworn oath not to pursue holds Mystery back from ripping it into smaller chunks and burying it in the desert.

The disembodied limb flips itself upright and, at the centre of its palm, is one green eye marred with gold flecks. Lighting flashes accompanied by rolling thunder which amplifies his growls so they shake the ground as his anger grows. When he concentrates, he can feel water collecting in the clouds, the static in the air and the arid land, anticipating rain.  Mystery cannot channel the full might of the storm, that is beyond him, but he can still funnel some of its latent natural energy into the space around him. The air crackles.

Rightfully, the creature inhabiting Lewis’s arm immediately about-faces and scuttles off, disappearing behind a low-growing shrub. Oh, how he longs to give chase and punish it for threatening what is his.

“My…Mystery?”

Vivi’s voice pierces his rage, slicing it apart like a knife. Mystery tears his attention away from the challenger, looking over his shoulder. Vivi's eyes are wide, face pale, breath shallow and rapid. Lewis is unconscious, blood pooling under him. The human’s aura dims as his body fails, connection to the physical world weakening.  

“Help me.”

If there were ever a moment that Mystery had felt true shame, this would it. Hastily, Mystery spits the blood collecting at the back of his throat onto the concrete. It tastes like iron and broken promises, conjuring unpleasant memories. He is beside Vivi in one elongated jump, examining both Lewis and Arthur. Both are dying, Lewis faster than Arthur. In his attempt to save the human, he may have inadvertently hastened his death.

/I am here./ Mystery reassures even as he desperately sifts through several centuries worth of memories and experience for a solution. Healing others and repairing damage had never been skills under his preview. Healing was the domain of different, more benevolent, entities. Ask him to erect a protective ward or cast an illusion and he could do so in a heartbeat, but foxes weren’t healers.

Vivi is now breathing hard, glancing from where she is holding Arthur and over to Lewis, lying prone. Dying. 

No. Not good enough. Perhaps a spell to slow decay and put both humans into a stasis state would work. Once upon a time, he had held enough power to speed or slow the growth of whole rice fields, matching them to weather patterns. Acres upon acres grew or failed at his command. He hasn’t been able to call on that ability since his oath to the Yukino family replaced his oath to Inari. But…he knows the theory behind that sort of time-based magic, and even without divine help, he should be able to accomplish something similar on a smaller scale. It would just require personal sacrifice.

He glances back at his seven tails. The physical manifestation of his skill and experience. One tail for each human should do it. Two hundred years’ all up. Mystery has never willingly given one up, let alone two tails at once…but it would be more than adequate payment for the ritual he wants to perform. A spell to extend their lives by slowing decay. 

Why is he even hesitating?

/ I will save them./

Carefully, he reaches for the intricate web natural energy which makes up the living world, feeding in his own power. Behind him, his tails still, then sway in a very particular pattern, weaving a dome-like structure which tightens around Lewis and Arthur.

Time slows.

So focused is he on the task, that he barely hears the car pull up or see how the area around him lightens in its headlamps. It is not until Vivi speaks, voice scratchy, that he registers a second presence.

“Dad…”

Touma Yukino drops beside him, flustered yet determined. Mystery has never been gladder for the human’s presence. In this trance-like state, both Yukino’s glow a bright, fluorescent blue. They seem to be moving doubly fast now that Mystery has detached himself from the regular flow of time.

“You’re doing fine honey. Keep holding that down,” Touma says. More footsteps and louder panicked voices sound behind him.

“…heard gunshots? What’s happening?”

“I need the lights on.” Touma yells, “Quickly!”

The building’s lights flicker on and there is a low gasp and more commotion. Mystery closes his eyes and concentrates, attempting to block out the humans panicking and yelling.

“No…keep the girls inside…bring the medical kit.”

Alongside the yelling is the scent of fear, thick, almost overwhelming now Lewis’s parental figures have joined in assisting Touma.

“Lewis…calling the hospital… need an air-lift...only way…”

The sounds fade. All the chaos drops away becoming a soft silence.  Mystery inhales and exhales, opening his eyes to examine the faint transparent outlines of Arthur and Lewis’s auras, no longer weakening.

“I was beginning to think I would fade to nothing before I had this chance to talk.” 

The oddly familiar voice comes suddenly, causing circular wrinkles to form mid-air. Mystery’s eyes dart up, searching for the source.  The sound disperses, ripping away in all directions. He cannot move far while in the middle of this sort of ritual. If he is interrupted now, the consequences would be catastrophic.

“Over here.” The air shimmers and a second Kitsune, wearing a set of eye-glasses and sporting suspiciously familiar black and red fur, appears.  Judging by the human’s lack of reaction, Mystery is the only one to see it.

/This is a trick./ He growls, suspicious of the creature mirroring his appearance. /What is your business here?/

His snarled question is met with a dismissive tail wave. A single tail wave. This Kitsune only has one. “Only to give a warning, late as it may be.”

The other fox flickers, losing transparency, like it is not wholly there. The very act of speaking seems to be weakening it.

“In my timeline, between now and two years into the future, Lewis, Arthur and Vivi die. It was, in no small part, due to my inaction. With help, I sort to send Arthur’s soul along with this echo to act as a guide. I had hoped to avert the disaster. I thought my death would be payment enough for this transgression against the Natural Order. “

Mystery narrows his eyes. /Arthur’s aura./ He interrupts, /That was you. What did you do?/

“Mid-way through attempting to merge the older and younger soul I was interrupted. I am sorry.”

Before Mystery can snap another insult the other continues, “When I initiated the ritual someone or something intervened and I was trapped, helpless, watching history repeat itself. It is just as well that Arthur and Lewis’s fates are not solely reliant on my ability to act or everything would have all been for naught.” It looks somewhat reproachful now, fading so it is barely visible.

“Shiromori is coming and I fear that, in reversing time, I have put you all in greater danger. But ..." Now there is a clear note of hope in the other's voice, "at least I have managed to give this warning. Protect them and do not make the same mistakes I did.”

The echo disappears completely, leaving Mystery cold with fear.

.

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When Mystery completes his stasis spell, he immediately shifts to his dog form. Even the small transformation leaves him wholly exhausted. He feels the fatigue in his bones, and in his head, fuzzy and distracting. Quickly, he staggers out of view, so he does not accidentally trip one of the many humans who arrive and begin to prepare Lewis and Arthur for transport. The loss of two tails, two hundred years’ worth of experience, is disorientating. It is like having his insides scooped out and replaced with empty space. His memories swim around, disjointed, as he attempts to stitch them together. He hopes he has not lost anything too important but only time would tell.

Uncomfortably woozy and lightheaded, his thoughts turn to the warning.

The other Kitsune had talked of an alternate future and oncoming danger. Fretfully, he scans the horizon.  All he sees are clouds and a wall of rain coming towards him from across the desert. The taint left behind by the demonic abomination is faint. Most likely, it is attempting to put as much distance between itself and Mystery before sunrise.  As it should. Mystery growls. There is one final flash of lightning and the downpour reaches him, falling in a thick sheet, drenching him in seconds. A wind picks up, turning the droplets into tiny needles.

Shiromori cannot have escaped her seal. It was guarded by the Yukino main family. Touma would have heard word of it breaking and informed him. Surely, this was a trick or a trap. No sane creature went against the Natural Order.

Mystery tries to shake the image of the faded Kitsune, painfully weak, its single tail curled over its paws. The creature had spoken like someone mourning the loss of a loved one. His kind are not meant to love. Mystery stares down at his dog paws and his vision blurs, water running into his eyes. He feels himself shiver, growing cold. This form had always been one of his weaker ones. A poor choice of disguise. He blinks the exhaustion away, staggering to his feet, having to brace all four paws.

Vivi. He should find Vivi. He owes her an apology and an explanation. Whatever otherworldly dangers may be approaching, it was useless to fret without properly examining Arthur first. He could start panicking once he had confirmed the existence of time-travel.

Slowly, he trots around to the door of the Pepper’s diner. Whereas moments prior the driveway had been alive with commotion, it is now empty. All that is left of the evening’s chaos are two puddles of blood being quickly washed away. Would Vivi still be here? She might have followed Lewis and Arthur to the hospital. He sniffs, and finding the rain too heavy, searches his connection to the Yukino family.

Vivi is, indeed, inside the diner. He scratches at the door, hoping to be let in.

Vivi answers, looking down at him with a blank expression. Then she turns and walks away. Silent. Mystery waits for a beat before following, shouldering the door closed to shut the rain behind him. The many times he has been in this building, it has always been awash with colour and activity. He could barely walk two steps without getting petted and pulled in various directions by Lewis’s younger relatives. Not that Mystery had minded, the younger ones always reminded him of when Vivi was small and would follow him around attempting to grab his tail. Concerned by the room’s unnatural stillness, he listens. Several feet away he can hear the mummer voices belonging to the Pepper patriarch and the three smaller humans.

Satisfied that the family seams safe, he continues into the next room. Vivi has moved to sit on the large family-sized couch. She is balled up in one corner, knees drawn to her chest. Before her, resting on the low coffee table, is a cup of flowery tea with steam slowly rising above it. Her clothes are clean, and her hair is damp, smelling of soap and shampoo. From his position of the floor, in spite of the rooms low lighting, Mystery can make out how the skin on her hands and face is red like she’s scrubbed them a little too hard.

/Arthur and Lewis?/ Mystery asks, because, after setting his spell in motion, he had been too tired to see its aftermath.

“A helicopter picked them up. Dad and Lew’s mom are on their way to the hospital. Apparently, I need to stay here and ‘get some rest.’” Vivi falls silent after a sarcastic imitation of what Mystery thinks is Touma. Rain pelts against the window, rattling the glass, and wind whistles around the building.  

He sighs, sits, and waits. There was nothing more for him to do. Last he had seen, both Lewis and Arthur were stable enough physically. They should live with proper care. 

Vivi is the one to break the elongated silence, “That demon, the body snatcher, is it…”

/Gone./

“It’s not in Lewis?”

/No. I removed and sealed it to the best of my ability. It will not be possessing anything for a long while./

“I see.”

Vivi falls silent and glares at him, eyes accusatory. Tentatively, he tries wagging his tail. He knows it is far past too late to continue the dog act, but Vivi always loved when he wagged his tail. A small part of him hopes it will make her smile.

“You lied.”

Mystery winces.

“All this time. You were lying. You were all lying. Dad, gran….did mom know?”

/She was aware, yes./

Her expression darkens, stricken. “Why? I thought dad was just a paranoid stick in the mud. Maybe, if you’d told me the truth, I could have actually been useful.”

/I believe the reasoning was that you were safer not knowing./

“Well, congratulations you failed.” Vivi stands, stomping out of the room and to the kitchen sink, dumping out her tea. She paces back and forth for a minute before turning to the door.

/Where are you going?/

“I’m not waiting here. I'm driving to Milton...I'll sit outside the emergency room all night if I have to.”

/It is raining./ He points out helplessly, following on her heels as she picks up a jacket which is coloured purple and several sizes too large.

She spins and glares again, “Does this look like the face of someone who cares?"

Mystery hesitates, pausing to watch her pack a bag and have a brief discussion with the elder Pepper. The short man escorts Vivi to the door, visibly tied and worried, giving Mystery an expression of acute unease. The faint smell of fear collects around him.

“Are you coming or what. It’s a forty-minute drive. Plenty of time for you to start explaining things.” Vivi orders, facing away, freezing at the door, silhouetted in the frame.

Mystery skirts in close. Despite her brash words of action, Vivi remains still, eyes fixed on the pavement just visible through the rain. The blood from earlier has all but washed away, soaking into the ground. The faint red streaks remaining have Vivi transfixed. Tears are dripping down her face, falling in time with the rain. Her hands tighten on the jacket. Mystery watches and aches. Many myths and stories caution against becoming too attached to humans. Mystery thinks of his failure to save Arthur, and the forced decision to pick Lewis instead. His inaction had almost killed them both, and it should not have affected him as much as it has. He can still feel the echo of rage and fear. A decade ago, he would have simply chosen the route with the greatest chance of success and thought of it no further.

Now, all he wants to do is stop Vivi’s crying.

/I am sorry./

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NOTE: Mystery joins the angst party. The next part is either going to be a Lewis or Arthur POV. Since they’re interchangeable, which would people rather read first? 

ALSO:  I realised as I was editing. I accentually cut the foreshadowing for echo-Mystery out for some reason. It was supposed to be in part 22  but I think that it was before I decided to add several Mystery POVs to the fic so it wouldn’t have made much sense back then.  Might add it back in at some point. I should really keep better plot notes. 

Part 37: here

[multisfabulis]

The Road to Forgiveness Be Damned

Freed (Chapter 7/7)

Word Count: 8737

TW: Referenced child abuse

And with the release of this chapter lies the end of this story.

This took me almost a year and nine months to finish and it’s been a rollercoaster. Despite the mental and emotional highs and lows, I’m glad I committed myself to working on this until its completion and I can’t wait to work on the other projects I’ve got lined up!

As a final note, I apologize for the word vomit that is the architecture/interior design descriptions. It was in the middle of writing those that I realized this is a major weakness of mine because my mind cannot comprehend something of that scale. I also have no artistic sense at all so a lot of set drops are based off what I'm visualizing in my mind so there's bound to be many mistakes.

Read on AO3 | Read on DA | Support me on Ko-fi!

     The sound of rolling waves was like music to Ven’s ears. Water ebbed and flowed along the shore as she breathed in the salty air. She opened her eyes to see fluffy white clouds scattered across an endless sea of blue, both above and below. An early spring breeze blew through, ruffling her hair and clothes. She took a deep breath and, steadying herself, tentatively walked towards the ocean.

     It had been a little over a week since her and Ferreth’s return from Thal Esari. They left mere hours after Filaurel’s ruling, not wanting to spend more time than they already had by staying an extra day. She managed to finish reading Thessalia’s journal during the trip back and she had more questions than answers. The final entry was dated a day or so before her death and she still hadn’t made a decision on what to do with her. Rereading the last words she wrote felt weird, the image of her mother writing in her journal whilst not knowing it’d be the last imprint she’d leave in the world present in her mind. At least she knew that she’d never know what her fate would be if Thessalia survived and it may never be completely okay.

