#but I always have the urge to draw her as this horrifying human-eating monster

[milyoasis]

Unfinished drawing of Kyouka (Kirigiri Sou) I had in a dusty corner since late 2022... This game deserves more fanart, seriously. Maybe I will make (and actually finish) more someday. There's an english translation of this game as a PDF file, you should definitely check it out if you haven't before.

Extra (also unfinished) doodle for the ones who decided to peek more ;) I know my posts are low-key bibles lol.

[video-killed-the-radio-host]

Beauty and the Beast AU pt 2(WIP)

On AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17355635

Carlos didn't move for at least five minutes after the man had stormed off. The violet eyes were burned into his brain. He wondered if anyone would miss him. Pulling himself to a standing position, he walks to the window and looked out, his fingers spread across the cold stone of the wall. It looked like the rain bad finally stopped.  He couldn't help but wonder if the man planned to kill him. Eternal imprisonment was a bit harsh for a simple mistake but it wasn't like Carlos was going to tell him that. He leans over the window sill, judging the height when he hears the door open and he hurries away from the window, pressing into the corner. Light suddenly floods the room.

Carefully moving forward, Carlos sees that it's the candle from earlier.

“Hello there.” She says.

“You're a talking candle!” Carlos blurts.

The candle laughs. “My name is Josie. Everyone calls me Old Woman Josie. Come with me sir. I will show you to your room.”

“My room?”

“Yes of course your room! You don’t want to stay up here do you?”

“No but what about that guy? The big scary one that has no sense of personal space?” Carlos babbles a little.

“Oh don’t mind him. He’s just in one of his moods. He’s really a kind and caring man.”

Carlos snorts a laugh. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Sometimes first impressions aren’t always the best.” Josie points out,

“Pretty bad impression when a horrifying monster rips you off the ground.” Carlos mutters.

Josie gives him a disapproving look but turns back around. “Come along now.” She hops down the staircase, the movements echoing loudly against the stone.

Carlos couldn’t help but look around for the scary man with the beautiful eyes. He wondered if he was really going to be killed. The man could easily do it, obviously, so why hadn’t he? Maybe this was all a sick game. Perhaps he is being toyed with until he drives himself insane and kill himself. Or maybe he’d be held as some kind of slave- No. He refused to finish that thought.

Looking up, Carlos finds himself standing in front of a heavy oak door that was inlaid with gold and silver designs. A moon inside an eye was branded in the center of the door at eye level. He reaches up and touches it gently. The symbol was warm to the touch and Carlos drew his hand back in shock. He looks at his fingertips. There was a small burn across all four fingertips.

“What the hell?” He asked aloud.  

“Are you coming?” Josie asked from the floor.

“Right. Of course.”

Carlos opens the door and steps into the room.  It was spacious; with a large window on the wall opposite the door. The bed was cherrywood, and huge. The bed was dressed with a dark green blanket and a canopy. The same eye was burned into the bedposts. A large white armoire stands opposite the bed. It was tall and elegant, made of Oak and painted white. He approaches it and reaches out.

“No touching!” A shrill voice says.

Carlos jerks back in surprise. “What-”

“Now Maureen, that’s not how we greet people here.” Josie scolds.

“Maureen? Josie? What is going on here? Why does the furniture have human names? How are you even sentient?”

“He doesn’t know the story?” The armoire-Maruen as it seems- asks Josie.

“I was just getting to it.”  Josie says, sounding exasperated.

“What about the master-”

“That crazy asshole keeping me here? Yeah. I met him.”

Both objects gasped loudly as if he kicked a puppy.  

“He can’t talk that way about the master!” Maureen hisses.

“I can and I will. Now will someone please tell me what is going on here?” Carlos demands.

“Hush you. Sit and listen.”

Carlos didn’t see room to argue, so he drops oh-so-gracefully into a sitting position on the floor. He looks up, feeling kinda weird for talking to a dresser.

“Okay.” He prompts.

“Our master-along with everyone here- were human at one point-do not interrupt.”

Carlos sheepishly closed his mouth, his ears pinkening a little.

��Our master fell in love and for a while everything was perfect. The prince was head over heels for this lord. Until the lord broke his heart. He was a cruel man who only had one thing on his mind. But our master wouldn’t give in to the lord’s urges. The lord became angry and lashed out. He told no one but his sister Abigail.” Josie pauses. “The princess didn’t believe him. She had feelings for the lord as well. C-The master had no one to turn to and so he drew away from everyone. Because we weren’t there for him….The lord ended up marrying the princess and our master fell into a heart broken rage. He became cruel. It was terrifying. So he was cursed. As was the rest of us. He has to find love- True Love- by his twenty first year or we will all be cursed. For all time.”

Carlos is quiet for a good minute before opening his mouth.

“If he’s the monster, why are the rest of you punished? And who was this lord anyway? And why is he holding me captive instead of just killing me?”

“He is not a monster!” Both object shout in unison.

Carlos stared at them in disbelief. “You can keep saying that but I don’t know if I believe it.”

“Josie, why did you bring him here? He’s horrible-” Maureen says bluntly but was interrupted by the door opening and in strutted a clock without a face.

“So what’s this one’s name?” Carlos asks, looking at it curiously.

“Faceless Old Woman.” Josie greets.

“The master isn’t going to like this Josie.” The clock scolds. “Just wait until he finds out.”

“Or maybe he will be happy because we have a chance now!” Josie hisses.

“Does he know you brought that man to this room?”

The room gets quiet and Carlos looks around from his spot on the floor. “What’s wrong with this room?”

“You brought him here and didn’t tell him?” If the clock had a face, Carlos was sure she would be giving the candelabra a death glare.

“I’m in the process of it!” Josie exclaims.

“What. Is. Wrong. With. This. Room?”Carlos asks again, impatiently. He picked himself up off of the floor and leaned against the bedpost.

Both Josie and Faceless Old Woman-as she was called- turned towards him.

‘This was the lord’s room.” The words came out as a whisper.

“The lord? The one that caused this whole mess?” Carlos’ voice echoed in the high ceiling.

“It was the only room that wasn’t destroyed and I wasn’t going to leave you in a cell.” Josie defends herself.

“Okay...can I at least know this guy’s name?”

“His name is Lord Steve Carlsberg.” The name seemed to hang in the air.

“And the big scary guy?”

“If he wanted you to know, he would tell you.” The clock snapped.

“Oh don’t mind her. She is extremely protective of the Master. She practically raised him.” Josie whispers.

“I don’t mean to offend. But I am being held here against my will so I apologize if I am not the best company.” Carlos says, sitting on the bed and drawing his knees up. The bed was plush so Carlos sank into it a little.

The three objects look at each other silently as the human on the bed sighed heavily. He pulls his coat tighter around his shoulders and closes his eyes. Maybe he could starve to death in a few days? Statistically speaking it would take ten days to die of dehydration but that seemed like a horrible way to go. Maybe he could escape. He looked up and glances at the window. Of course there was the chance of being caught. Part of him wished that the ‘Master’ had just offed him.

There was a shrill noise and Josie and Faceless Old Woman gasped and hurried out of the room. Carlos laid back before curling up on his side. He stares blankly at the wall opposite him and bites his lip. He sighs and ristests the urge to scream. It would do him no good. He was a doctor. He was a smart man. He could figure this out. Escape was possible, save for the scary evil octopus man with the pretty eyes- Carlos focus! You don’t have time to be attracted to your captor! He scolds himself. The room was slowly getting darker, meaning the sun was setting. Then his stomach growled, reminding him how hungry he was. Would the Master even let him eat? There was a loud banging on his door, making him jump and nearly fall.

“Who is it?”

“Oh that’s the Master.” Maureen supplies. “I know his knock.”

“Open the door!”

“What do you want?” Carlos demands, not opening the door.

“You will eat dinner with me.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“You will do as I order you!”

“Excuse me if I don’t want to have dinner with the monster holding me captive!” Carlos yells back.

“Fine. Then STARVE!”

“I’d rather starve to death than eat with a monster like you.” Carlos retorts, but is only answered by a loud thud and the door groaning.

[bailesu]

Another story excerpt for Ladies Legendarium April 2019

This is another excerpt from Neon Genesis Silmarillion, in which Rei brings down the wrath of Findulias on her head.  World Two in this is the world of dreams.

Long so it’s below a cut.

Rei’s fea slipped silently through World Two, forcing it into the form of a forest where every clearing was a dream or a story or a myth.  Long trails connected them together in ways that even she often could not predict, though her ring guided her always towards what she thought. She usually made it a sea, but feared she might encounter Lars and this trip, she had to make alone.

The trees parted, becoming a mixture of beech and maple trees with many flowers scattered about in small clumps, white, red, and blue.  The blue flowers smelled like honey and Rei couldn’t stop herself kneeling and sniffing one of them, before moving on.

She’d already been to several places tonight, but this was her second to last stop.  Two people walked together under the trees, a tall dark haired man who bore a black blade at his hip and a blonde woman, slender and tall, though a touch shorter than the man.  They both wore fancy clothing of a kind you would not wear into the woods normally, or so Rei assumed.  But they knew no fear as they walked together; she carried a wicker basket, out of which a wine bottle peeked its neck and cork.

Rei could see the way each moved, his long strides eating up the ground, then slowing down so he didn’t leave her behind, her moving with a slow, sinuous grace which Rei had only ever seen in professional dancers.  Or Hedda and Shinobu.  

Rei could not help but try to imitate it, studying how she moved; there was a confidence in it and a beauty.  Her smile was wide and trusting in a way Rei didn’t think she’d ever experienced herself.  Maybe when she was little.  Before her great mistake.

But she had been terrible then.

The man smiled, but it did not touch his eyes.  They were alert, darting about; she felt safe, but he did not.  He turned every so often to smile at her, to chivvy her into moving quicker, but his hand always hovered near the hilt of his blade.  She was innocent and his innocence died long ago and Rei felt a sudden ache for him.

Was there any man more tragic than this?  For this was Turin Turambar, one of the greatest of elf-friends among mortal men but also the most broken.  In him, the Elves saw all their own flaws and strengths. Wise and strong and brave and honest, a man who was above petty lusts and hungers.  But rising above  the physical sins of men did not protect them or him from the spiritual sins and those sins could do far more damage.  

His pride and hubris had destroyed everything he loved and even things he merely liked.  Friend and foe alike had been dragged down to ruin.

And somehow, he had turned Finduilas from her destiny to fall in love with him, though he did not love her as a man may love a woman, but only as a brother loves a sister.  How?  How could destiny go so astray?  How could he evoke in her what he did not feel himself?

Rei had to understand.  Her desires warred with her will and with each other and she had to understand.  There must be someone meant for me, she thought.  Yet I feel these desires for people who could not be the one.  And not even for one person who is not the one, but *many*. How could my heart be so fickle, she wondered.  It horrified her.

Turin froze and then pulled Finduilas close to him, nearly mashing her face into his chest and though he could not see it, Rei could see her turn a little red, her eyes widening.  Her lips began to move and then he drew his sword.  It let forth a happy groan like a hungry man shown a feast.  The sound of it made Rei shiver, though she quickly stilled herself.  “Show yourself!” he said angrily.  “None shall threaten the Princess of Nargothrond and live!”

“Turin,” Finduilas said softly; a human would never have heard her joy, but Rei did with her keen Eldar hearing.  

And now that she was no longer lost in her own thought, Rei heard other movement among the trees.  She remained still; interacting with the environment would draw her in and turn events off down a new road and she did not have time to wait for this tale to reset itself.

Nevertheless, she touched Orcrist, just in case.  It was ready to her use, slung on her hip.  And she now changed her clothing into NERV style armor. Then she drew out the blade, just a little and it glowed blue.

Slowly, Turin backed up, still holding Finduilas close to his flesh, turning back and forth to watch for danger, as she clung to  him and moved in perfect unison with him.  It was almost like a dance and seeing their ease together made Rei’s heart ache, knowing their doom and knowing there was none she could be so at ease with, though there were people she cared for, people she was attracted to.

Even with her mother, they were not that close, not in the way these two knew each other’s every move.  How could that not be love?  How could Turin reject that?  Why did he not love her?  Why had he turned instead to his own sister?

Did she do something wrong?  Was his destiny so strong?  And why a destiny of self-destruction?  How could such suffering be bound into the fate of the world?