     She also learned of something that shocked her. Something she had honestly never thought of but made so much sense looking back on it. It wasn’t just because of her hatred for Vlixeoxs, her contempt for her ran deeper than that. She was meant to be a second chance but it was dashed the moment she saw what she was. She was still coming to grips with what that bombshell revealed and it scared her to know how cruel someone could be to a child.

     She shook her head to stop herself from going further. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about those dark thoughts. What she really needed to focus on was the limits in which her power could go. She never gave much thought as to what she could really do until she began wondering a few nights ago. Were the things she did just part of a dream or were they real? It was hard for her to believe she was that strong but she kept itching to try and do the marvels she had done in the dream. Today was the day she’d find out if there was more to her power she believed possible or not.

     She stopped walking when the water reached her ankles. She nervously swallowed as she let out a shaky breath. Looking behind her to see if anyone was watching, she closed her eyes and held out her hands.

     She thought of how her glaive looked, the weight and feel of it. How sharp its blade was, how tall it stood, she even remembered the tiny scratches on its hilt. She then willed her power to try and recreate her beloved weapon. She felt a weight in her hands almost immediately after she ordered it and opened her eyes. In her hands was a pitch black glaive made of darkness.

     Her eyes widened in amazement as she examined the glaive. It felt solid and was light as a feather, not like the one sitting at home. She ran her fingers along the edge of the blade, realizing just how sharp it was. It even had the ribbon she tied around the top end of the pole. This was a glaive, a weapon she made with her power, something she could do all along but never the courage to do it.

     She arced it up in the air, a fluid motion she hadn’t experienced before. Then she spun it above her head in one hand and passed it on to the other. She was beginning to really enjoy how smooth her regular moves flowed so effortlessly. There was just one more thing she needed to try out.

     Tossing it high up, she waited for the perfect moment to show itself. Once the blunt end of the pole faced her, she kicked it forward with all her might. It was sent flying several feet ahead and, right before it sank into the ocean, she attempted to summon it to her hand. It came back like a boomerang, the force and surprise at how easy it was causing her to stumble back a bit.

     She held the glaive up above her, looking at it in wonder. This was incredible to her, being able to create anything she set her mind to and with such ease! It may only be the first thing she planned on testing out but she was excited all the same. She dismissed the glaive and it dispersed into dark wisps from her hand.

     Now it was time for the second thing she remembered doing in the dream. She closed her eyes again and imagined a wall behind her. The wall had dozens of daggers, swords, and whatever else she could think of trained up at the sky. Once the image was etched in her mind, she raised her arms. Barely any sound was made as she finished summoning the wall and turned around to see it.

     Shock and awe filled her being as she marveled at her creation. The wall was tilted up towards the sky and it spanned the width of the beach. There were spikes protruding out of the surface, appearing about ready to fire. All she needed to do was lift a hand and wave it.

     So she did just that. She turned back around, raised a hand up, and pointed two fingers at the sky. Her mouth curled up into a playful smile as she eagerly braced herself for the magic that was about to happen. Like pulling the trigger of a crossbow, she shot a barrage of dark bladed weapons high into the sky. They flew ahead in an arc and landed in the ocean, dissolving into wisps once more.

     Adrenaline coursed through her body as she tried to keep herself calm. Her hands shook, butterflies fluttered around in her stomach, and her heart pounded against her chest. This may have been becoming too much for her but she wanted to keep going. How she wasn’t bouncing all over the place was anyone’s guess.

     Time for the third and final phase. The thing she never ever thought would be possible, even if she knew how the other two worked. This was something she’d been looking forward to the most and, if she could do it, it’d be a miracle. It didn’t take much for her to remember the image because how could she forget such a sight? A weight was placed on her back and she wanted to squeal in delight.

     She glanced over her shoulder. Two giant black wings were attached to the middle of her back, beads of darkness dripping off them onto the sand below. They weren’t feathered but they didn’t need to be to look beautiful. They were like a smooth onyx gem that shone a slight purple tinge when the light hit them right. She had only caught a glimpse of them in the moonlight from the dream so seeing them on a bright day like today made this moment all the more special.

     She took in a deep, shaky breath, excited for what was happening next. Her wings lifted themselves higher and higher before coming down with a tremendous whoosh. Sand blew away from her as she flew up in the air.

     She stopped just above where the trees’ canopy was. Her wings flapped behind her as she took in her surroundings. It was breathtaking to see the beach, the forest, the ocean, everything from a new perspective and she loved it. Now she could start to really have some fun with this newfound ability.

     She flew under the rocky cliff that overshadowed the beach, weaving through the crags rising up from the ocean below. Then she soared on up to the clouds, bobbing in and out of them and feeling the wind and dew on her face. She swooped down to the sea and glided above its surface, sticking her hand in to feel the cool water go through her fingers. This was everything she could’ve ever dreamed of and she could do this at any time she wanted.

     Then she had an idea. It was, admittedly, a very dumb and very risky idea because of how much danger she’d be putting herself in but the chance of it working was there. If it panned out, it’d be extraordinary.

     She drifted up several feet above the water. Anxiety began to grow in her stomach as she realized just how dangerous her idea was. She could very well drown if this went poorly, due to her inability to swim. It could be hours or even days before someone found her and it’d be too late at that point.

     No, she couldn’t think like that. This might work after all and she’ll have been worrying over nothing. She attempted to settle down her nerves before steeling herself for what was to come. Then, after relaxing her shoulders and steadying her breathing, she dove into the ocean.

     It was like being in the swamp again, except she could see this time. Light filtered in from above, giving the underwater a crystal blue hue. There were many different plants and coral and algae and they were all so vibrant and colorful. Schools of fish quickly swam away when she glanced at them. It was so pretty to look at but she needed to get back up to the surface.

     Her wings managed to stay with her after her dive and they were beating as hard as they could to help her. Her lungs began to burn from the lack of air as she tried to swim up, her arms and legs feeling like lead weighing her down. Fear started to set in, her heart about ready to stop at any moment. A burst of strength came to her once she got close to the surface and it gave her wings the power they needed to break through.

     She shot out of the water like an arrow, sailing up several feet. Water droplets clung to her wings, trailing down till they fell back into the ocean. She drew them in and quickly unfurled them, shaking the last few drops off them. The sun cast her shadow across the water and she couldn’t help liking what she saw. That was her, her and her power, and she didn’t feel ashamed.

     She flew back to shore, an exuberant smile on her face. Her idea worked, it wasn’t a failure. Heck, everything in her dream wasn’t a dream, it was all real. She had done those things and they were all her.

     All her life, she had been shamed for being a Vlixeox. Her eyes, her power, they were things that alerted others of her race. She could only do so much with her eyes but she could hide her power. She could pretend it didn’t exist, it wasn’t a part of her, until she got home, where she felt safe enough to let the mask fall. She hated having to hide it but she also hated having it.

     Every time she looked in a mirror, she was reminded of it. How she, a Vlixeox, was living among people who were normal, elves. The mirror reflected back everything she wasn’t. Even if they tolerated her existence, just seeing them go about their daily lives made her aware of how different, how other she was. It was a constant struggle to hide the parts that gave her true nature away and pretend to be like one of them and it almost killed her.

     It was only when she took a chance and helped Eric with her power back in Brinegarde she didn’t have to hide anymore. He accepted her as she was and treated her like she was his friend. Her once tiny world grew after meeting him, he brought her out of the darkness and into the light. It’s because of his kindness she found people that didn’t care about what she was and she was happy.

     Maybe it was because of her time here she felt comfortable knowing her power was a part of her. There was no need to conceal it anymore. She never allowed herself to have fun with it but today changed all that. It felt so nice and wondrous and…liberating to enjoy this and having this and being this. She didn’t know if she’d ever be completely okay with being a Vlixeox but she figured she was on the right track.

     Her wings faded away once she was safely back on land. She looked over at the forest beyond the docks and her smile dropped. There, just before the trees made way to the clearing, was Ferreth.

     A surprised scream escaped from her mouth and she jumped back, her butt landing on the wet sand. He started laughing as she drew her hood up to hide her face. Her face felt warm, no doubt from the blush she knew she had. She heard him quiet some before seeing him crouch down in front of her.

     “H-how long were you standing there?” she asked, flustered.

     “Just enough to see you flying around everywhere,” he replied, resting his cheek against his hand and a teasing smile on his face.

     She let out an embarrassed whine. She felt mortified at how he may have seen everything she did and that was humiliating. It wasn’t that she was now regretting ever doing this or letting herself enjoy it as much as she did. Having someone see her act so…childishly was something she felt uncomfortable with.

     “Hey, it’s not that bad,” he said, dropping his hand. “It was adorable, seeing how much fun you were having.”

     Answering him with another whine, he continued on with, “I think that was my first time seeing you act so…openly, I guess. You’re a lot more withdrawn normally so it was a nice surprise to watch. It’d be nice to see you like that more often.”

     She finally looked up at him, staring into his light green eyes. They were warm and full of love, her heart fluttering the longer she peered in. He placed a hang atop her head and petted it, her cheeks still warm as she pouted.

     “Come on, let’s get you up.” He stood up and held his hand out to her.

     Sighing, she let her hood down and took his hand. He helped her up easily enough and she tried to wring the water out of her cloak. It may have been stupid to hope it hadn’t gotten too wet, considering how she literally dove underwater earlier, but she would be devastated if it was ruined. It was too important to her so she needed to be more careful from now on.

     They climbed up the steps and were east of town. Her blush cooled down as her embarrassment from earlier gave way to anxiety. Today wouldn’t just be her unshackling herself from the hate people imposed on her when she was a child. She was taking a leap of faith, trusting in the hope he wouldn’t think differently of her.

     “Hey, Ferret?” They had just passed the first building when she called out to him. “Is it okay if you come with me to see Eric?”

     Confused, he asked, “Sure, but is there something you need me to do with him?”

     “No, it’s… I’m planning on telling him.”

     That was all she needed to say for him to understand. She was going to tell Eric everything that happened in Thal Esari, both in the past and present. Even her crime, something she wasn’t looking forward to. The prospect had been brought up before when they were there but she wasn’t sure if she’d ever do it. Her fear of him becoming scared of her was still a real possibility in her mind.

     As she said back then, Eric was the first person to befriend her, show kindness to her. He was the reason she lived in Aurora Zenith now, the reason she and Ferreth met, the reason she was finally coming around to accepting herself. She didn’t want to imagine him hating her over what she did. If their friendship shattered after everything was revealed, it’d just kill her.

     Even so, he deserved to know what happened. She struggled with keeping the bad memories from overwhelming her when he first asked her about it. Now, after all she’s been through the past several months, she felt brave enough to tell him.

     She was asking Ferreth to come with her so he’d give her courage. That was why he came with her to Thal Esari and he’d serve the same purpose here. If it somehow went badly, she’d also need him there for comfort. She hoped it wouldn’t end like that and it would go smoothly.

     “What made you decide on telling him?” he asked.

     “I’ve had a lot of time to think about it and I feel like I’m ready. At least, I think I do, anyway…” she replied with a nervous laugh.

     “Hey, if you think you’re ready, then go ahead. Just know that I’ll be there for you, okay? I doubt Eric’s gonna suddenly hate you or be scared of you so…”

     His words were all that she could rely on for this. Even if he turned out to be right and Eric didn’t think any differently of her, it didn’t stop the thought of it actually happening from plaguing her mind. All she could do was hope and pray that things would be all right in the end.

     They arrived at the plaza, busy as it would be after the start of a new season. It was strange how, even with Aurora Zenith being more condensed yet bigger than Thal Esari, she liked the ambiance. Maybe it was because she had felt welcomed and not terrified for her life like she thought she’d be. It was nice to have people actually accepting her instead of shunning her for being a Vlixeox. She missed this while they were gone and she was going to enjoy it.

     The plaza was generally regarded as the marketplace, as evident by the many shops and stalls open for business. It was also the place for people to gather around and socialize, something she still wasn’t used to yet. The smell of freshly cooked food made her mouth water as she overheard the chatter and laughter all around her. A small smile rose to her face; she considered this place to be her home and she wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the whole world.

     “By the way, there’s something else I wanted to tell you.” He leaned his head over to listen. “I decided to forgive Lady Filaurel for what she did.”

     As if he swallowed something and it went down badly, he coughed a few times before exclaiming, “What?! I’m sorry, but what the fuck?”

     “Okay, hear me out.” She took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to phrase what she’d say next. “All my life, I’ve been told that I was a monster. I was a monster because I was a Vlixeox, which meant I didn’t have the right to exist. I believed them, especially after what I did. I still believe them now but I want to prove to both everyone and myself that I’m not. To me, I think forgiving Lady Filaurel would be the first step to doing that because monsters wouldn’t know what forgiveness was. That’s just what I think, though.”

     It may have been strange to those who didn’t understand it but that’s what she believed. The “monster” she faced in the swamp, seven of the people she killed, forgave her when she felt she didn’t deserve such a thing. She was the reason they weren’t alive anymore and they still showed her forgiveness. If they could do that to their killer, then she could forgive Filaurel for all she did to her. It was a choice she knew not many would agree with but it was still her decision to make.

     “Am I wrong for doing that?” she asked. His feelings toward her had been made very clear so she had an idea of how he’d take this.

     Running a hand through his hair, he replied, “You already know how I feel about her. I absolutely despise that bitch for all she’s done to you and, if it were me, I never would’ve forgiven her.

     “But--” he placed both hands on her shoulders-- “you’re not me. I may disagree with your choice but it’s not my place to tell you what to do. If you wanna forgive her, then I’ll support you, no matter what. Who am I to judge on how you want to heal?”

     “Thank you, Ferret. I appreciate it,” she said, smiling softly. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t mean that people like me should forgive those that have hurt them. It’s just how I see things.”

     “I figured that’s what you meant.”

     They walked up the stone stairs that led to Eric’s house. It sat nestled in a gathering of elm trees just growing their leaves back and on the cliff she had flown under earlier. The front was painted a faded silvery white and had a porch of the same color that spanned to both ends of the house. The front door was in the middle, two small windows on its left and a large on its right, the nailed-in shutters black. The porch steps creaked under their feet as they stopped at the door. It was a beautiful mahogany door with a simple bronze knocker sitting atop it. Above the knocker was the emblem for Aurora Zenith inscribed in gold.