Then there was a roar and a large lizard creature rushed out of the trees, its scales glittering in the sunlight, red and orange with a long black stripe down its back where it had huge triangular spikes along its spine and down its long tail.  Rei estimated it was nearly as long as four grown men placed head to foot.  It reminded Rei of a stegosaurus, but its mouth had teeth for chewing meat, not the flat plant crushers of a normal one.  She felt proud of herself for recognizing that; she’d been trying to improve her biological knowledge.  

Asuka probably would have known from the roar, Rei thought, and she frowned and forced herself out of her own head.

“Up,” Turin said to Finduilas, who kicked off her slippers and ran to the tree, pulling out a length of rope and tying one end to the basket. Then she threw one end of it at a higher branch; it looped around the branch, somehow tying itself and then she used it to help her fumblingly climb the tree, after which she pulled the basket up after herself.

Turin dodged the creature’s first rush and the glob of black liquid it spat at him which hit a tree and began searing away its bark.  His blade parted the scales on one side of it, and it bled more of the black fluid, though this ran clear and slow instead of being mixed with mucous.  Then it cracked itself like a whip and its tail hit Turin, flinging him into a tree, though it bled more when it did so.

Turin bled now, but as he rose, a light shone in his eyes and he sneered. “Spawn of Morgoth, you will find I am not so easily put an end to.”

“Turin, you’re hurt,” Finduilas announced, horrified.

Rei twitched, feeling the urge, the instinct to intervene.  But she would not.  This was only a tale which told itself over and over here, and she would see it through to the end.

The tree it had spat on began to shake; the acid was fading now but it had turned a large chunk of the tree into sludge.  Turin leaped and kicked the tree and it fell down onto the creature, which began trying to get out from under it, spitting acid wildly until it could spit no more and as it did, Turin scampered through the branches, stabbing it repeatedly.

But then it threw off the tree and Turin tumbled again and the creature rushed at him as he rose, then realized he had dropped his moaning blade.

Rei had never seen or even heard of this specific tale before and did not know how it ended.  How could he survive this?  

Unless she acted, but then she would be drawn in.

He was only a dream.  Not real.

He ran for his sword, but the creature was quicker; only it using up its acid spit was saving him right now.  But its powerful limbs ate up the ground and there would be no escape for Turin.

But this was not how the story went and Rei did not understand.   He could not die at the hands of some random failed effort at making a dragon, or whatever it was.  Some twisted creature of the earliest days drawn to Morgoth’s service?  Some petty spirit descended to animal wrath?

Shouldn’t she have guards?  She was a princess, what was she doing wandering around in the woods away from home with only Turin by her side, anyway???

Finduilas looked horrified; she was crying and her body shook; Rei could feel her guilt with the ring and she understood.  Finduilas had wanted privacy with Turin, so she’d arranged for them to go off alone and now he was paying the price.

I should not intervene, Rei told herself.  If I step in, it changes the story and I will not be able to understand.

Time seemed to slow itself; Rei’s imagination drew arrows, showing how and where the monster would reach Turin.  Far short of his far-flung blade, which was now stuck into a tree.

He would die.  But he would gladly die to defend her, though she was not the one.  Not as he saw it.

She saw Jet Alone fighting Tiamat, all her heads chewing into it, tearing it apart, Pilot Rousseau risking everything to stop Tiamat and protect her.  HER.  When he was a human and could not return to this world if he died, while she was expendable.  If she died, her fea remained bound to this world and would take new flesh.  But if he died, she would never see him again.

Rei could not sit and watch this happen again.

Flesh rippled here, for her form was only the reflection of her will.  She became taller and stronger, much taller, though not as much stronger as she’d expected, her skin now tanned instead of pale, her blue hair turning long and brown.  She hid Orcrist within an illusion and summoned forth a bow and took aim, putting an arrow where the creature’s eyes would soon be.  The eye burst like a balloon, white and black fluids mixing and oozing down its face and then Turin stopped short, falling hard into the ground but the creature, unable to stop its charge, rushed past him and collided with a tree, which fell, knocking down another, but even as it rose, Turin scampered over and seized his blade.

Then the creature turned and rushed at Rei, though she no longer resembled herself.  To do this was dangerous, for you could lose yourself in the role.  She rarely did it, and especially not as a man.  But he was the first archer she thought of, and one adept to this tale.

She shot out its other eye, then scrambled into a tree, holding herself still, while it stalked around, trying to feel out vibrations she suspected.  She gestured at Turin to stop moving even as he started over.  He stared at her, mouth open wide, eyes unable to blink and she put a finger to her lips.

This would hurt him so much.

He was just a dream.

She had to do *something*.

It was too late now, the die was cast.  

The creature began to thrash, striking trees, and Rei began to leap between trees, letting the creature hit them and using it as cover for her own leaps.  Soon she was close to Turin and she secured rope from her pack on the branch and let Turin climb up to her.  

“Beleg… how…”  Turin shivered and looked ill, glancing at him but unable to look him in the face.

“Turin, my friend, we are bound to this world. When we die, we pass to the Halls of Mandos, where we rest until new flesh is given to us.  We do not pass out of this world as you will one day,” Rei said urgently to him.  She had not intended to put a hand on his shoulder but she did anyway.  Taking on a role was dangerous.  It was easy to trap yourself in it until the dream reached its end.  “And so I have returned.”

The creature continued to thrash around, smashing trees, but slowly wandering away from them.  Carefully, they moved tree to tree, Turin still shaking, until they reached where Finduilas sat on a branch, holding the wine bottle.

“Turin!” she cried out and embraced him.

And now the creature turned and began to come their way, faster and faster.  “Beleg, get her to safety, I will deal with this foul beast,” Turin said determinedly.

“Turin, you should…” Rei began.

“I will not lose you again,” Turin said fiercely and cried like all the demons of hell as he launched himself through the air, sword in his hand, his voice matching its howling, master and blade united in purpose.

Rei lifted Finduilas and began to leap tree to tree, crossing distances she could not in her own body; this form was so powerful, though it felt so strange to be a man.  But even Touji did not make the leaps she could here.  The air was full of spiritual power; was it just that this was itself a dream within World Two?

The creature thrashed around, and then Gurthang, Turin’s blade, struck, severing the creature’s spine and rendering it paralyzed behind. It threw Turin aside but now it could only drag itself and Turin recovered, attacking its rear, hacking and stabbing and slicing as it tried too slowly to turn, until finally, it died.

Then he stumbled back and fell, laying in mashed, torn grass, crushing flowers beneath him and laughing and crying at once, looking as if he had gone utterly mad.

“Turin!” Finduilas cried and tried to leap from Rei’s arms, but Rei restrained Finduilas, who she suspected couldn’t handle the jump.

Instead, Rei leaped lightly to the ground and then released Finduilas to run forward and embrace him.  “Turin, Turin, Turin!”

Rei tried to figure out what to do.  The dream would likely not reset tonight.  She’d already wrecked its course.  She had other things to do.  But to just vanish on him… that was not an option either.

Even if he wasn’t real.

“I’m here.  I must be lost in some delusion,” Turin said, holding her tightly and bleeding on her a little, for his wounds had grown worse from his exertion.  “I thought Beleg was here, my sin undone.  Its wound must have been poisonous.”  He cried on her shoulder and it made Rei squirm to see it.  “Beleg,” he cried out in agony.

But it also gave her an opening to slip away.  

She was starting to do so when she suddenly heard Finduilas’ voice echoing in the heavens.  Older and much angrier.  WHO ARE YOU?

Rei had a sudden sinking feeling.  This wasn’t a dream spawned of myth or the memories of the Eldar.  Not a normal one.  Finduilas, the real one, who yet lived in Valinor, had made this by accident or by choice and by ill-chance or fate, Rei had stumbled into it.

Which was why she’d never heard of this story at all before.

She kept up the role; it would hide her identity and she could shed it for another once she reached another dream and hide there.  Or try to make it to some other safe haven.  Hopefully, her foe would not have the lore to chase her far.

Then she ran but now vines reached out for her and trees moved to obstruct her path, and the edge of the dream, once so close, moved away as her foe fought her effort to escape.  She could hear footsteps, someone running after her, and the sun set and the stars came out.  But she could see well by starlight, well enough to reach the edge of the dream as her foe pursued her and burst through it with the help of Orcrist.  Her foe cried out in frustration, but then shouted again in anger.

She made World Two a sea and found a sailing ship onto which she leaped and whistled up a wind, setting out to sea.  But now she could see another such ship sail after her and it was faster than hers.

However, the ship also wobbled about in the wind; it was clear that while Finduilas was strong, she was not as experienced with ships as Rei, though Rei’s experience was almost entirely in dreams.

But this was the sea in which all dreams were islands, just as the forest had all dreams as clearings and the mountains all dreams as mountain peaks or valleys.  

She sent out clarion calls for aid, knowing that eventually Finduilas would find some way to twist this to her advantage.  She looked older than the dream and far angrier and she dressed more for the hunt than the palace.  But Rei knew it was her and now felt both guilty and desperate.

She will take me back to Valinor and I will never be allowed to return, Rei knew.  She could not bear to abandon everyone.  

She cut through several sailing dreams, including the middle of some sort of major yacht race, but Finduilas continued to grow closer, relentlessly moving in on her.  They were only a few lengths apart and Finduilas was shouting angrily at her in Sindarin.  But Rei could only somewhat understand it, as she’d not studied it enough; within a dream, she could understand any language, though not in the waking. It was part of her talent.

And then, distantly, she saw a light, shining silver in the distance, and felt power coming her way.  She made for it, hoping it was Lars or Mother or anyone.  

Suddenly, there was a reef in her path and she nearly beached herself on it, forcing her to dodge.  Finduilas smiled grimly and went right through it and now rocks and other hazards kept appearing, forcing Rei to dodge and weave while they parted harmlessly for her pursuer, who continued to shout angrily at her.

And Rei realized she’d lost her role; her true self was open for the world to see.  She wasn’t even sure when she’d lost it.  

But she made for the light, her only hope.

And then a giant eagle suddenly dove down out of the sun, where neither she nor Finduilas had been able to see it and seized Rei even as her ship foundered.  Hikari, clad in NERV armor, rode on its back and Rei could see a long silver line of light running from her to Lars’ ship, where Lars stood at the helm and her mother at the front of the ship, holding her ring up like a beacon, silver light parting the seas before them as she came on.

Finduilas shouted something about Manwe in utter shock and then the eagle dropped Rei onto the deck of the ship and landed; Hikari embraced him around the neck and whispered in his ear and they circled over the ship, still leashed to it by the thin silver thread which tied to Rei’s mother’s ring.

“Name yourself!” Rei’s mother shouted, her voice churning over the turbulent, shallow ocean.  Her Quenya had a strong Japanese accent and the emphasis was all wrong.  

Finduilas stood at the helm of her ship, standing defiantly in turn.  Rei could see her better now that she had time to think; green and brown hunting garb had become green robes and there was a crown on Finduilas’ brow, silver set with a yellow topaz, an opal, and a brown chalcedony.  She wore a ring on her left ring finger, a gold band set with an opal which matched the one in her crown.   “I am Finduilas, daughter of King Orodreth of Nargothrond and Queen Vanimawen of Nargothrond.  I claim descent from both Noldor and Vanyar,” Finduilas said.  “Name yourself!”

“I hight Nolwecuruni,” Rei’s mother said and Rei started, staring at her.  Only now did she see her mother wore a long yellow dress of several layers with black trim; only a few hints showed the innermost layer was brown.  She wore a pointed, broad brimmed hat and stood now with a staff in one hand.  “I am the Good Witch of the East!”

Rei felt a memory tickle her, books she’d read as a child and the movie.  She could not help but smile and now she touched her mother’s mind and joined her strength to hers.  Her fear was gone now.

“I will not excuse anyone who harasses my daughter!” Rei’s mother shouted, striking the deck with her staff and thunder echoed above as clouds began to form. “Return to your own lands, intruder!”

“You invaded my haven and played with my emotions for your own amusement!” Finduilas said angrily in Quenya.  “You began this, but I will finish it!”

And then she began to sing and the storm grew uglier and marched against them and Rei sang back, her mother giving her strength and now the sea became a turbulent mess.  But Lars’ steady hand rode before the storm and Hikari’s eagle glided through the winds, guided by her sight, and now the waves rose against Finduilas’ ship and she looked sore amazed.

Rei’s talent and Ritsuko’s power was too much for her, and now Finduilas turned her ship around and ran before the wind, fleeing across the world of dreams.

“Let her go,” Rei said softly, sighing and sagging against her mother. “She is right, I hurt her feelings because I could not hold back from meddling.”