     She tapped the door with the knocker’s handle a couple times. As she waited for someone to answer, she looked up at the emblem. It depicted honeysuckle vines crawling up towards the sun, its ray of light shining down on the town below. This was meant to represent her home, the place she swore to protect. She hoped it’d still be her home after all was said and done.

     The door swung open to reveal Delrelle. They were Eric’s housekeeper and, though she’s only met them once or twice, they seemed nice, if a bit stoic. Their face held no emotion as they greeted them with a bow.

     “Lady Venlithea and Sir Ferreth, what business have you here today?” they asked, standing upright.

     “We’re here to see Eric, we have something we wish to speak with him about,” she replied. “Could we see him if he isn’t too busy?”

     “Let me check in with him.” They closed the door and, after a moment passed, they opened the door and stepped aside. “I’ll see you to his office.”

     The two of them were then led to where Eric’s office was. They passed by a white staircase leading up to the second floor on their right and the archway that served as the threshold to the living room on their left. A white trim divided the light blue walls in the middle and a long white rug covered the hardwood floor, stretching from the foyer all the way down to the double doors in the back. Paintings of Brinegarde, Thornewind, Mapleshear, and Ravenstrand decorated the walls, what were once Eric’s sketches given life. Small side tables had trinkets such as a seashell, a windmill sculpture, a maple leaf preserved in resin, and a small bowl full of gemstones from the towns he visited over the past ten months. It felt homey.

     When Delrelle knocked on the door, a second wave of anxiety swept over her. It was only a matter of time now until he learned the truth. A pit began to form in her stomach, growing wider and winder as she let out a shaky breath. Her heart pounded against her chest and she was finding it hard to breathe---

     Ferreth’s hand took hold of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. No words had to be said for her to remember. He was going to be in there with her, be the beacon of courage she so desperately needed right now. She took a deep breath and squeezed back, letting him know she was okay.

     After hearing a muffled “Come in”, the three of them walked inside. Eric sat at a maple desk with stacks upon stacks of paper piled all over, half read books sitting on top of some. Bookshelves filled with history, law, art, and story books lined the walls. They stood on a grand, ornate rug that blanketed the floor, the only thing in the room that carried some sense of sophistication. The whole room fit someone who valued simplicity over complexity but still had something to show for his position.

     Bowing, Delrelle said, “Master, Lady Venlithea and Sir Ferreth have some matters they wish to speak with you about. I’ll leave them in your care.”

     “Thank you.” Eric stood up from his chair to stretch as they went back out to the hallway, closing the door behind them. “Ven, Ferreth, what brings you two here?”

     “Were you in the middle of something?” Ferreth asked.

     “Nah, I was just taking a break before--” he raised his arms above his head, a soft pop echoing in the room-- “getting back to work. You had something to talk about?”

     “It’s more like I had something to tell you,” she spoke up. “Something important.”

     “Well, what is it?”

     She swallowed nervously, the moment of truth finally here. The moment in which everything could change between them. Ferreth put a hand on her back to push her forward, his way of telling her to go through with it. Refusing to let her resolve be shaken, she looked Eric dead in the eye.

     “Do you remember when you asked me how the people of my old village treated me back on the boat ride here?” she asked, trying to not let her anxiety show.

     “...Yeah,” he replied, regret flickering across his face for a split second. “Am I finally gonna hear about that?”

     “I’m finally ready to tell you everything. I’m honestly scared but you deserve to know every last thing that happened.”

     “Ven, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. Don’t feel like you need to tell me unless you want to.”

     “You’re the last person I ever wanted to tell this to because you mean so much to me. It’s because of that that I’m telling you.”

     Then she told him everything she could remember. From how she’d commit petty thievery to survive to the horrific torture she endured. He was never good at hiding how he felt and the anger on his face was plain to see. She really should’ve known what his reaction would be upon hearing her story from the start.

     She hadn’t told him the worst thing yet. The hope was that maybe, just maybe, he’d show mercy to her after learning of what happened that fateful day. He wouldn’t fear or hate her if he knew the reason behind it all. It’d still probably scare him to know she had killed fifteen people but he’d understand why. His kindness knew no bounds, even if it was shown to someone who didn’t deserve it.

     “God, it sounds horrible, what happened to you,” he said, rubbing his hands over and over.

     “There’s still more to tell you and it’s worse than everything else,” she added, the hairs on her body standing on end.

     “What could be worse than what I’ve just heard?”

     “Something not good. Something really bad.”

     She looked to Ferreth, silently pleading for him to give her the strength she needed. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. She laid her hand over his, mustering up the courage to tell him.

     “When I was eight years old, I was banished from Thal Esari.” A chill overcame her as she struggled to breathe. “The reason for that is…that I---”

     There was a knock at the door. Delrelle cracked it open and said there was someone who wished to speak with Eric immediately. A pit of dread began to build up in her stomach as she anxiously wondered who was here. Her heart sank and her eyes widened in shock at the person coming in.

     Filaurel walked up towards them, looking her absolute best. Her gray hair was down from its usual bun, styled to where it rested atop her chest. She wore a stunning floor length pearl white dress with a white and gold cape flowing down to her waist. She had her cane with her like always, though she seemed to be using it for its intended purpose rather than as decoration. Her chin was held up high as she sneered at her, standing before Eric.

     Ferreth attempted to shield her from her but it was no use. He was probably wondering why she was here, much like she. Did she just arrive in Aurora Zenith? What reason was she here for? Did their actions on the day of her ruling play a part into why she was here? The biggest worry she had was what she could possibly do.

     “I don’t believe we’ve met, my name’s Eric Travere, lord of Aurora Zenith.” He came around the desk and held out his hand. “Might I ask for yours?”

     “Ah, yes, I’m Filaurel Crawraek and I’m what you’d call the ‘lord’ of Thal Esari,” she replied, gingerly shaking his hand. “Though I prefer being referred to as ‘Lady’.”

     “So, what brings you all the way here to our little town?” he asked, leaning back on the desk with legs crossed.

     “Well, I unfortunately come bearing bad news about your subordinates, especially concerning Venlithea.” She shot a cold glance towards her. “Has she told you of what she’s done in Thal Esari, both the past and present?”

     It was as if a great weight crashed down upon her. She knew what she was going to tell him. She was going to reveal her crime to him and how she had selfishly asked for forgiveness, all because she questioned her authority. If he heard of it from her, that would be it. Their friendship would be over, he’d drive her out of town, and she’ll be all alone again.

     “I mean, I know some of why she was there a couple weeks ago but I don’t know much of what she’s done in her childhood other than what she’s told me,” he replied, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why?”

     “Then it’s of great importance I tell you this. You see, when she was a child, she---”

     “Don’t tell him!” She grabbed onto her arm in desperation. “Please, I beg you, don’t tell him!”

     “Unhand me at once, Venlithea!” She tried to get out of her grip but she held strong. “He has a right to know of what you did.”

     “Please don’t tell him! I’ll---I’ll do anything you want, just don’t tell him!”

     “When Venlithea was a child, she---”

     “My Lady, please…!” Tears stung her eyes as she fell to her knees, still holding onto her.

     “---took the lives of fifteen people. Cut them down mercilessly.”

     Her heart stopped as she let go of her arm. She would’ve collapsed entirely on the floor if it weren’t for Ferreth gently lifting her by her arms to stand her up. His hands remained on her shoulders to steady her. It felt as if the floor had gone out from under her, the world a blur.

     That was it, her secret was out. Eric now knew of the horrible deed she did. He had to be scared of her now, terrified of her hurting him. Maybe he even hated her and wanted her out of his sight. He was probably beginning to regret meeting her, befriending her, helping her. She was nothing more than a monster in his eyes, the very thing she wanted to prove to everyone she wasn’t. If he wanted her to leave and never come back, she’d do it. If he so desired that, she’d do it. She’d do anything he’d ask of her because she loved him. How tragic was it for a monster to love the person who wished he never saved her?

     “Really?” he asked in disbelief. “What reason would she have to do that?”

     “I honestly can’t fathom why,” she replied. “All I know is, she was sentenced to public lashing after committing yet another act of thievery and she just…snapped.”

     Not even bothering to hide the anger in his voice, Ferreth retorted, “That’s bullshit and you and I both know it.”

     “Ferreth...” Eric warned, attempting to quiet him down. “Could you tell me why Ven would do something like that? I just find it hard to believe that a child at the time could do such a thing.”

     “Venlithea was always a troublesome child. She’d keep getting into skirmishes with the other children, pickpocketed others for their money, the list goes on. She got into trouble so often, I had to resort to the extremes to try and correct her behavior. I thought the multiple lashings would be enough for her to desist but…I was wrong. It is because of my pride that I paid the ultimate price.” She sniffled as if holding back tears. “She’s lucky I only banished her when I could’ve had her executed.”

     All she said were lies. She never got into any fights nor did she steal money from people. She stayed as far away as she could from others and she only stole food from the marketplace; everything else she scavenged for. How could she stand there and lie through her teeth like it was nothing?

     “Funny you say that, because Ven gave me a different version of events. She said people often spoke down to her and she would be threatened with a lashing if she didn’t exactly do what they said. There were days she’d starve or had things she found taken away from her for no reason. If she asked why, it was because she had broken a rule that had been set but she hadn’t heard of the rule until that moment. So, tell me--” Eric placed his hands on the edge of the desk and tilted his head-- “which of you are lying?”

     Letting out a chuckle, Filaurel replied, “Well, you know how Vlixeoxs are. They’re well-renown liars. They’d say anything to make themselves seem innocent and Venlithea’s no exception. After all, she hadn’t told you of her crime and you saw for yourself how much she didn’t want you to know. How do you know she’s not using your kindness against you to suit her agenda?”

     “Oh, you’re a real piece of work, you know that?” Ferreth’s hands tightened on her shoulders. “She was gonna tell him about that until you came in and she was begging you not to tell him because she knew you’d twist the truth of what happened to make her out to be the bad guy. You’re the liar here, you old crone.”

     Why did it matter as to who was lying? What’s done was done and she had been outed as a killer. It can never be taken back. What point was there in defending her when it didn’t erase what she did?

     “Another thing, your subordinate here--” she gestured to Ferreth-- “has quite the mouth on him. Let’s just say that, during our last meeting, he took it upon himself to call me very vulgar things, words I’d rather not repeat. I figured to let you know so you could decide on the best course of action to take.”

     “Ohh…” Eric sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Ferreth, is she telling the truth?”

     Letting out a breath, Ferreth replied, “Yes. I admit, I lost my temper and said some pretty…not so good things but I’m not apologizing or taking them back. I couldn’t just stand idly by while she tore into Ven with her remarks. I accept whatever punishment you give to me, my lord.”

     “I see…” He took a moment to think on what he wanted to say next. “Well, as much as it may upset you, Lady Filaurel, there’s not much I can do. He was out of my jurisdiction at the time and, since he hadn’t broken the law over there and was considered a mere visitor, I’m not responsible for his actions outside of Aurora Zenith.”

     “You mean to let him walk scot-free?” she asked, a tinge of anger dripping into her voice.

     “The best I can do is a stern lecture but I’m sure you wouldn’t have wanted to hear that.”

     Huffing, she asked, “And what of her? What do you mean to do with Venlithea?”

     “From what I’ve gathered, she hasn’t done anything to warrant disciplinary action. Whatever she did back then doesn’t matter now and even if it did, she was already tried in your court of law.”

     “She’s a Vlixeox, my good sir. It’s far too dangerous for you to let something like her wander around unsupervised. I’d suggest putting in some preventative measures to ensure that a massacre on the scale of Thal Esari’s doesn’t happen again.”

     “Ven’s lived here for about a year now and no one’s had a problem with her, as far as I’m aware. I think we’ll be perfectly fine.”

     “You’re underestimating her. Sooner or later, she’ll take matters into her own hands and you’ll be left with several people dead when their deaths could’ve been prevented. All I’m asking is that you don’t let a repeat of what happened in Thal Esari happen here.”

     “Okay--” He pushed himself off the desk and stood up to his full height-- “forgive me if I’m out of line but you keep going on and on about this tragedy that occurred yet you’ve provided next to no explanations as to what her motive could’ve been. Have you ever thought that you might share part of the blame? Have you ever tried to take responsibility for her actions, since you were her guardian, I’d assume?”

     “Y-you insolent…” She recognized the tone of her voice. It was the tone she’d use if anyone seriously crossed her. “How am I the one to blame for what Venlithea did? I’m not the one who tore their bodies asunder while others ran and pled for mercy! Do you have any idea how hard it was to raise a child such as she and it turn out to be a complete failure? I’m still paying for the mistakes she made! You clearly do not deserve the title bestowed upon you if you won’t heed my advice.

     “Only a fool would trust someone who committed mass murder in the past. I’d only ask you don’t come crying to me when she inevitably kills again because you refused to see how dangerous the beast really was. You’ll be just as much a monster as she is for letting her do such a heinous thing.”

     Time seemed to freeze at that moment. Her mind kept replaying what Filaurel said with so much clarity. Eric, her light, her savior, would be considered a monster for what she did if the time where she’d kill again ever came? That wasn’t right; someone as kind and sincere as him could never be a monster.

     A deep seething anger began to stir inside her. It was one thing to call her a monster when she already knew she was. She gritted her teeth and clenched her shaking hands into fists. It was a whole other thing to call Eric, someone that reached a gentle hand out to her, someone she loved with every fiber of her being, a monster. The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop herself.

     “What did you say, Venlithea?” she asked indignantly.

     Whirling around to face her, she heatedly replied, “I said shut up!”

     She took a step back from her sudden outburst. “W-where do you get off on speaking to me like that? Have you forgotten who you’re speaking to, Venlithea?”

     “I think the better question is, where do you get off on speaking to him like that? He’s a monster for whatever I do? How dare you… He saved me from the darkness you put me in, he gave me a reason to live from the hell you put me in, he gave me a home I’m happy in, and you call him a monster for helping me? You should be ashamed…you no-good, lying bitch!”

     A resounding crack rang clear in the room. Her cheek burned from Filaurel slapping her as she stood there in shock, realizing what just happened. She only had one question on her mind: was that it?

     A sense of extreme hostility overcame the room. She could hear a hiss followed by vicious growling beside her. Eric was warning Ferreth not to do anything stupid, which she figured to be bloody murder. Her eyes wandered over to Filaurel, hand still raised in the air after striking her. She touched her cheek and let out a short breathless laugh in utter amazement.