“Rei, why did you go seeking her dreams?  And I thought Eldar didn’t normally dream,” Rei’s mother said, sounding angry and confused.

“I did not intend it to be a dream with anyone *in* it.  I just needed to understand,” Rei said weakly.

“It’s okay,” Lars said, hand on her shoulder. “You’re safe now.”

“Rei, you need to be careful; we cannot afford to lose you,” Rei’s mother said chidingly to Rei, who stared at the deck, shuffling on her feet and slumping.  

Hikari now landed on the deck and dismounted, embracing her steed, who now rose and flew away after Hikari fed him a fish.  “Rei, are you okay?” she said, worried.

“I am fine, I merely stuck my head in a lion’s mouth,” Rei said ruefully. “She outmastered me at my own skill,” Rei said.  Her head slumped.  “Again,” she whispered.

“Shinobu could never come here and do this,” Rei’s mother said comfortingly, patting Rei’s shoulder.  “Lars, let’s go home.” She turned to Rei. “I could never have reached you without Lars’ help.  I would be lost and probably stuck watching Misato sleep with someone or something even worse.”  She rubbed her forehead, nearly knocking her hat off.

Rei still felt frustrated.  There is something I must be doing wrong and I do not even know what, she thought.  But she took her mother’s hand and held it, then kissed Lars softly.  “Thank you, Lars, you are always the rock on which I can depend.”

He smiled warmly, though there was a sadness in his eyes.  “You too, Rei. Let’s get us home.”

She went with him to guide them home.

*****************

Celeborn was woken from his nightly reverie by one of his servants. “Sir, Lady Finduilas wishes to speak to you urgently.”

“At this hour?” he said groggily.  

“She says it is very urgent, sir, but did not trust any of us enough to tell us why.”  He sounded annoyed by this.  Aseaquetta was a brown-haired Noldor; it felt odd to Celeborn to be served by one of the Noldor but he had attracted some after his coming to Valinor.  

News of Galadriel, perhaps, Celeborn thought.  He could very dimly feel her and what little he could feel seemed to indicate she was not in any danger or sorrow.  “Very well,” he said and threw on a robe; he didn’t want to be seen in his nightclothes, especially since in the current heat wave, he was mostly naked, which was undignified.

Then he went to the viewing room where the strange lens device was mounted on a small, high table.  “Hello, niece,” he said to her; she was in her night clothes to his surprise, though she still wore that ring.  He never knew if he respected her devotion or considered her a fool to cling to the impossible.  Both, maybe.

“I encountered a ringbearer with an active ring,” she said urgently. “You must check on Nenya.”

“Go,” he told Aseaquetta, who ran off deeper into the house.

“Tell me of this ringbearer,” he said, and listened to her tale as Aseaquetta ran off.  By the time she finished, he returned.

“It still slumbers without a hint of light or power,” Aseaquetta said calmly.

Celeborn felt muscles he hadn’t known were tense now relax.  Finduilas let out a deep sigh, rocking on her heels.  “So she spoke strangely accented Quenya and had an Elven daughter when she herself was human,” he said slowly, thinking.

“She may have been one of us as well, but I could not tell; she did not feel like us, but she had the power of one, at least with her Ring. Enough to out-master me, though it might be different in the waking,” Finduilas said, starting to pace, slowly and deliberately; physically, she still looked like an Elf of the first stage of life, yet in some ways acted like one of the third stage.  She was an oddity in Elven society in that way.

“Some small part of my brain wonders if this is somehow Sauruman, who I know tried to make his own ring,” Celeborn speculated.  “Perhaps he has returned and begun making rings.”

They both grimaced at that thought.

“So you think that whether or not she is Eldar, her ‘daughter’ is,” Celeborn said hesitantly, wanting to be sure he understood.

“And versed in the lore of Irmo and Lorien, if not able to handle me.  But she knew enough to know how best to drive a spike into Turin’s heart, even if he was only a dream,” Finduilas said angrily, then sighed.  “Go ahead and lecture me now.”

“Not tonight,” Celeborn said.  He missed Galadriel’s presence; she would know what to do.  

Morefindesse was very slender with long raven locks of hair, elaborately coiffed; she was always concerned with fashion and dress.  She now came into sight, fancily dressed despite it being the middle of the night, and now she began to brush out Finduilas’ tangled hair.

“I had best go and contact the others, to see if anyone knows anything,” Finduilas said, sighing. “Good night, Uncle.”

“Good night, my niece,” he told her and soon was back in bed, wondering what was going on here.

[thenamelesskitty-blog]

Always Listen to Your Mother, Especially If She Might Be An Oracle (part 2/2)

I don’t know whether it was passed down or intuitive, but my grandmother’s apparent knowledge was at least life-saving. She called my grandfather, who was in the village, and told him to stick to the main road coming home. No unpaved shortcut. He didn’t understand, but trusted his wife. When he arrived home, he spent a long time standing outside, staring at the groaning shadow behind the trees.

He said nothing when he walked inside. He was pale and hugged his small family without a word.

After a relating his story until he was hoarse, Vasilhs was given a bath and put to bed. He listened to his parents speak quietly throughout the night, unable to make out the words but comforted by their existence.

The next day dawned quiet. Vas didn't need to be rousted after years of country labor and shambled hesitantly into the kitchen.  It smelled amazing. His mother had put together a huge meal that included everyone's breakfast favorites.

No one had much appetite. No one spoke.

After nibbling on whatever portion of the meal they could swallow, the family rose at some unspoken signal. Vas's father moved to clean up.

His mother, solemn-faced, led her son into the bathroom. "We're going to fix this, Vasilhs," she promised. "But, you will not like this part."

Considering the sharp knife she carried, he believed her. Tears threatened once more, but he stubbornly set his lower jaw. The boy was surprised (and relieved) when she set the knife aside for a piece of paper and a marker. "Please show me EXACTLY what you carved," she instructed.

He nodded and went carefully to work, agonizing over the angle of the V and the placement of the K. His mother never once hurried him. (Her eyes were soft, he said, in retrospect. She was savoring the moments for what they were, unsure of what would come next. She touched him hair often.)

Finally, he hesitated on the K's second line, and trailed off into a thin mark. "This is where I stopped," he declared.

"Are you sure?" He hesitated, but then nodded. She returned the gesture. "Alright. Take off your shirt, Vas." The woman studied the drawing.

He started to comply, but hesitated at the knife she held once again. "Wh...what are you going to do?"

She tried to smile. The smile looked painful. "I am…so sorry, Vas. But, to make things right, I'm going to do to you precisely what you did to that tree."

As a kid, I was horrified for my dad at this part of the story. I mean, I guess I still am. But, looking back at it now, I can’t imagine how grandma felt. Dad didn’t remember his exact words, but he was sure there was pleading involved. He felt guilty, looking back, for making it harder on her.

He assures me that he screamed “like a little girl who’s not nearly as tough as you” when the cutting began, but got himself under control as his mother continued. I believe him. He was a stoic man and learned it young. Still, it’s a horrible scene to imagine.

Nonetheless, with a terrifying amount of blood soaking the old sweatshirt she’d tied around his waist, she eventually finished. It was time to go.

Dad, Vasilhs, was in a lot of pain. His father waited silently in the living room. The boy had never seen his father’s expression on anyone. The man stepped forward and hugged him, then beckoned Iro forward and hugged them both, murmuring assurances and promises they all knew he couldn’t keep.

Finally, grandfather in the lead, all three headed outside. Vas was surprised to see a large wheelbarrow of compost waiting. He was to push it, his mother explained. They would go with him, but he had to push alone.

He nodded. He’d have deafly agreed to anything, fixated as he was on the monstrous shadow still glowering from the trees.

He could see it a little, now. It was a conglomeration of dying, shocked, and occasionally vivacious plants from moss to whole trees, all contorted into the shape of a man. Vaguely. Very…very vaguely. Its “eyes” were tangle-clad rifts leading to some unwelcoming core. Its maw split horizontally and also from neck to forehead. Venus fly-trap teeth stabbed outward in every conceivable angle.

The monstrous forest guardian clearly possessed both arms and legs, but its arms had extended to the ground and taken root overnight. (It didn’t slouch like a gorilla: the arms stretched long from an upright position.) The legs were also rooted in the soil. Despite this, considering the uneasy undulations of said roots, no wise man would test the giant’s mobility.

Finally seeing his pursuer ranked near the top of Vas’s list of life traumas, second only to running from it the day before. In a moment, it would to number three.

His mother urged them all forward. He couldn’t move at first. He didn’t move at first. Despite having been raised to quickly follow directions like most children of rural laborers, he couldn’t obey. He couldn’t… until he did.

Once the wheelbarrow lumbered forward, the little family set off towards the monster together. Vas couldn’t help but notice his father’s unarmed state. A hand, one per parent, clasped each of his shoulders. Both grips were so tight they hurt. So long as they held him, he didn’t mind the pain.

As before, the giant didn’t leave the trees. Even so, the agitated acceleration of its undulating, snakelike component-plants removed any doubt that it saw them. The roots churned through  packed earth like so much sand. The stench of too many rotting plants choked the humans as they approached. It glared down at them, then tore its massive arms out of the earth with two tremendous explosions. They glided upward with all the majesty of ancient trees. They should have been immovable. Instead, they were unstoppable.)

It was ready.

As the trio drew closer to the enraged and yet infinitely patient colossus, Vas’s mother squeezed his shoulder more tightly. (Her hand shook.) Then, rolling her own shoulders back, the woman strode boldly ahead of them.

She drew close. She approached despite the ability of any wooden limb to liquefy her. Despite how any writhing tendrils could thrust right through her soft, fragile body. She kept walking. She had to step over disturbed, shifting soil, stumbling when patches fell right out from under her and righting herself with outstretched arms.

She was frightened. She shook. And yet, she walked with her head high.

The giant allowed her close. The abyssal pits in its face angled almost straight down to watch the bold ape approach, both splits in its maw drifting slightly further apart. Its teeth were sharp, arm-length stakes.

Vas screamed for her to run. His father pounced, slamming a weathered hand over the boy’s mouth and pressing so hard it hurt. (The victim realized in retrospect that his elder had been crying.)

Iro, Vas eventually realized through his feral thrashing, was speaking in a loud, declarative tone. He stilled to listen. It wasn’t their language. Not quite. It was old, Hellenistic Greek. He could only pick out certain parts.

SON.

ATONE.

OFFERING.

The monstrous plant-construct didn’t react immediately. It didn’t seem to like moving fast unless riled. Finally, its four-pronged “mouth” opened to bellow a single sound in gut-twisting bass, so low as to dip below the range of the human ear and seem quieter than it was.

“COME.”

Vas’s mother turned to look back at the men. She smiled a loving, reassuring smile while the great forest entity turned around. (It didn’t physically rotate, but rather, reassembled its pieces and repositioned its “face.”) She turned to follow when its thundering steps resumed.

Vasilhs had never realized his mother was so beautiful. He’d never thought anyone could so beautiful…or so brave, or so perfect. He never thought he would see her again as she walked fearlessly through a literal wake of destruction. He had no words for the subarctic sense of loss.

He found himself following, unsure whether this had come about under his own initiative or his father’s nudge. It didn’t matter. The shirtless, frightened boy realized, as he put his back into pushing the heavy wheelbarrow, (the cuts in his chest stung and bled with renewed vigor,) that he wasn’t sure when his father had released him from the muffling bear hug, either.

Even on the unceremoniously-carved “path” left in the guardian’s wake, it was hard to push the wheelbarrow through the forest. The path, actually, was the opposite of helpful due to its speckles of debris.

Vas’s dad seemed unwilling to help push, but he did busy himself striding ahead and clearing the worst obstructions from the path. The monster and the speck of a woman behind it, for their part, stopped and waited when they got too far ahead.

It was a terrifying trip. Not in the same way it had been yesterday, when he’d merely been afraid for his life. Now that the vengeful, boy-eating colossus was in FRONT of him, immediate terror was replaced by a horrible sense of being watched.

Watched from everywhere.

Every leaf, shadow, and stone seemed to be judging him. It felt like tiny spirits or well-hidden nymphs peered at the brute who dared to bleed their sister, hating him with all their might and willing the utmost shame into his every step. Their unseen vitriol was so distracting that it took a good half hour for Vas to realized father dad was carrying a shovel.

His dad had a shovel, and his mom had a knife.

Son.

Atone.

Offering.

His trembling worsened.