     “Huh…that’s the best you can do?” she asked, a brazen smile on her face. “That’s what I was afraid of all this time? I used to be so scared of you but now I see there wasn’t any reason to be…Grandmother.”

     She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. “This is hardly the time for jokes.”

     “In one of the last entries Thessalia wrote before her death, she talked about how she had to swallow her pride and beg you for help because she was so lost on what to do with me. She thought you’d have a shred of love for her to know that she was scared, especially since the time I would be born was coming closer and closer. Instead, you told her she was on her own and left her all alone.

     “I read all the ways you tried to control her and when she got away from you, you disowned her. I was your second chance at getting the ‘perfect’ child you always wanted but I turned out to be a Vlixeox. You couldn’t stand knowing that your grandchild, the baby you waited so long for to mold into someone you deemed perfect, was a Vlixeox. You took all your anger and hatred out on me and I didn’t know any better.”

     “I tried my best to raise you but you refused to behave!” she exclaimed, tapping her fingers against the curve of her cane. “If I had known you’d turn out like this, I wouldn’t have wasted so much of my time trying to care for you. If you had just listened to me, I would’ve treated you better.”

     “It wouldn’t have mattered what I did!” She kicked the cane out of her grip. “For years, I believed what you and everyone else said about me. I thought I deserved all the suffering I got because I was a Vlixeox and that meant I was bad. I tried so, so hard to be good and it was never enough. You hurt me over and over and over, even as I laid on the ground bleeding, wishing that I could die so the pain would stop.

     “I was wrong to ask for forgiveness from you because I should’ve known you’d never give it to me. I didn’t have a chance in hell because your mind was set the moment I asked for it. You’re just a sad, bitter old woman that loved breaking me if it brought me a step closer to being your obedient pet.”

     She took a deep breath and glared daggers at her. “I refuse to let you control me for the rest of my life. Both of us may believe I’m a monster but I did something I know you’ll never live down. I’ve forgiven you for all you’ve done to me but you better believe I will never forget it. Now get the hell out of my home and never come back.”

     The room fell into an eerie silence. Filaurel looked at her in shock, as if she never expected her to finally stand up to her. If she was honestly speaking, it was a surprise to her, too. She probably would’ve stopped halfway through if it weren’t for her outrage at Eric being called a monster and the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

     Alek came in just as the quiet began to wear out its welcome. Eric asked for him to show Filaurel the way out, promising to explain what happened later. To everyone’s surprise, she went along with it, only stopping to pick her cane up off the floor. It was when she crossed the threshold she did it. She tossed parting words over her shoulder, seemingly directed towards her.

     “I was wrong to think you were nothing like Thessalia. You got the rebellious streak I despised her for having.”

     That wasn’t something she ever expected to hear. She never once thought she was similar to her mother in any way and reading through her journal seemed to confirm how different they were. Maybe she had more in common with her and it was just a matter of figuring out when and what.

     “Holy shit, Ven, that was amazing!” Ferreth said excitedly, picking her up by the waist to hug her. “You finally told that bitch to fuck off!”

     “Ah, yeah, I…I guess I did, huh?” she replied, her cheeks warm from the sudden hug. “Could you put me down, please?”

     “Yeah, you did.” Eric put a hand on her head and started petting her after she was back on the ground. “I’m proud of you. You finally stood up for yourself.”

     It made her happy beyond words to see pride in his eyes. There was no fear or regret in his voice, only a fond warmth she heard so rarely. Ferreth was right; he wouldn’t think differently of her and it was silly to believe otherwise.

     She was lost in thought as Ferreth dragged her out to “celebrate her victory”. She never imagined her life would be like this when she was a child. She only had a day of no punishments to look forward to back then. She didn’t think she’d have friends, a home she was happy in, people who had love to give, a life. It was because of Filaurel banishing her that everything happened the way it did and…it was the one decision she made that turned out to be good for her.

     If anything, it was thanks to Thessalia she even had a life. She may not have had much choice in the matter but she was still grateful to her for giving her life. She wondered if the voice she heard back at the graveyard was her, letting her know that she was watching over her. She liked to believe it was possible. She held the amethyst ring she kept around her neck between her fingers and smiled.

     Would she be proud of her daughter and the kind of person she was becoming? Would she not need to worry over her anymore now that she was surrounded by people that truly cared about her? She had a home she belonged in. She knew if things ever got tough, she’d be okay. She still believed herself to be a monster but…she was beginning to think she was less of one now.

[sunflowersupremes]

The Wraith in the Hills: Chapter 1

Arda is a bit too peaceful for the reborn Glorfindel, so when he hears rumors of a wraith-like creature that lives near Bree, he goes on a hunt.

Notes: This takes place in the Third Age, with the canon that Glorfindel wasn’t reembodied until after the end of the Second Age.

Characters: Glorfindel, Elrond, Maeglin, Maglor

Read on AO3

“I’m positive it can’t be a wraith,” Elrond had said when Glorfindel had questioned him.

“The locals aren’t so positive,” he had retorted. Only recently returned from Aman, he was practically bursting with curiosity about everything in the changed Arda.

“Because I know a man who shot it, and it screamed,” Elrond had replied.

“Did he kill it?”

Elrond had shaken his head. “A blunt arrow,” he’d explained.

Glorfindel had only been more interested and was not at all dissuaded by Elrond’s repeated attempts to tell him not to investigate. If anything, it only piqued his interest.

“No one has managed to find it,” he would say. “Not in all the years it’s been there.”

“Well they weren’t me,” he’d argued.

Since the wraith was most often seen in the small chain of hills between Rivendell and Bree, with occasional sightings in the woods closer to Rivendell, that was where Glorfindel started his search.

He saw was nothing but animal prints at first, but that didn’t deter him. There had to be something. Anything. He vaguely considered that it might be traveling through the trees, but the way Elrond described it, though that was unlikely.

“Why is it called the wraith of the hills?” he’d asked.

“Because horrible, deformed creature that lives to the west is a mouthful.”

“What does it look like?”

“I’ve only ever seen it at a distance - I’m not even entirely certain it was the wraith - but it was hunched and twisted.”

“An orc?”

Elrond had shaken his head. “It’s too old for a single orc, and those who have gotten closer claim it has the face of an elf.”

“It’s not-”

“Kanafinwe? No. I’m positive of that.”

He’d never asked why Elrond was so positive, talking about the Feanorian only seemed to distress him. Instead, he set off only knowing that he was hunting some sort of deformed creature that was not an orc, but could be an elf.

At least he hoped it wasn’t an orc.

Finally, after a week of searching, he found tracks. They could have belonged to the wraith, given the descriptions people had given him. They were bare footprints where one foot was normal and the other dragged behind it.

He set off after them.

Whatever the creature was, it wasn’t agile at all, breaking limbs as it went. Glorfindel murmured apologies to the damaged trees, soothing their wounds. He found evidence that the creature could hunt, traps it had laid out to catch game, but nothing that told him anything he didn’t know.

The third day of following the prints, weaving this way and that through the mountains, he found signs of an accident. The edge of the path had crumbled away, and when he investigated at the bottom of the hill, he found blood.

“Its hurt,” he muttered to himself.

The trail was easier to follow after that. The creature was clearly stumbling, he found more broken branches and missteps. But most troubling, he found more blood.

“If I find this thing and it’s dead,” he grumbled, shaking his head. Elrond would laugh at him if that were the case. But if it wasn’t dead, what was he going to do with it?

He had a sudden image of a deformed mummy, wrapped in crumbling bandages, in Elrond’s halls of healing.

Glorfindel shook his head.

Whatever it was, he wouldn’t let it suffer. If he had to, he’d put it out of its misery.

Finally the tracks led him to a cave. He stopped at the entrance, peering inside. He could sense that something alive was in there, but it’s soul was in tatters. He pulled his consciousness back, frightened. Whatever he’d touched felt more like an orc than anything else, but at the same time, he was more certain than ever it wasn’t an orc.

But it was scared.

It knew it was being hunted, and that its injury was severe.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Glorfindel called quietly. He used the common tongue first, but when that got no reply, he tried again in Sindarin. Then, finally, Quenya.

“Out!” He wasn’t certain what to think when the Wraith spoke in fluent Sindarin. “Leave me be!” It was a masculine voice, but muffled, as though the speaker had a mouth full of cotton.

“I’m unarmed,” he said, unbuckling his sword belt and dropping it beside the entrance. “I know you’re injured.”

A rock flew at his head. Whatever it was, it could see in the dark.

Glorfindel could as well, and the glow from his skin brightened the cave. Reaching the back, he found the so-called Wraith of the Hills cowering, a knife in its hand. It was an elf, and a male at that, he was more certain of that than ever, but it was clearly maimed. One arm hung uselessly at his side, and one leg was twisted and crooked. Most of his skin was covered by filthy rags that had been stitched into the shape of a loose robe. A scarf hid most of his face.

He couldn’t tell which injuries were new and which were old, but the pain the man was in was evident.

“My name is Glorfindel-”

Another rock flew at him, this one bouncing off his chest. “I know who you are,” the Wraith snarled. “Out!”

Glorfindel stepped forward. “Shhh,” he said. “I’m your friend.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“Just set the knife down. I have supplies. I can heal you.”

The Wraith didn’t move. As close as he was, Glorfindel located the new injury, on its limp arm. “You’re losing a lot of blood,” he said. “Let me bandage it.”

He caught the hand with the knife and gently pulled the weapon away, dropping it on the ground. “See? I mean you no harm.”

The Wraith tried to pull away, but it was too weak, and Glorfindel easily led him toward the mouth of the cave. “We can clean your wounds in the stream,” he said, wrapping his arm around the elf. “And then I’ll bandage it and be on my way.”

As much as he wanted to stay with the Wraith to learn more about it, it was obvious he was distressing it. “Or, you can come with me-”

“No!” The Wraith tried to pull away, losing his footing and falling to the ground.

Glorfindel knelt beside him. “Its blood loss,” he said gently. “Let me help you.”

Frightened black eyes stared back at him. “You- no! You wouldn’t want to help me-”

“I promise. I want to help you.”

The Wraith pulled away, stepping into the sunlight and pulling down the scarf that had covered its face. “You’re sure?” Maeglin snarled. There was no mistaking his high cheekbones, or his black eyes, even with layers of dirt and grime over it.

Glorfindel could do nothing but stare. “You’re dead,” he managed.

“I could say the same of you,” Maeglin retorted.

“You fell off the wall,” he said, taking several deep breaths to steady himself.

“I was thrown,” Maeglin retorted.

The Golden Lord ran his hand through his hand, shaking his head. “You survived?”

“Clearly.”

Maeglin sat on a fallen log, then gestured to his wounded arm. “Stab me or heal me, just do it quick,” he said.

“I’m not going to kill you!” he said quickly, hurrying forward. “I gave you my word.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you rescinded it.”

He ripped away the remains of Maeglin’s shirt, exposing the wound. A horrible stench wafted from it, and he frowned. “I can’t heal this,” Glorfindel said quietly.

“You promised,” Maeglin snapped.

“This is well beyond my skill.” The wound was already beginning to decay, and he suspected it had been injured before Maeglin’s tumble down the slope, and only worsened. “The flesh is dying,” he said.

“Then cut it off.”

“It may have spread to the muscle and bone beneath.”

“Cut it off,” Maeglin repeated. “All of it.”

Realizing he meant the entire arm, Glorfindel's stomach churned. “My friend is a healer,” he said again. “Let me take you to him.”

“No.”

Glorfindel sighed. “Very well,” he said softly. “Let me give you something for the pain.” He dug through his pouch, finding a small vial and removing the cork. Maeglin allowed him to pour it into his mouth.

He sat beside him on the log. “We’ll have to wait for it to set in.”

“How long?” Maeglin asked tersely.

“Soon.”

It was a strong potion, and Maeglin was already exhausted. Already he could tell it was setting in as the smith swayed and grabbed at the log. “What did you give me?” he demanded. “I- I can’t.”

“A mild sedative.”

Maeglin was clearly struggling to keep conscious, but Glorfindel scooped him up easily. “I’ll wake you once we’re in Rivendell,” he promised.

[creativerogues]

A New Version of the Tollomancy Wizard Subclass...

I guess you could consider this a Version 0.1 of the Subclass? I mean last time was just me with a list of notes and ideas...

But here’s what I think could be a sorts-semi-but-not-entirely-finished version of the Tollomancy Wizard.

Warning: I may ramble in this post, I apologize in advance...

Also big shout-out to @sladvlactia on tumblr for writing up some great ideas for the Subclass, you are an arcane godsend!

Arcane Disruption

You learn the Counterspell and Dispel Magic Spells, these Spells are always Prepared and do not count towards your Number of Wizard Spells Known.

I can see Arcane Disruption coming in at about 6th level, since both Counterspell and Dispel Magic are 3rd-Level Spells and you're learning two very useful spells for free, and they don't go against the number of Wizard Spells you know, and you'll always have them prepared...

Spell Skew

You’ve studied the basic rulings of magic to such an extent that you are able to influence the careless casting of others.

As a Reaction to a Hostile Creature you can see casting a Spell that targets a single Creature, you can choose to make a contested roll against the Target's Spell Save DC.

If successful, you change the Target of the Spell to another Creature you can see. You can only use this Ability once per round.

This I LOVE! It's a great low-level (probably 2nd level) ability that's both incredibly useful while also being incredibly versatile, since a lot of monsters have innate spellcasting.

But remember that you have to see the person casting the spell, since if you can't see what they're casting, then how will you know how to perfectly counter it?

And making it target a single creature was sorta my own idea (with a bit of help from @sladvlactia), since while there are a lot of very damaging spells that effect a number of targets (looking at you, Fireball), there are a lot of very powerful spells from low to high tier that effect just one target...

Be it a Hold Person that you can skew to hold a Creature in place before it attacks, or maybe you wanna skew that Feeblemind Spell so it targets a different Creature...

Maybe in a future edit it'll change to work on all Spells, or maybe this Ability has a limited number of uses per rest and maybe that contested roll is based off of your Intelligence or maybe your Arcana Skill, but right now I like the wording of it and I just love how useful this could be in combat, and maybe even out of combat too...

Shatter Phantasm

You’ve learned to recognize the Schools of Magic based on their Verbal, Somatic or Material Components. As such, you have learned to recognize Illusion Spells quickly.