It was impossible to tell whether the buzzing in his head and wheezing in his chest were from overexertion or terror. No, that wasn’t true. It was both. It was definitely both. He wanted to run away like he’d never wanted anything in his life. Turn and run. Join the circus or something.

That wasn’t true, either. He didn’t want to run away. Not like that, anyway. He just wanted to run from the monster. From this horrible myth he’d careened into for…what? Carving his initials into a tree like so many children before? He wanted to run home and hide under his blankets. Eventually, he’d wake up from this horrifying dream and smell breakfast.

His dad must be upset, too, considering how little attention he paid to their route. “Accidents aren’t accidents if they happen because you didn’t pay attention,” Vas had been told many times. The usually sure-footed man stumbled and fell frequently.

That made all this scarier. Even his protector was fallible.

As it turned out, mortal terror had an upside: it took no time at all to get from the edge of the forest to a place that immediately drained any blood Vas had left: the great oak. Apparently, the dryad’s tree. His mother waited beside it, all but hidden in the roots of her horrible guide. She stared quietly, smile slain by grief.

Vas’s dad wasn’t looking well. The man’s features had sunken during the course of the trip, skin pale and expression waxen. Still, a firm hand squeezed the child’s shoulder. “Come on, Vasilhs. Let’s take care of this as a family.”

The duo approached the figure between the giant’s feet, which was simultaneously familiar and not. She was wife and mother. She was dignified and almost priestly. She had been crying and worried. Now, she was stoic and sure. Vas felt the strange urge to kneel at her feet. He did. That earned a small, sad smile.

Then, the woman turned towards the oak tree—which towered above even the guardian-colossus—and raised both hands. (The knife remained clenched in one.) Her voice rose into some dialect of Hellenistic Greek again, tone strong and imploring.

Finally, she looked back to the child seated beside her, then turned her body to face him entirely. (Vasilhs could hear his father approaching with the shovel.) Her free hand joined the other in gripping the knife. It gleamed as it rose.

Everything had gone white and silent. Nothing was important enough for Vas to see. Nothing except his mother. He could only stare up at her face, vaguely aware of the cold tears on his cheeks. He didn’t scream. No screaming was allowed here in the white.

This was his mother. He loved her. She had been everything to him. Teacher, caretaker, disciplinarian, spiritual guide… best friend. Mother. He loved her. Would he really let her kill him? He knew, immediately, that the answer was “yes.”

Why wouldn’t he? There would be nothing left of his shattering heart if she would be willing to murder him. Going home would mean nothing at all.

She was speaking. He couldn’t hear the words.

The knife drew up for momentum.  He couldn’t close his eyes.

It plunged down. It dove past him until it had embedded itself deeply into the soil before him, between his mother’s knees. “Accept this knife,” she cried in Modern Greek, “as we bury the agent and symbol of our aggression! Accept this labor and offering as a declaration of peace from your unwitting, regretful assailant!”

She leaned forward, setting a hand on the side of his hair to whisper in the opposite ear. “Take the shovel, Vas. Bury all the compost you worked so hard to bring here. It should make things right. No matter what, we’re here, and we love you.”

He was too stunned to do anything but wordlessly comply.

It was long, hard work digging deep enough (especially while paranoid of nicking any of tree roots), but Vasilhs hardly noticed. He was relieved to the point of ecstasy. He was pretty sure he knew how Isaac felt after Abraham let him off the altar.

Part of him wanted to dismiss all his prior fears as silly. Of course his mother hadn’t convinced his dad to sacrifice him to a dryad in the middle of the forest. That was stupid; it wasn’t even a good story. Dryads weren’t real. Definitely mythological. He definitely wasn’t in the middle of offering a bunch of rotted animal parts to one because he’d accidentally bled her tree, narrowly survived getting chased out of the forest by some kind of plant-monster, and because his mom said so.

Dang it.

He wondered whether he’d be allowed to swear after this. He felt as though he’d earned it.

Time passed strangely. It passed with his mother and father standing by, followed by his mother standing and his father sitting. The hole pressed deep, rich compost covered its bottom, and nutritious rot gradually filled the pit.

As the boy finished covering his offering with displaced dirt, patting the area level with the back of his shovel, he noticed something significant in the moment but couldn’t quite decide what it was. After a gauntlet of nightmare after nightmare, he couldn’t reconcile being finished.

He stared at the flattened ground, willing it to do something.

Would he wake up in his bed, now? Would his hairless chest still gleam with an unfinished “VK”? Was he –

He wasn’t.

Enormous fingers of bark-striated wood pinched him tight and plucked him from the ground like an early blossom. His mother was screaming. Vas was screaming. He was also running in the air and swinging the shovel, neither of which helped.

The colossus somehow managed to lift the squishy little biped without crushing him. With a cacophonous symphony of groaning wood and percussive cracks, its head tilted back as its prey rose directly above its face. (A small trickle ran down one of the boy’s legs.)

His mother attacked the giant for the first time, beating against its foot and pulling at thinner-looking striations, all of which were utterly ineffective. The elder Mr. Katsaros fought even harder despite his strange fatigue. He achieved just as little.

Vas had been staring into chasms that mimicked eyes. They looked uncannily like snake pits from here, with nets of writhing, undulating stems crisscrossing over abyssal gaps beneath. Then, his attention turned wholly to the maw groaning open.

Its great mouth split a thunderous crack, and then kept opening. It had to be wide before its cage of venus flytrap-teeth cleared the way. Vas stopped thrashing and curled into a mid-air fetal position, wide-eyed and all-too-aware that breaking loose would now be BAD.

It dropped him.

Every human shrieked the same keening, unholy wail.

He passed the teeth.

He slammed to a stop.

Vas stared into the flesh-grinding horror beneath him, white-knuckled and unable to comprehend his salvation. When he finally looked up and saw the shovel, which bridged the center of its mouth, his shriek turned to giddy laughter in the same octave.

After several moments of stillness, the monstrosity’s vertical mouth cracked open. Child and shovel disappeared in a blink.

Dad—Vas—doesn’t remember what happened next. Being eaten by a giant plant golem seemed like a good time to black out from sheer terror. He can’t say whether he fainted or just lost the memory. The next thing he remembers is the face.

Somehow, little Vas went from inside the colossus to being safely deposited in the great oak’s branches, face-to-face with the initials he’d carved… and eye-to-eye with something between a relief sculpture and a drawing in the bark.