As a bonus action, you can give a Number of Creatures that can see and hear you the ability to see through Magical Illusions, such as those created by a Minor Illusion, Disguise Self, or a Silent Image Spell.

You and your allies recognize any Illusory Objects, Creatures, Duplicates and Disguises created by Spells or any other Magical Effects.

The Number of Creatures you can choose to gain these benefits is equal to your Intelligence Modifier.

This I like, though I do still have a tingling feeling that this may still need to be edited because of the great variety of effects that Illusion Spells create.

So we may need to take another look at this one, but for now, I like it!

Consume Enchantment

Once per day, you can end any one condition or magical effect that is affecting you or any other creature you can see. This condition or effect must be brought on from a Spell or Magical Ability.

Doing so will replenish any expended spell slots. These spell slots can have a combined level that is equal to or less than the spell level consumed, and none of the slots can be 6th level or higher.

So yeah, this might not have any fancy flavor text, but I love the description @sladvlactia put it in their post for this one: "You don’t rest and meditate to regain spell-slots. You just yank them away from other wizards."

That is what I love to see, they took a relatively useful but not always crucial ability (Arcane Recovery), and graphed a Subclass Feature onto that ability to make it more useful and versatile in the game.

Again though, we need to take warning, since some Magical Effects in 5e don't have a Spell Level associated with them.

Maybe just consuming a Magical Effect in general could give you back your Lowest Level Expended Spell Slot? What do you think?

Devastating Reprisal

Your knowledge of basic casting is enough to snarl the arcane energy around your target.

On a successful Counterspell or Spell Skew attempt, you can expend One Additional Spell Slot of 1st Level or Higher to break the Caster’s Ability to Cast Spells or use Magic Items until the end of your next turn.

Just like @sladvlactia said it in their post, this Ability probably works very similar to a Monk's Stunning Strike, and also means that the spellcasting bad guy no longer has any benefits from any magical items they have…

So use this on a Spellcaster that has something like a Headband of Intellect or a Staff of the Magi, and then suddenly they're not so much of a threat.

I think that shortening down this ability and basing it off of the Monk's Stunning Strike and how that works in Combat, this Ability might just be the right amount of fun and just useful enough to care about...

Wardbreaker

At _____th Level, you can quickly learn your target's spellcasting techniques, using this knowledge to bypass their personal defenses.

Whenever you make a Spell Attack that targets a single Creature that you have targeted before, that Spell ignores the Armor Class bonuses given by Spells such as Mage Armor and Shield.

I can see this ability coming in probably mid-to-late in the game, maybe 6th or 10th level, it's a great ability that let's the Wizard bypass those awkward Spells that mean the Wizard ends up missing on that crucial attack.

Trust me, there is no feeling worse than hitting (or even critting!) on an attack, only for it to be ripped away because the bad guy casts Shield at the last second and now their AC is suddenly 30 Billion and your attack misses and does absolutely no damage at all...

Fray The Weave

Whenever you successfully skew a Spell, you become charged with residual, untethered arcane energy for a short time.

Until the end of your next turn, you can expend this energy instinctively to cast Counterspell (3rd-Level Version) without using your Reaction to do so.

If you do not expend this use of arcane energy before the end of your next turn, you take Xd10 Psychic Damage, where X is the Spell Level of the Spell you skewed, as the residual arcane energy burns away from your body.

While there may not be a bunch of flavor text for this ability, I still love it!

It brings that Risk VS Reward to the Subclass that makes it interesting. And the ability to not only skew another spellcaster’s spell to make it target someone else, but then also Counterspell using your normal Reaction, and then Counterspell AGAIN all in the same turn...

Now that's just cool...

I'm imagining this coming in at Level 14 as the final Feature from this Subclass, and I think it'll make it really interesting to use at higher-tier play.

Maybe this needs another run through? Because maybe your Tollomancer won't get the chance to Counterspell before the end of their next turn, and so they'll have to take the damage...

But this is probably just me randomly nitpicking... I'll let you people be the judges...

Also, as a note, I think the Feedback so far has been great, the Community has been so nice in their suggestions, and I’ve even got messages from people asking if they can use the Subclass when it’s finished, and some people are even creating their own home brew spells just for the Tollomancer.

It’s great to see so much enthusiasm in this little project of mine, and I hope it’ll continue until we get a fully fleshed out, balanced, well-worded and above all cool subclass that you can use in your own games.

So if you have any feedback, or have any ideas for how these class features and abilities are gonna work, or if you have any ideas for flavor text or how to word all the mechanics, features and abilities so they make sense, let me know!

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) -10

So here’s what happened…I wrote and rewrote this thing so many times it’s crazy. It became apparent Claudia and Myka’s conversation was pretty pivotal, and it needed space to flesh itself out but I tired to weave time in a way that meant we were going back a day in the middle of a chapter (I hope it works) so I wanted it all to go up at the same time. Then the chapter got overly long, so I split it into two for easier reading. That’s why it took so long to push this out, so sorry for the wait! Edited 11/24 and thanks so much if you are still reading!

Previously: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9

Read first if you are new! gutted/sorted and wax/wane…if/then is a continuation of those two.

//////////////////////

Myka's typing slows to a stop as Helena touches her shoulders and kneads, gently, into tense muscles. As Helena's fingers dig deeper, she leans back in her chair, and her eyes flutter closed.

“We're ready to go, are you?” Helena says.

Myka's eyes snap open, and she taps the down arrow. “I need another half an hour, tops.”

“You said that fifteen minutes ago.”

“I was wrong,” Myka says, standing, kissing Helena in apology. “Go eat. I’ll catch up.”

“But Myka, crepes!” Christina exclaims, her tone beyond anything reasonable for breakfast. But Myka's not surprised as weeks ago they watched a documentary titled “Crepes and Castles." Christina's been obsessed with both ever since.

“I know! I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. You go ahead. Mine will have to wait.”

“Must you finish this very minute?” Helena asks.

“I really, really should,” Myka answers, smiling at Helena's mopish tone as she's clearly allying with Christina for effect. Helena knows she has obligations to fulfill even though the sale’s off, they discussed it briefly last night. "If I’d gotten up earlier, I’d be done by now, but someone wouldn’t let me.”

Myka fusses with Helena’s collar and folds it under, then smooths it flat. Helena looks down as a flush creeps across her cheeks.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Myka says, skimming her fingers over the sides of Helena’s arms, leaning forward until her lips nearly touch Helena's ear. “I'm happy I stayed."

“Ugh, you two. My teeth are rotting all the way over here,” Claudia groans and looks at Christina. "No one’s getting crepes if you don’t get outta here soon. Come give your Aunt Claudia a hug.”

Christina barrels across the room and latches onto Claudia, who's lounging full-length across the couch.

“Sorry to miss the eats, but I got places to be."

“I know. You came to see your friend’s supercomputer.”

“I came to check up on your mom.” Claudia winks at Christina then narrows her eyes at Helena.

“Any thrilling revelations?”

“Nah. You’re pretty boring.”

“Boring and saccharine.”

“Double whammy,” Claudia says and turns back to Christina. "I’ll meet you later, and we’ll climb that tower.”

“Bridge,” Christina corrects.

“You said tower.”

“It is a rather well-known landmark, or have you not heard of it?" Helena points out.

“Smartypants,” Claudia says and sticks out her tongue. “Maybe we’ll lock her in the keep, just for fun.”

“Tower Bridge doesn’t have a keep. A keep is the stronghold of a castle. We learned that on the show,” Myka says, flashing a self-satisfied smile.

“Can we go to a castle with a keep?” Christina pleads.

“I bet the Tower of London does,” Myka says. “If there’s time, maybe we can go there after.”

Myka's smile withers at the sight of Helena's scolding eyes.

Christina shuffles towards Myka with her head hung low. “I want you to come with us now,” she says, wrapping her arms around Myka’s leg.

“I wish I could, sweetie, but Leena needs these files. And you need to eat before your batteries run out. You want them fully charged for today.”

“Please…"

Christina’s absurdly round puppy-dog eyes nearly sway Myka's resolve, but she holds firm. “Go with your mom.”

Christina looks down and pouts.

“Am I not a suitable breakfast date?” Helena asks.

“Yeah. But you didn't see the show.”

“I do recall an in-depth description over the phone. Why don’t we send photos and include Myka in the commentary.”

“I’d like that,” Myka says, smiling in a way she hopes placates Christina.

Christina’s pout wavers then recedes, and Myka breathes a sigh of relief.

“Put your coat on, love,” Helena says and lifts her own from the arm of the couch.

“I’ll finish sooner if I can,” Myka says, snatching Helena’s coat and holding it out for her to slip into. Helena spins around and lifts her arms up and Myka threads them through the sleeves. Myka buttons a few buttons then steps back, admiring the dashing figure Helena cuts in the garment.

“Full service this morning,” Helena says, sliding her hands into her pockets and posing for Myka’s benefit.

“Don’t forget your umbrella,” Myka says. She grabs the handle leaning up against the couch and hands it to Helena.

“Mom, come on!” Christina cries and grabs Helena by the wrist.

“Off we go,” Helena quips as she’s pulled away.

As the door closes, Myka steps towards the desk but slips on something underfoot. She bends down and picks up a white card then reads it's raised black text.

“Who's Bonnie Belski?” she asks.

“Bonnie who?" Claudia says.

“Belski.”

"Beats me. Where’d you find that?”

“Here,” Myka points to a spot very recently occupied by Helena.

“Must be H.G.’s. What else does it say?"

“There's an email and a number and...” Myka flips the card over and scowls at a second number scribbled in pen. She resumes her spot at the desk and types the name into her browser.

“Oh no,” she says, shaking her head, slumping back in her chair. “No way."

“No what?” Claudia says, hopping off the couch and scurrying behind her.

“Her.” Myka clicks on an image to enlarge.

“Wowsa. Who’s the glamazon?”

“One of the owners of the bar Helena works at. One who hits on her.”

“Ooooh, someone's jealous," Claudia jabs.

Myka scowls.

"It's no biggie. People hit on H.G. all-the-time. She’s like ‘whatevs.'”

“There’s just something about her, something familiar.”

Myka's seen what Claudia's referring to, but for some reason, this woman strikes an unsettling chord. She scrolls through images, and one, in particular, jumps out. "There. That’s Mrs. Frederic’s gallery.”

“And that’s her at some other art thing,” Claudia says, pointing at an adjacent photo.

“That’s Mrs. Frederic’s, too. I recognize the artist.” Myka clicks on the image and reads the caption. “It’s from an art fair, the one I was at this summer, in Basel.”

Did she meet Bonnie there? Maybe even talk to her? The same artist had a few pieces at Vanessa’s booth. She continues scrolling through, searching for other shots, but unfortunately finds none. But there are scores of others featuring Bonnie front and center, smiling the same, practiced smile at the opening of the bar, at a reception after a show, at a party on a boat...

“Claud, what exactly did Helena tell you about working for Macpherson?”

Myka continues scrolling as she waits for an answer then looks up at Claudia.

“Bit of a non-sequitur.”

“I guess. Humor me."

Claudia crosses her arms over her chest and squares her stance. “She sold old stuff to rich people and didn’t ask questions cos the bucks were rolling in. Then her wrists got slapped and boom, she’s deported.”

“Does that sound like the Helena you know?”

“You’re just now figuring out the whole thing’s hinky?”

“No, but…you’ve known her longer me. I jumped in the end.”

“I missed a lot of stuff when things weren’t cool between us. I know times were tough and she'd do anything for the kid.” Claudia looks down and shuffles a foot.

“It’s not your fault she got into this mess.”

“If I was less of a dick about Giselle, about a lot of things, she wouldn’t have been so dumb.”

“You don’t know that for sure."

“Yeah,” Claudia says. Her eyes go distant as if caught in a memory, then she tips her chin at Myka’s screen. “So what’s MacPherson got to do with babezilla?”

“Nothing, probably. Hopefully. But after seeing her here,” Myka says, pointing to Bonnie at the gallery, "I feel there’s a connection.”

“How?”

“This is going to sound crazy," Myka says, studying the photo before continuing. It’s odd she doesn’t recognize anyone but Bonnie but notes it was taken last year. There are repeat faces at the art fair, so maybe Bonnie knows the artist, or maybe, just maybe, she's being paranoid. “On second thought, it’s too crazy.”

“Aw, come on. Spill.” Claudia pulls up a chair and twirls it around then sits, legs straddling the back.

Myka thinks on this; Claudia’s involved, too, by proximity, but should she betray Helena's trust? Keeping secrets is what got Helena into this in the first place, so fewer secrets might be prudent in the long run. And the secret she’s keeping now—Helena meeting with Mrs. Frederic to keep her in Mrs. Frederic's good graces—is her fault. Helena would have steered clear if Myka wasn't involved.

“What if Bonnie's keeping tabs on Helena for Mrs. Frederic.”

“Blondie, a spy? Why? You said your boss was cool with H.G."

“I think she is."

“’Think’?"

“I…” Myka chews her bottom lip, holding on to Claudia’s questioning gaze. Maybe it’s better if Claudia knows so she’s not blindsided if something goes awry.

“Please don’t tell Helena I told you this.”

“Scouts honor," Claudia says, holding up two fingers.

Myka stares at Claudia’s fingers and takes a deep breath. “Helena told me she's been meeting secretly with Mrs. Frederic to help fight MacPherson’s appeal. I don't think she'd be of interest unless she was more involved with MacPherson than she said."

“I looked for dirt on ‘Emily Lake’ when H.G. went public.”

“And?”

“Nada. And I dug deep, which is sketchy as hell. As far as the internet’s concerned, Emily Lake doesn't exist.”

“I tried, too. Same here,” Myka says, with obvious annoyance. "Maybe we weren’t looking in the right places. My anonymous source gave me some research tips that could help. Maybe we should try again.“

“Bummer about that, by the way. H.G. said your sale’s off.” Claudia lays a hand on Myka’s shoulder. "I know you were banking on that bank to get over here, but something will work out.”

“Yeah,” Myka says, and looks down at the floor to fend off thoughts of disappointment.

“So these tips?”

“Right. A mix of rumors and facts, stuff like movements of shipments, patterns of certain buyers, historical documents. Through those, they could predict a client’s actions.“

“Creepy. How’d they find all this stuff?”

“My guess? It’s what they do, professionally."

“Like a narc?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Myka says, feeling a little uneasy about her participation after saying it out loud. She was so focused, she didn't question the information, but she’s beginning to understand where Sally’s paranoia stems from.

"What’d you do with the info?”

“I pieced it together with decades of notes from previous researchers. This thing had been lost and found, on and off the market a million times since the 50’s.”

And suddenly it hits her, why everything’s been kept under wraps, that she’s a pawn in a larger game being played with or without her participation. And maybe she shouldn't have been so forthright because now she’s dragged Claudia into it all. Helena did say the business "twists you about and pits you against your allies,” but the question is, are her allies who she thinks they are? She swings around to face Claudia.

“I don’t know why I told you that. I shouldn’t have told you that. I haven’t told Helena. Please don’t tell her, or anyone, I told you any of this.”

“Mums the word,” Claudia says, in a fake British accent.

“I mean it, Claud. This is serious.”

“I know,” Claudia says, dropping her antics. “That’s a lot of stuff to keep under wraps. H.G. shouldn’t have put those meetings on you.”

“She didn’t. I dragged them out of her.”

“I mean she shouldn't have kept them from you in the first place."

"It’s…complicated,” Myka says, looking down at her hands. Claudia doesn’t know about Helena’s connection with Sally’s brother, or that Sally ousted Helena to Myka, or that—

“H.G., complicated? Totally. But you?” Claudia says. “You’re a straight shooter. You don't play those games."

Myka’s stomach churns. Claudia’s right...what has she gotten herself into?

“Look, I’m as much a part of this as you two, with the kid and all. You gotta keep me in the loop."

“Helena won’t like it. She says the less I know, the better.”

“H.G. can suck it. Don’t tell her I know.”

Claudia looks at Myka’s screen, then reaches across and clicks the down arrow, scrolling through photos of Bonnie.

“Scoot over. Lemme look something up.”

Myka moves to the side, and Claudia types the name of a store into the browser.

Myka raises a brow. “Hey, I buy stuff from there.”

“What you two do in the bedroom is none of my beeswax.”

“Not, like, racy stuff. They have bras that fit me.”

“TMI,” Claudia mumbles, holding up a hand while scouring the index of garments. As her scrolling slows, she clicks on a thumbnail, and a lacy negligee opens on a larger page. “Bingo!"

Myka gasps. “How did you…”

“I work with a lot of dudes, ok? You do not want to know what's in their browser history.”

Myka turns the laptop toward her and studies the woman pictured. Her hair is a shade darker, but there’s no question, she’s Bonnie. She navigates back to the index page and sees her featured in multiple listings, posed seductively in pink, red, taupe.

“She’s a model, and she owns a bar?”

“And she likes art. Or someone she’s into does. Gotta do something with all that cash, right? Why not impress chicks?”

Myka clicks on a particularly complicated garment, littered with straps and garters and cutouts; my god this Bonnie's leggy, and thin, and, um, busty. She shuts her laptop to stop herself from spiraling further into a hole.

“So…"

“More beach bunny bimbo than NSA, ” Claudia says, with a smirk. “I could keep digging, she what skeletons she has rattling around.”

“Thanks, but, no,” Myka says, looking down and feeling, what…defeated? Is that what it is? Did she really want there to be a connection? And if so, why? Claudia pretty much said it earlier; H.G. gets hit on all the time. Is she that insecure...

“Wait, why didn’t that come up when I searched for her?”

Claudia opens the laptop and clicks on some keys. “She models under a different name.” Claudia spins the laptop toward Myka.

“Viondra Moore?” Myka says, scowling as she skims Viondra’s Wikipedia page.

“Sexier than 'Bonnie Belski.'"

“Ugh,” Myka grunts.

Her phone dings several times and when she glances at it, multiple pictures appear, most filled with crepes, supplemented with lengthy commentary. She scrolls up, and her attention hangs on the first photo, a selfie of Helena and Christina smiling and waving in front of the restaurant. The text reads “wish you were here,” and the urgency to hurry returns.

“I better finish up and go,” she says. “Could you not mention this Bonnie thing, either, to Helena? I was hoping today could be conflict free.”

“Done and done,” Claudia says. “But you’ll do it, right? Keep me posted?"

“Yeah,” Myka says with certainty.

She obviously needs someone to keep her on the level, so maybe it’s good Claudia knows. Making mountains out of molehills seems her specialty lately.

“One more thing?” she asks. "Could you close my browser? I can't look at that woman again."

-TBC-

On to chapter 11

[hopelesslyquixotic-blog]

We’ve Acknowledged It, Now It’s Time For Change.

It’s no secret that in the past 10, even 3 years, mental illness awareness has skyrocketed in society. People know more about what causes depression, what causes anxiety, how people with depression/anxiety think/feel and how they view situations. Everyone is understanding and listening.

But no one is actively seeking out to be the difference they can be for those people.

Awareness is the first step and society is just that about mental illness; aware. But it can’t stop there. We can’t just say “it exists and I accept it” then go on with how we’ve always been our whole lives.

We need to step up and make a change.

We know that people with depression see one small negative thing, like their backpack breaking out of their control, as a devastation. A build-up of all these small things is what drive people to contemplate their life, to self-harm, and finally, take their own life. But no one wants to do anything to help these people.

I am that person. I am a person who thinks the world will end if everything is not perfect. If one thing goes wrong, I see everything else start to go wrong too. I try to do it all on my own, I try to rely on myself since I know no one else will even try to help me carry the weight I feel on my shoulders. But the truth is, I can’t carry it. I am not strong enough. I am not strong enough to deal with every single thing going wrong in my life because most of the time, all of those things are out of my control.

I hate interacting with people. I hate trying to be nice. I hate doing things for other people because throughout my whole life, no one has ever done those things for me. I just learned to avoid people altogether. It’s easier that way. I won’t get hurt, I won’t expect them to be nice to me in return, I won’t hope to whatever thing is controlling this universe that they will return the favor.

I used to think, “this is the way it is.” Just to worry about all my problems and all the shit life throws at me, alone. I never knew any better, until I started meeting people who returned the favors.

Let me get one thing straight, there were always people trying to reciprocate whatever I gave out to them, I just didn’t see it lining up with what I had done for them. I put everything on myself and tried being the best possible human being I could be, then, once I saw no one did the same, I isolated myself. I didn’t have a problem with it, still to this day I like being alone sometimes. We all need our alone time. But, back then, when the weight I had was slowly making me fall to the ground, I needed someone.

I needed someone to recognize that I was carrying this monster. I needed someone to recognize that I can’t do everything by myself. I needed someone to take some of the weight off my shoulders so I wouldn’t continue to hold myself accountable for every tiny thing that went wrong in my life. Once I found a few of those people, the rest fell into place.

Here’s the thing about depression, you feel alone. You feel like you can’t rely on ANYONE for your happiness because everything is YOUR fault.

You were late to work because someone blocked your car in without you knowing? Your fault. You should’ve realized it before.

Your friend cussed you out because you didn’t want to go out with them that night? Your fault. She’s your friend, just suck it up, even if she doesn’t hang out with you at the bar and just focuses on guys and alcohol.

These constant thoughts circled my brain; they weaved in and out of my ears all while I was trying to fight back saying, “but it doesn’t make me happy”.

That’s the life I lived for nine years, a monster in my brain screaming at me telling me it was all my fault, even when I knew it wasn’t.

Until I met people who understood the mask I was hiding behind.

They understood that I do things for other people so I don’t have to wallow in self-hatred if I don’t. They started to help me with the weight on my shoulders rather than add to it. They actually cared about my well-being because they were either people who recognized my agony from experience, or they just genuinely appreciated my presence, my energy, and most important, my friendship.

It wasn’t until people did this that I realized I was being ridiculous, that the monster screaming at me needed to finally cease once and for all. No lurking in the shadows of my subconscious waiting for a moment to strike at me like a venomous snake. No. Not anymore. Not when I had people around me who truly loved me, cared for me, and valued the person I was.

All of the realizations about my depression I’ve been coming to recently is because of these people. Because one person, whom I didn’t know, reached out and lent a helping hand.

Men, women, society, and humans as a species, need to start being those people for everyone.

No special treatment because we like someone more than others. No judgements because we assume things about people’s appearance.

No. More.

We NEED to start being the people everyone needs. Not only what society needs, but what we, you, me, your own self, need.

I use to not bat an eye at people who I saw struggling. I used to say, “they’ll learn when they experience it”.  I’m sure 99% of society says that and keeps on living their life since it has no effect on them. I’m sure of that just like I’m also sure that no one tries to relate to the said struggling person they pass by on the streets.

Let me put it in a more relatable scenario:

You’re walking out of your house and you see a single person moving into the vacant apartment/house/whatever next door. You see they’re alone, struggling with boxes, with furniture, with their whole entire life.

What would you do?

Would you just ignore them and say they’re alone for a reason? Or that they don’t need help, it looks like they have it on their own?

Or would you stop and take time to ask if they needed help with the bed frame they’re struggling to fit through the doorway? Help support the heavy box they’re close to dropping?

I used to be the person who would ignore them. I would just think, “It doesn’t affect me, why should I care?” and keep walking.

But because one person decided to catch the box of glassware before it hit the ground and shattered everything, I decided to be that person for everyone.

People don’t try and relate to anyone. That box that that person was struggling to carry probably had things in it that were important to them. A crystal vase their grandmother passed on to them before she died, a model car that reminds them of their childhood, or maybe it’s just nice glassware that they don’t have the money to replace. And people just walk away to let the person keep struggling until the box falls and all those memories and nice things turn into a billion tiny pieces scattered across the ground.

If you haven’t noticed yet, the heavy box represents someone’s mental health, someone’s baggage, someone’s monster screaming in their ear.

If you’ve been keeping up with my posts, you remember my first one. The very dark and disturbing description of what depression feels like. And you also remember me saying that you need to be that breath of fresh air for someone. This is exactly what I mean.

It takes one person to make someone’s horrible life, not so horrible. It takes one small, nice, gesture to make someone who hates themselves, and everyone else, to think “maybe we aren’t so bad after all”.

Negativity is a much stronger thing than positivity. It eats at human’s brains until they walk around with a strictly negative outlook on life; a negative sense of self, a negative self-image either on others or themselves.

Positivity is weak in the world today. It’s very rare that you hear someone talk about how happy something made them and that’s because we, as a human race, have pummeled everyone’s happy thoughts into the ground and said that they were selfish if they continuously talked about it, or that they only cared about themselves. But, that’s not true. Some people talk about good things because they want to show everyone who doesn’t have it as well that it CAN get better. That it WILL get better for them if they change the way they look on life.

I’m not saying go around and brag about all the good things in your life, too much makes people think you aren’t aware that life can get bad. Here’s a fact though; we all know life can get REALLY bad. We are all victims of falling into the deep dark pit they call adulting or “getting your shit together”.

What I’m saying is, it’s easier on everyone if you take the time to care and relate.

I’m currently moving into a new apartment and the girl across the hall from me has a pitbull who has it set. The pitbull, Riley, just wants to love every person that walks by, so she starts barking at them, wanting them to come see just how great she is. I live in a small complex, you can hear Riley barking from outside of the building. Does it get annoying? Yes. Does it make me mad sometimes when I’m trying to focus? Yes. But, I took the time to talk to the owner, I took the time to get to know why Riley barks at me as I walk past her on her break outside and I realized it’s not because she wants to kill me, or rip my throat out, it’s because she wants to lick my face and get pets and play. She wants to be loved.

You know what I found out when I started talking to the owner and petting Riley? She was JUST adopted from a rescue center. The owner is still trying to train her and keep her under control, and I saw this even just passing by as Riley barked at me. She calmed her, she told her it was okay, she apologized to me for her barking, and continued working with her new dog.

I don’t get scared of Riley or mad at the owner anymore when I see the dog barking at me, I see a loving girl trying to give a dog as much love as the dog is giving her. I see a girl trying to work with this dog because she knows it’s been through, what I’m assuming is in the dog’s perspective, pure hell.

I used to be Riley. I used to give so much love to everyone. I used to find a pretty flower I searched all day looking for, see someone who was upset, and give the flower to them to try and make their day a bit better. I wouldn’t care if I spent all day looking for it, I saw the other person needed something that made me so happy and cheerful more than I needed it.

I was still that person last December. I was still that person when I wrote my first blog post. I am still that person now.

Because I have encountered people who take time out of their day to try and get to know me, to try and help me, to try and understand why I do the things I do, or why I feel the way I feel, I have blossomed from a shy, introverted little girl who hated everyone, into an extroverted, caring, helpful, strong woman who sees beauty in everything.

I have realized I am not a good person just to make others happy; I am a good person because being a good person makes me happy. I see how much of an affect I have on others when I do the smallest things, like try and get to know a new neighbor struggling with a new dog by herself.

This is what society needs to realize. This is what will start a revolution for those who struggle with mental illness; not only mental illness, but those who struggle in general.

Like I said, we’ve done an awesome job realizing that mental illness is real. It is not made up, it can be treated, it can be seen with scientific tools and seen in the chemicals in our brains.

But it’s up to us if we want to continue down the path of progress. If we want to keep progressing to a better future, a better place for everyone to live together, we need to start making changes individually.

Because, from what I’ve experienced, it only takes one person to start a chain reaction.

[welcometocaritas]

CHAPTER 4 IS UP!

Title: The Ghosts of What Happened

Characters: Marina Andrieski, Julia Wicker

Pairing: Julia/Marina

Fandom: The Magicians, Hannibal

Format: Multi-Chap

Summary:  

Reynard’s gone. It’s the first thing she notices when they pop back into Marina’s apartment. The next is the body. Marina, sprawled unceremoniously in the center of the carpet, eyes closed, lips parted with blood.

links: A03,  FF.Net

So I’m sorry for the late update. My anxiety’s been running me ragged. I’ve been editing and re-editing this chapter again and again. I still hate it but I’ve decided to bite the bullet and post because otherwise I don’t think I ever will. Anyway, apologies in advance for the crappy chapter.

Also for those readers who haven’t seen Hannibal, Garret Jacob Hobbs was Abigail’s dad. You know, that lovely guy who decided to shoot for parent of the year by trying to her. Fun times.

Another week, another let’s fuck with Julia episode. Raise your hand if your uncomfortable with the fact that this is yet another thing that’s been forced on Julia without her consent? And as a consequence (punishment) for getting an abortion? That said, it’s nice to see her smiling for a change.