He couldn’t do anything, petrified as one who had ogled Medusa. And yet, this wasn’t a monster, and he wasn’t scared. The face in the tree, which tilted through rippling bark to better observe him, was more beautiful than any person he could imagine.

Vas swallowed hard. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally, an awe-stricken voice burbled out of him, quiet and nervous. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll be respectful of this tree for as long as I live. I p… promise. I promise.”

The face—she was so beautiful, eyes so gentle—tilted in the other direction, continuing to regard the young vandal. Finally, her perfect eyes softened further. She smiled, nodding once. He fell in love with her in that moment. He’d love her for the rest of his life.

When the dryad forgave him, something else began to happen. The plant-golem, the colossal guardian of this perfect being, began to glow at its outermost edges. Leaf-like flakes of light broke free and drifted away in great, lackadaisical swarms.

The flecks twirled and fluttered in a sudden breeze, as leaves should. Some drifted to the ground. Saplings sprouted where they fell. Saplings, bushes, grasses: the destruction wrought by the guardian’s creation disappeared in a manic rush of new growth.

The flow of glowing leaves quickened continually, flying from what was left of the golem’s torso and streaming from its legs to swarm down the ruined swath of woodland. It would be years before large trees grew there, but vibrant green smoothed the hurt away.

Vasilhs didn’t know how long he watched all this. He didn’t know how long he stared at the oak afterward, willing its suddenly-absent face to reappear. At some point, he climbed down. At the bottom, he hugged both parents tightly.

All of them cried together.

Then, right at the happy ending, his father collapsed.

A startled cry of dismay accompanied Vas’s mom as she dropped with her husband, clinging to him for all she was worth and awkwardly preventing him from hitting the ground full-force. Vas helped with all his ten-year-old might.

The man was shaking his head and trying to wave off the assistance by the time he reached the dirt, reassuring his wife and generally pretending he hadn’t just dropped like a sack of flour. She, being an alarmed Greek woman, paid no attention to his bullshit claims of physical sanctity, taking his pulse and feeling his head and looking him over and generally fretting and telling him to stop saying stupid things.

Vasilhs understood that his mother, in this mood, was the boss of everyone, even his dad. Of course, everyone knew that. Finally, after a long check-up of the man’s suddenly, unbelievably hallow cheeks and drained, dark-veined countenance, the woman cringed, patted beneath the collar of his shirt, and checked both the patient’s wrists. Then, she wailed.

“Ah! Love, my stupid, stubborn love! You’re not wearing your filhata!”

Vas’s eyes widened. He glanced down at the “stupid baby charm” around his neck, the closest thing to clothing on his upper body. No way.

Iro leapt back into action, jerking the man’s shirt up and over his head, which muffled his cries of protest. “Vasilhs,” she snapped, clear and authoritarian, “go back up the tree. Ask the Dryad very nicely to take some of the blood you already drew.”

Well, that sounded like a terrible idea.

Some wide-eyed part of him thought that. Another realized that he had to save his dad. So, he hurried up by gnarl and branch by branch, terribly careful to avoid breaking anything, until he arrived, winded, in front of his carving.

The dryad’s face hadn’t returned, of course. Vas cringed, looking around. How did you summon a dryad? Did you have to? Was she listening? She just lived right in the tree, right? What part of the tree? He felt distinctly foolish when he started talking to the trunk.

“Um…hey, so I’m still sorry, and I’m REALLY, REALLY sorry, but my dad is sick all of a sudden. Or cursed? Something like that. Like, evil eye times a thousand…oh, shoot. Yeah, I could totally feel the whole forest staring at us when we were walking back here. Oh my gosh, that’s what happened.”

The epiphany left him wide-eyed and covering his mouth. Still, the boy cringed at the sudden memory of the here and now, setting his jaw and looking up as stoically as she could, fists balled and narrow shoulders squaring. “My mother requests that I, please, with your permission, take some of the blood-sap that’s already here. Sorry. Please.”

The beautiful face didn’t reappear, no matter how he longed to see it again. Nor did anyone or anything speak. Vas bit his lip, after a time, and pushed gently on the iron-strong wood. He was just about to repeat his request when something tickled his hand.

He looked down to see a fresh, bright trickle of the thin sap pooling against it.

“Oh. Oh, thank you! You’re beautiful. You’re kind. You’re kind. Thank you. Thank you. Bless you.” As he spat rapid-fire assurances of awed gratitude, Vas—realizing he had nowhere better to put it—scooped as much of it as he could get into his palm.

He climbed down the tree as fast as he could with one hand. His mother looked ready to faint with relief. (For a moment, he was afraid she would, and found himself wondering how to treat the evil eye by himself.)

She dipped two fingers carefully into the precious, powerful sap. After several returns to that inkwell, a red eye had been drawn under her husband’s collarbone while Vas looked on in rapt, fascinated horror. Then, she began to say the blessing.

Vasilhs didn’t know what all she said. Not exactly. He knew that she was imploring old Gods and saying things the Orothodox Priest wouldn’t approve of at all. He couldn’t be shocked or mad. He was too busy watching and being terrified.

After the third repetition, the bloody sigil lit up in gold-green. The man gasped. One of his wife’s hands arched over the mark, fingertips pressed lightly into his skin, as she called something else in that archaic tongue. Then, her fingers jerked down, clawing the eye-mark apart.

Its light went dull, then faded slowly to nothing.

Nothing responded except the breeze.

Finally, the patient gasped a shaking breath, filling his lungs greedily the moment he was capable of doing so. His face gained color rapidly, cheeks filling out in increments. The pain in eyes faded entirely.

There was hugging. There were kisses and blessings and appropriate wonderment expressed towards wife and mother Iro Katsaros, who would march up to a monster or take on the supernatural. For her part, grandma only doted on them both, laughing and tearfully relieved.

At least, she did for awhile. There was lots of talk about what troublemakers both men were and that this was why you listened when she said to wear your filhata and she was sick of worrying and… insert other Greek stuff here. They lived happily and loudly ever after.

 That’s the story my dad told me. Unlike some others, I can’t personally vouch for it. I will say, however, that my father was a very honest man who never let me run around without a filhata. I can also confirm there’s a wide scar in the forest, starting at the edge and ending at the great oak, that’s all new growth and young trees.

And, though it was faded by time, his chest still bore the scar.

VK.