Trigger Warnings: Very brief description of rape (about a sentence), violence/gore, panic attack

Weakness

noun

the fact or state of not being strong or powerful

a particular part or quality of someone or something that is not good or effective

a strong liking, usually for something that might have unpleasant or unwanted effects

...

"My worst enemy is my memory."

- Unknown

. . .

"Lie down," Marina says, tone perhaps a little more commanding than the situation warrants. She's used to ordering people around and being obeyed in equal measure. But exerting that kind of power over Julia at the moment is probably the last thing she should be doing.

The other woman only looks at her with confusion, though, and the beginnings of suspicion. "Why?"

She thinks about softening her voice, of extending reassurances - she knows how to play the part, even if it doesn't fit quite right - but that might just throw Julia off more. Add weight to her misgivings. The unfamiliar is a source of discontent, not to be trusted. Best not to coddle her too much then.

"Because you don't want to be standing when this spell knocks you out. You'll be asleep for a few hours, probably more, and that sounds like something that would be best carried out in a bed."

Brusque, to the point and Julia nods, seeming to accept that. "And when I wake up, I won't remember anything?"

"That's the drill." Marina hesitates. "There's a catch, though." And she's been thinking about it ever since Julia confessed what she wanted from her. Mulling it over, brainstorming various loopholes and ultimately scratching them out. Mostly, she's been trying to determine how best to tell Julia - and what her reaction might be. "Doing this will involve sifting through the memories you want gone, in order to get the right ones."

Julia blinks. "So that means you'll. . ."

Marina doesn't leave her to flounder. "I'll see everything, yeah. And so will you. Basically it's gonna get worse before it gets better."

The shower did wonders in cleansing Julia of the tears, blood and various other bodily fluids the day had left her with but there was no scrubbing away that sallow look to her skin. She's alarmingly pale, especially given her natural olive complexion. As Marina's words sink in, the little color that's left in her face escapes in a rush and she's not sure if she's about to pass out, or vomit. Again.

She puts a hand out just in case.

Doesn't touch.

The moment stretches on.

When it ends, a shutter has fallen over Julia's face, locking the emotions away from Marina's prying gaze. Her stance hardens and her jaw clenches.

She knows the answer before it comes.

"Do it."

The color still hasn't returned to her face.

"Julia, are you sure you want to-"

She doesn't let her finish. "I said do it. You owe me that much."

Her voice is as stony as her expression, hard, impenetrable, utterly without remorse.

Marina withdraws at the words, itching to lash out, wound. The standard response. But her quarry has already been struck, butchered, so she forces the urge down, just this once.

Taking a deep breath, she resolves to be kind.

Well, kind for her.

She knew how to be once. She can bring that back. Just for a little while. For julia.

(why? Why for Julia?)

But not because she owes her.

"Fine." The word is toxic, scorching her throat on the way out. Her pride burns. "Whatever. Just lie the fuck down already. I'd like to be out of here by morning."

The brunette says nothing, only approaches the bed with impassive silence. Her actions are rigid with tension and strain as she lowers herself down. Marina hovers, ready, just in case.

Julia has started to shake.

…

"People always talk about how hard it can be to remember things - where they left their keys, or the name of an acquaintance - but no one ever talks about how much effort we put into forgetting. I am exhausted from the effort to forget... There are things that have to be forgotten if you want to go on living."

― Stephen Carpenter, Killer

…

Julia gives it a few minutes after hearing the shower stop before coming back into the bedroom. It's a good call because Marina is only just sliding the black singlet over her head when she enters - she left the 'pajamas' from yesterday outside the bathroom door before going to check that Martin wasn't about to burn down her apartment. As her bare back disappears from sight, Julia's gaze gravitates up to her throat. No longer hidden by the turtleneck, inflamed patches of red mottle the pale skin with distressing contrast.

She looks away.

Marina, for her part, ignores her presence entirely.

"I was going to make dinner. You want something?"

"I'm fine."

Spurning her offer of food, she collapses onto Julia's side of the bed - an obvious slight - and refuses to budge thereafter. Not exactly the response she was hoping for. She tries again, this time trying to tempt her with ordering pizza, which she knows to be the older woman's weakness, but it does nothing to rouse her.

Julia sighs and starts calculating the benefits of rest vs food when recovering from a near death experience.

After a few minutes of tense silence pass, she decides that the benefits of not poking a sleeping bear far outweigh those of either food or rest.

Though, as far as sleeping goes, she suspects Marina's is more or less feigned. She's too stiff, too harsh in her breathing. In all honesty, she doesn't even seem to be at rest. But she keeps her back to Julia and refuses to acknowledge her - and she has to assume that poking a bear that's pretending to be asleep just so you'll go the fuck away is just as bad as poking one that's actually asleep.

So she gives up, leaves the room and goes to make some dinner that she isn't hungry for. The food will taste like ash in her mouth, she already knows, but she skipped lunch and sustenance is a necessity if she plans on having enough strength to kill Reynard.

(and how the fuck are you going to do that, now that he has the knife?)

She sits on the couch with Martin and spends an hour and a half picking away at a slice of toast - one loaded with enough marmite to give even her sorry tastebuds a stir. They watch Gilmore Girls reruns for a while - he's scarily into it - and twice she talks him down from paying either of the actresses a surprise visit. Imagining the kind of headlines that would cause only worsens her headache and she ends up escaping to the bathroom for some aspirin and a shower. Someone has left cracks in the mirror and she traces them with a sigh. Probably Marina. There was that suspect noise she heard this morning whilst she was in there and if it had been Martin he would have taken pains to rub it in her face by now.

The mirror heals under her touch, surface returning to its unblemished state. As though it was never hurt in the first place.

If only everything could be that easy to fix.

By the time she returns to the bedroom, Marina's act seems to have ceased and she looks to have fallen into a deep sleep. Pushing down a surge of envy, she changes and climbs into bed, succumbing to exhaustion not an hour later.

    . . .

"This is the moment I realize that our traumas never really go away. They live inside of us, in the deepest darkest pits of our own tiny hells. Cocked and loaded, waiting for someone to come along and pull the trigger."

― A. Zavarelli, Crow

. . .

She's back in her apartment. Cupcake's mutilated body bleeding all over her lap - heart still beating - her hands working behind her, fingers weaving -

If she can just -

And he's there, a lightning flash of movement, iron hand crushing hers, yanking, up, up, up -

She cries out.

Wrenching pain. Something coming away. Her finger. Her fucking finger.

Release. Her hand, hers again

She cradles it against her chest, pumping blood, blood, blood . . .

"So much more fun to be had."

That voice.

(don 't look up, don't look up, don't look up)

She looks up and the image shifts. It isn't Reynard. Not Reynard at all. That smile is his.

She scrambles back as far as the chair will allow, pushes, pushes, pushes until blood vessels break under pressure.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening. Dead is dead is dead.

Garret Jacob Hobbs approaches, blood running from his mouth, her severed finger diving in for another bite.

Chewing, he reaches out for her face, palming her wet cheek, thumb stroking bitten lips.

"Shh, I'm going to make it all go away."

The sob tears her chest apart. She can't contain it.

He wipes a tear away with his thumb. Such regret, such sorrow in those eyes.

Such hunger.

The scene morphs, bleeds into the past.

And she's back in that kitchen.

Something sharp and cold digging into her neck.

What happens next is inevitable.

She knows it is.

And still she begs.

Still she hopes.

She cries and she pleads until the blood drowns her.

It always does.

. . .

"But the fact is, dreams catch us with our armor off." ― Victoria Schwab, The Unbound

. . .

It's still dark out when Julia opens her eyes and she fumbles for a moment, disoriented. Why is she awake?

Not a nightmare. Not this time. No, she suffered through that earlier in the night already. It didn't feel right asking Marina to cast that spell on her again, requesting her help after everything that happened. In truth, she's just relieved the other hedge witch didn't kick her out of her own bed in a fit of spite.

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.

And maybe Marina would have evicted her, if she wasn't so clearly exhausted. The day had definitely worn her down. She might not even have been able to manage the spell, drained as she was.

There's a buzzing in her ear. High key, insistent. Almost frantic.

She attempts to shake it away and, with some hesitance, it lowers to a smothered keen. Blinking, she tries to orient herself, wondering if it's some weird version of tinnitus that's the culprit for waking her up.

Sudden movement disturbs that train of thought. The bed shifting, sheets tugging against her in protest.

A low, distorted mumbling finds her hearing.

Glancing over, she's able to make out the body of the woman beside her - and that it seems to be in distress.

Is she awake? Facing away as Marina is, Julia can't tell. But she's not sleeping peacefully, that much is plain.

"No, please."

The groan stills her thoughts and she hesitates, not knowing what to do.

A nightmare? It only makes sense, after the day she's had.

Reynard has a habit of disturbing people's sleep.

"Marina?" she whispers, not sure yet if she wants to wake her. Sometimes that can be worse. The memory of the dream stays with you then, rather then disappearing into the night as mercy sometimes allows. "Are you awake?"

The body twists beside her, more muffled noises but otherwise no response. Definitely asleep then. Chewing her lip, she wonders if Marina would thank her for waking her, or if she would just get her head bitten off for the effort.

What is she saying? This is Marina, of course it would be the latter.

She sighs and considers leaving it, rolling over and going back to sleep. Selfish but tempting. Maybe even what Marina would prefer - to be able to believe that this moment of 'weakness' escaped Julia's notice.

Though the odds of falling back into blissful unconsciousness are pitiful at best.

A noise.

OK, that sounded like a sob.

"Daddy, please."

And it triggers something in her memory, something she can't quite grasp. A phantom left over from That Night.

She hasn't thought about it since. The murder. The r-

that.

Those things are clear in her mind. Crystal, sharp enough to cut. But after that, events start to blur, become hazy. As if her brain just gave up, stopped trying to process space and time. It's hard seeing through the haze to make out what really happened, reminds her of how sometimes she'll look at the clock and realize whole hours have gone by without her noticing - and that she has no idea what happened in them. There are gaps in her life now that aren't caused by any spell (she checked).

Missing chunks of her she may never get back.

Julia can't find it in her to care.

This thing that tugs at her now is even more dreamlike and she can't be sure that the thread she's pulling at is real and not imaginary.

It just . . . It feels like Marina's words should mean something to her.

But they don't.

Either way, going back to sleep is no longer an option.

"Marina." No response. She tries again, a little louder. "Marina."

Again, nothing. But now she can definitely make out the telltale chokes and gasps of somebody crying.

Julia swallows, something hot and sticky ensnaring her chest. "Marina."

When her voice still fails to get the job done, she reaches out a hand. "Fuck it." Clasping the woman's shoulder, she gives it a gentle squeeze-

And jumps back just in time as Marina springs up, gasping, choking and heaving as she struggles for breath. Even in the limited light, Julia can make out the wide, desperate eyes and the gleam of wetness on her cheeks.

That snare in her chest tightens, strangling the muscle within.

Trying to steady her breathing, she waits for Marina to calm, for the shock to wear off and awareness to set in - that sudden break from nightmare to reality can be slow to come, not to mention jarring - but it never does. She just continues to fight for breath. Flailing hands find her throat, grasping, fumbling, checking for something. Her chest heaves, sharper now, and Julia recognizes the signs of hyperventilation from growing up with a sister with generalized anxiety.

Panic attack.

Since she got her memories back, she's been suffering them herself, though it took her a while to label them as such. They come on at the slightest trigger and most of the time she doesn't even know what that trigger is. It's like walking barefoot on a floor covered with broken glass and she can't look down to see where not to step. When the glass pierces her skin, what little control she has left disappears in a torrent of blood. She'll try to fight it, to yank her foot off the shard but something fastens her there, drives the piece further in.

All she can do is wait to be released, wait for the nightmare to end.

Again.

For her body to return to being hers and not just some weapon to be used against her.

It makes the suffering numbness she usually goes about her day in seem like paradise.

Julia shakes her head, drags herself back to the present.

"It's okay. You're okay," she says for the second time that night, wonders how a lie can come so easily.

Marina shakes her head, not seeing her. "I can't breathe."

"Look at me, Marina. Look at me." She wants to reach out to her, to take her face in her hands and lock their gazes together; to anchor her. But she's aware that contact can do more harm than good sometimes, and she doesn't know Marina's boundaries. She's never seen her like this, never thought she would.

Not even when she woke up after Julia healed her was she this terrified, this out of control.

It takes a few more attempts but eventually she turns, wide eyes locking on Julia's face. She still doesn't know if Marina's really seeing her, though. "I want you to take a deep breath in with me, OK? Deep into your stomach."

She may not be able to wrestle her way out of her own panic attacks but at least she has some experience in helping others out of theirs.

She shakes her head, panic rising. "I-"

"You can do this, Marina. You're the strongest person I know, just focus on me." Eyes still wide, she manages what might be a nod between gasps. "Alright, deep breath in."

Julia breathes in, waiting for Marina to do the same. She relaxes slightly when, after a moment, Marina inhales her own shaky, little breath.

It's a start.

1, 2, 3, 4

Julia exhales, nodding encouragingly at her to do the same. She does and, although she's still shaking and panicked, Julia can see that she at least has her attention, and is holding it. That can be the hardest part.

1, 2, 3, 4

"Breathe in."

They breathe in unison.

1, 2, 3, 4

"And out."

1, 2, 3, 4

"And in."

1, 2, 3, 4

This continues for a few minutes. Julia places a hand on her own stomach to demonstrate the rise and fall and eases slightly when Marina shakily does the same. It's been a long time since she's done this for someone, can only vaguely remember some of the techniques, but thankfully it seems to be working. Marina's taut body is gradually beginning to sag as intelligence returns to her gaze.

It's going to be okay now.

(it 'll never be okay)

Marina is the one who stops it, breaking their stare and looking away as she shuffles back.

"I'm okay." She won't meet her eyes. Julia can't blame her.

"It's alright. I get them, too." The words feel as heavy as lead to heave out of her mouth and just as poisonous/dangerous. She wants to recoil at the vulnerability they reveal, to force them back down and pretend.

There's shame, too, despite her assurance. Logically, she knows there's nothing to be ashamed of. She understands the physical process, the nervous systems and chemicals involved. That it's not her fault her fight-or-flight response is working over time and fucking up as a result; that her amygdala has chosen now to become a hyperactive little shit.

It's not her fault.

But it still makes her feel weak. And she hates being weak in front of Marina. In front of anyone, really. But especially her.

However, given what she's just witnessed, it feels only fair that Marina have this piece of information, if only so she's not the only one bearing her belly. This sudden, uneven power between them must have her uneasy and Julia doesn't want her to see claws poised to strike where there aren't any.

And she owes her.

Silence. Face still determinedly turned away.

Julia tries again. "Yesterday was shit. It only makes sense that your body would respond to that." That you would dream of Reynard. Except, she wasn't dreaming of Reynard - 'Daddy, please'. Julia swallows. "It's not something to be ashamed of."

It doesn 't make you weak.

Or maybe it does. Julia doesn't know anymore.

If their roles were reversed, weak is exactly how she would be feeling right now. Maybe not if it was Quentin or her sister, but in front of Marina?

Yeah, she gets why the other hedge won't meet her gaze.

A scoff. "I'm fine. And I don't want to talk about it, okay, so shut up."

At some point in the night, Marina's pajamas reverted back to their original form and they now swamp her thin frame - no surprise, considering they once belonged to James. It has the effect of making her look smaller than she is, fragile. Like she needs to be protected.

Julia knows this is anything but true.

- 'You're the strongest person I know'-

Desperation might have driven the declaration from her but it weighs heavy with truth nonetheless. Whatever Marina's faults, weakness isn't one of them.

But even the strong can be hurt.

"Yeah. Cool. Whatever." Julia doesn't really want to talk about it either. Though she would be lying if she said she isn't curious (concerned).

Marina closes her eyes and breathes out through her nose, a heavy gust of frustration. "I'm fine, I just want to forget about it, okay. Forget it happened, forget that you saw it happen."

"Forget what happened?"

Marina looks at her, blinks. For the longest time she says nothing but then a faint twitch of her lips breaks through, not quite a smile but a victory nonetheless. There might even bit a sliver of appreciation in her voice when she says, "Alright then."

She lays back down, shuffling further under the covers. Julia can't help but notice the way she still trembles, how her hands clench tight around the sheets, tight enough to be painful.

But she says nothing, instead proceeding to settle herself.

That Marina is once more facing away from her, can't be an accident and she takes the hint for what it is - the need for distance, for the barrier to once again right itself between them.

Blinking back sleep from her eyes, she tries to calm the unease in her gut. It's just Marina. She shouldn't care this much.

Marina who hurt her, who cast her out into the cold and then murdered Kady's mum.

Marina who came when she called, without question. Who was there for her that night and erased all evidence and memories of horror without cost.

Marina who may have just been triggered into a panic attack because of her. Who has lost a finger and a cat all because Julia forgot that you can have a genius IQ and still be so fucking stupid.

Summoning a God level stupid.

In the next moment she finds herself reaching out, hesitant at first but then determined. Marina's good hand is resting at her side, on top of the covers. Julia covers it with her own, light, easy to escape.

A flinch jolts the appendage and she holds her breath.

Minutes drag by but the hand doesn't pull away. Ever so slowly, the stiffness begins to melt and she waits until it becomes lax in her grip.

Victory.

Exhaling, she gives the hand a small squeeze. Doesn't feel one back.

That's OK.

Gratitude and guilt could explain this. But it's not that. At least, not completely. She doesn't know what it is. Only that the hand in hers somehow matters beyond the constraints of debt and atonement.

Whatever it is, it's not something she can afford to think about now. Maybe not ever.

Closing her eyes, she prays that the coming days will be kinder, knowing no god is listening.

. . .

"Sometimes, reaching out and taking someone's hand is the beginning of a journey. At other times, it is allowing another to take yours."

― Vera Nazarian

  . . .

"Memory gives moments immortality, but forgetfulness promotes a healthy mind. It is good to forget."

- Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal

. . .

When Marina was ten, her family went to a visiting carnival. It was alive with rides of all shapes and sizes, colors whizzing by, lights dancing in the night. She she was so excited that she forgot to be scared for once, demanding that her dad take her on all of them. Unable to deny her anything but life, he caved within thirty seconds.

It was a mistake.

Sure, some of the rides were tame enough to be fun. The ferris wheel, bumper cars, the scrambler, even one of the roller coasters. But the rest were a recipe for disaster.

Because here's the thing, Marina hates being out of control. It's a feeling that's only intensified with time but she can't remember a point where it didn't exist at some level. And that's basically all amusement park rides are. You get on, strap in, and the rest is out of your hands. The next however many minutes belong to the controller. You can't control the pace, you can't stop, you can't get out. And that powerlessness overwhelms the thrill of the rush.

It's a nightmare.

One ride she went on involved a hell of a lot of spinning, stopping and false starts. It jostled her around and threw her up and down until she clung to her dad's hand, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded for it to be over. Taking a trip through Julia's mind is not unlike that, complete with near debilitating motion sickness and an unfortunate case of vertigo that comes and goes - it's a rougher ride than normal, no doubt the result of the emotional and mental state of the host. Only difference is, there's no safety bar to hold onto or father to clutch. As they spin in and out of the caverns of Julia's memory, she more than once finds herself reaching out to the other woman to steady herself.

Always, she retracts at the last moment. Before contact can ever be made.

The only moments of blessed, disorienting stillness are when they stop on a particular memory for inspection. These are just short breaks, however, as most of them prove too unpleasant to stick around for more than a second or two.

There's a peak into a scene with Julia and some man - wait, is that Richard? Of course he added Julia to his band of little lost ducklings - fucking in bed. She rolls her eyes but Julia grows pale, looks even sicker, and has to turn away.

"Forward?"

"Forward."

She pulls out of the scene and immediately the memories are rushing past again. Too fast. Too far.

That's Marina herself coming in through the door. Julia stumbling, her racing to catch her in time.

She pulls them out. Back, back, back . . .

There's a man on top of Julia, grunting, holding her in place as she struggles-

Marina flicks her hand, the image disappears, and she puts a hand out just in time to support the real Julia as she sways. She doesn't think she's ever seen her so pale, even right before they started this little mind trip.

She wants to continue, to get it all over with, like ripping off a bandaid, but senses that it's too much too fast. That anymore right now and she might break Julia's mind in half. It can happen.

A whisper of words and the world becomes utterly still as darkness takes its place. A respite.

For too long, the Julia only stares sightlessly ahead, and even though the memory is gone, for her it's still probably playing out, in perfect clarity. Again and again. She knows the look. Seen it on others. Has worn it herself more than once.

Marina waits.

And waits.

Debates how long she can keep the spell in place. She might have worked hard to master it during her time at Brakebills - figured it would come in handy if she was ever accused of murder again - but it's not one she's performed since and she's out of practice. Professor Van Der Weghe could manage it with far greater elegance and speed. He knew how to not only erase but to glean the particulars of a person's mind and weave a story with those shadowy threads. A believable story. Though even he got it wrong sometimes.

Marina only knows one way and it's crude at best. To travel back through the memories you up for erasure and put a pin in where you want the new ones to start. Then you manipulate the subconscious to fill in the gaps with an alternative version of events, preferably something the subject won't question. And if you're not a professor who's done it a thousand times, it leaves more room for mistakes. So she's taken Julia along for the ride to collaborate with her. She'll leave it up to her to decide the lie Marina will use to cover the truth with. It has to be as believable as possible, no holes, or Julia, stubborn, questioning Julia, will find them and tear them apart.

And they'll be right back where they started.

It's unfortunate that this way just so happens to be more traumatic.

"If wanting to forget this makes me weak, I don't care."

The confession is hoarse, cracked. It rips the silence apart.

Marina startles. She was starting to get used to the idea that Julia might never speak again, was even beginning to formulate a plan B (it was pretty lousy).

She considers the words for a moment, rolling them over in her mind and trying to determine the best course of action.

- 'You're such a bitch.'

'And you're weak!'-

It's a shock to realize that she doesn't want to be a bitch or for Julia to think that she's weak. Not when it comes to this.

"My father killed my mother."

She just kind of blurts it out, before she can stop herself. Knows it's the only way she'll ever work the secret free.

It's safe to do so, she knows it's safe. Even if her enchantment is somehow broken, Julia won't be able to remember this nauseating mindtrip. If the memory of it remains at all, it will be no better than a distant dream, distorted, fading, impossible to grasp.

It's safe.

It doesn't feel safe.

Julia glances up at her, some surprise breaking through the dead expression.

Marina tries not to see her. "Cut her throat. Right before he cut mine." She swallows, hand itching to come up, to check. A reflex she's never quite been able to shake.

Said aloud, it sounds like something out of a horror movie - or at least an episode of CSI. Not something that actually happens in real life. Or if it does, it's some poor distant stranger you hear about on the news. Someone who might as well be a character in a movie. But it doesn't happen to you.

Only it does. It happens. It happened.

It seems even more out of place in a world of magic, where even murders are tied up in the fantastical. But serial killers? Unenchanted knives? It's a bizarre crossing of genres.

But serial killers were the norm for her once, as mundane as the lesser demons and fairies that haunt your local safe house. More than that, they were her world - as surely as magic is now.

But they don't fit in this one.

No, it is another girl she speaks of. Another girl left behind in another world.

So why is she trying to bring her across into this one?

(for Julia)

Of course.

That really needs to fucking stop.

Silence stretches on. She thinks Julia's not going to say anything, then, "How did you survive?"

Another girl, another world.

"The police were there. An agent shot him. Took a couple of tries to get the job done. Luckily there was a man there who had some medical training. He saved my life. And when I woke up next I was in a hospital, both my parents were dead, and everything as I knew it was over." The words grate against her throat, each one is like a nail she has to pull loose, and she imagines she can almost taste the blood by the end of it. Somehow, though, her voice remains steady, even blank.

(not her, not her, not her)

Julia watches her, waiting for her to continue maybe. She doesn't for a long time.

"My dad killed my mum. And then he tried to kill me. If I could have forgotten that back then I would have have. But I couldn't." And in some ways that's best. She doesn't ever want to forget who her dad really was, how everyone is just waiting to reveal the monster inside. "I had to learn to live with it and I did. Doesn't mean you should, too."

It doesn 't mean you're weak.

Or maybe it does. But not in a way that can be used to hurt you.

Because Marina doesn't feel stronger for the things she can't forget. Stronger for surviving them, maybe. But the memories are a source of pain no matter how many layers of iron she walls around them. They can make her weak. Just as they warn her of the dangers hidden around every corner, the monsters lurking behind benevolent eyes, they can just as easily turn against her.

It's a precarious balance.

Julia stares at her. Maybe believing it, maybe not. She can't tell. For the first time since she's known her, the younger woman is unreadable. "Why are you telling me this?"

"It's not like you're going to remember any of it." It's true and it's not. It's easier to admit than the fact that she cares. Cares more than she should. Maybe a little too much.

(far too much)

"Right." Julia nods, still staring. "Thanks."

If it's a staring contest, Marina's willing to lose for once. She breaks away, looks back out into the darkness.

"Ready to dive back in?"

The answer is slow in coming but certain.

"Yeah."

Through some uncommon mercy, the scene they arrive on is free of both violence and sex. The alter set up in the corner of the room, the Free Traders gathered near it in a circle, frozen in time, in hope. Completely unaware of the trap they're about to trip, the bar that will slam down just as they grasp that longed for cheese.

As a child, she would rise after everyone had fallen asleep and hunt down the various mousetraps her parents set out for that night. It was her mission to disarm them, to end the needless slaughter. She feared the crushed little bodies the traps would leave behind if she didn't, hated to watch them be so carelessly discarded in the trash. And given the intelligence and emotional capacity of mice - she read once that they were such social creatures that, like humans, they could become anxious and depressed when isolated; they even had empathy! - it just didn't seem right. If they had to die, they deserved a better death. Something that would honor them.

She thinks her dad might have suspected but he never told - even then they knew how to keep each other's secrets. Her mum definitely knew given the subsequent scoldings she would endure each day. The dark circles under her eyes as she sat at the breakfast table before school were probably a dead give away. Also the growing collection of moldy cheese under her bed that was eventually found - there was no hiding that stench.

In the end, they compromised. One of her father's clients had a python with a healthy appetite. He promised to hand the dead mice over to its owner where they could be repurposed as food. If she stopped taking the traps apart. It wasn't a victory but she did feel slightly better about it. There was worth in the deaths, at least. No part of them would go to waste.

But she still wished there had been a way to save them. For a while there she even had nightmares. Being lost in a world far too big, searching for something, always searching, searching. When she finally found it, a force would slam into her, driving her into the ground until her bones turned to powder and her organs splattered apart. She was dead. She knew she was dead. But it didn't matter.

As she sunk into the darkness, a thousand little bodies would burst from the shadows and swarm her devastated form. What was left they ravaged with vengeance, tiny teeth needling flesh, chewing, tearing. They consumed her until there was nothing left.

She still can't look at mouse or rat without some lingering trace of nausea and fear.

Marina and Julia exchange a look.

This is the moment. The starting thread that Marina will weave into a beautiful tapestry. This is the end of the truth.

Luckily for Julia, she has some experience in disarming mouse traps.

…

"Forgetting isn't enough. You can paddle away from the memories and think they are gone. But they will keep floating back, again and again and agian. They circle you, like sharks. Until, unless, something, someone? Can do more than just cover the wound. "

― Sara Zarr , Story of a Girl

So I hope this chapter wasn’t too horrible. Again sorry. There’s two little nods The Magician’s King in this chapter (ie. The marmite and genius iq) Also, Jane calls the memory spell Marina used ‘crude’ and identifies it as likely being done by a hedge. I find this interesting because Marina know how to do magic in both the Brakebills fashion and the hedge way. We also know that she’s really fucking good at it given the whole ‘best student’ thing. That her spell is crude makes me feel that memory spells must be really tricky and require a lot of training/practice in order to be seamless (and I suspect it’s something she’s done before, though, because it’s something she’s able to perform off the top of her head, without a reference). This also means that the way she does it would be different to how the professors do it in Brakebills. Therefore I’m not suggesting that the little mindtrip she goes on with Julia in this chapter is the norm (ie. What the professors at Brakebills do with a student, though if it is then that’s even more of a violation). Honestly, I think the writers just had Jane say that to drop hints for audience but it was said so I’m running with it.