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goldenholi · 2 years ago

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Chapter Five: Doors, Keys, and Locks

Another update! Enjoy <3 <3

Atlas waited patiently for Naivara to come knocking at his door. He made the bed. He hunted for any other stray hairs. He threw anything that smelled remotely Clarice-like into a spare bin, then tucked it deep in the closet. Naivara was more observant than he thought. The comb hadn’t crossed his mind. What else? What else?

“Has she come up at all?” Atlas asked. Kallisto shook her head. She chopped carrots into fine slices, then scraped them off the cutting board and into the pot. “Nothing? Really?”

“I thought you were tired of her.”

“I’ll never be tired of her. I need her. She really hasn’t come up?”

“Why would she?” Kallisto asked, skinning a potato. “You told her to leave.”

“But I didn’t mean it,” he said. “I thought she would come right back.”

“I don’t think she knows that. I think that blonde made it worse.”

“Shut up,” Atlas muttered.

A knock sounded at the door.

“There she is,” Atlas said. “Told you. She’s back.”

“That’s Orion,” Kallisto said. “I invited them for dinner.”

“Now why did you do that?”

“Because it’s the Bloom,” Kallsto said. “It’s tradition to have dinner as a family. Open the door for them please.”

Atlas opened the door and there stood Orion and...Skipper. Orion entered without a word. They hadn’t grown much since their last visit, though their hair had. They had curly, condensed hair that spiraled every which way like a dark cloud. Atlas let them slip by, choosing to let their lack of a greeting go. Maybe they’d open up around dinner. He locked eyes with Skipper. She smiled at him as though her presence were perfectly normal. He respected Skipper’s prowess but disliked her presence in his home. Home was home. He preferred to invite people over.

“Orion asked me to join for dinner,” she said.

“Right,” he said. “Well. See you when it’s ready.” He left, abandoning the trio without so much as a glance. Skipper watched him go, quietly bemused.

“What crawled up his ass and died?” She asked.

“He drove Naivara off,” Kallisto said. “And now he’s moody that she isn’t back.”

“Why?” Orion asked. “I thought he liked her.”

“Because she just causes problems left and right.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“What do you know?” Kallisto asked. “You’re barely here.”

Orion pulled a face.

“Wait a second,” Skipper said. “Her father just got mauled by a direwolf. He’s cutting her off, just like that? What could she have done?” Kallisto minced an herb so finely that it looked like shavings.

“It doesn’t matter what she did,” Orion said. “It’s Atlas. He’s probably just being petty because she wore the wrong shoes or something. Can’t you talk to him, Kallisto? This isn’t right.”

“Orion,” Kallisto said. “I’m keeping still. One more thing and the branch will snap and instead of Atlas being mad at Naivara, he’ll be mad at me, you, and anyone else he so much as looks at. Forgive me for trying to keep the peace.”

NAIVARA

Her stomach hurt. It began to flip, then growl, and then Mason shot her a look of concern and she had to look away. “I’ll go get you something,” he said. Before she could object, he was gone. (Atlas had been like that once. Doing every little thing. Now he hated her. Unfortunate discovery: if actions spoke louder than words, they could lie just as well.)

She stared out the window, watching butterflies flitter across the glass.

A cough spluttered from her father. He coughed and spluttered, then took several shaky inhales. She was too afraid to speak, so she approached him and took his hand. He held it tightly, gave a shaky inhale, and then pried his eyes open.

“That bastard dosed me,” Savan coughed. “Didn’t he?”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, leaning in for a gentle hug. It was less of an embrace and more of a faint pressure, but it did the trick. He sighed, patting her back.

“I love you,” he said. “But did he do it?”

“Dose you?” She asked, pulling away. “Yes. He did.”

“I’m never accepting anything from him again,” Savan muttered. “Not a damn thing…” He swiped at his brow. “It’s a bit hot,” he said. “Could you open the window, Starshine?”

“It’s the Bloom,” she warned.

“Butterflies are good for the soul.”

A chill entered the room. The sky swung between blue and grey, clouds churning across the horizon. Naivara sat herself down beside her father, unsure of what to do. What to say. A stray butterfly settled on the window sill, creeping along gently before fluttering over to her fathers bedside. It perched upon the edge of his tea (long cold) and sipped at it. Another fluttered in and perched upon his head, touching the delicate flower that had been placed behind his ear.

“Little friends,” he said. “Now this is quite lovely. Much better than darkness and direwolves.” Naivara nodded along, clutching tightly at the fabric of her skirt. He noticed and went still. “Is something wrong, Starshine?”

“There are a lot of things wrong,” she said. He frowned at that.

“Did something happen?” He asked. Naivara found the question so ludicrous she had to stand and give him the most dumbfounded expression she could muster, gesturing at his bandaged chest.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes something did happen.”

“Naivara…”

“No,” she said. “No. Here’s what I think: I think you’re tool old for the trails now. I think we should just leave Raaian altogether.”

“I don’t like Atlas,” Savan said. “And I don’t like this town, but if you wanting to leave is a symptom of me being attacked-”

“It’s not just that,” she said. “Atlas is cheating on me.” He froze. He opened his mouth then closed it. Naivara gave a shrug, trying to smother the heat building behind her eyes.

“I’m very sorry, Starshine.” He took her hand and held it firmly. “Do you need an ear?” She shook her head. She couldn’t fathom being split open and carved out like that. Not about this. There was too much to say. Too much confusion about what Atlas wanted, what she even wanted. No. She didn’t want an ear. She just wanted a hug.

“I was stupid and he was using me and it’s time to go.”

“You aren’t stupid,” Savan said firmly. “You are a very intelligent young lady. Never call yourself stupid, Starshine.” She dragged a hand down her face, as though she could rub away the shame and hurt with her bare hands.

“There’s more that’s gone wrong,” she said. “He’s mad at me. I don’t know why, I think he’s convinced I’m disloyal or something. He kicked me out.”

“He kicked you out?”

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s just insult after injury with him. Mason is being kind and getting me something.”

“That’s good,” Savan said. “I had the feeling he would have a good head on his shoulders. Despite his short-comings.”

“What short-comings?”

Savan raised an eyebrow. He adjusted himself, sinking back into his pillows. “I take it he’s making a good impression on you?”

“I’d say so.” She said. He was polite. He didn’t make her feel small. He even went out of his way to help her. Savan nodded. The butterfly at the rim of his tea cup fluttered to his arm, creeping up his shoulder before perching upon the small flower near his ear.

“Where is he?”

“He’ll be back soon,” she said. His figure was rigid. “Are you hurting?”

“Nothing I can’t handle, Starshine.”

“I’m going to go get you pacci,” she said. “It won’t take long at all-”

“What I need,” Savan said firmly. “Is protein. A proper meal will do me right. Pacci on an empty stomach is a recipe for disaster…”

“Why can’t you just accept help?” Naivara asked. She stood and paced up and down the small strip of open space between the bedside and the door. “Do you get a kick out of suffering?”

“I don’t get a kick out of suffering, Naivara.”

“Pacci will help you.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he said. “That shit will land you in trouble, one way or another.”

“Everything I do lands me in trouble,” she said. “Trouble with you or Atlas or someone else-”

The door opened and Mason pushed his way in, balancing two bowls. One bowl had a skewer balancing upon it. He smiled at her, then at her father.

“It’s nice to see you, Mr. Goldenholi.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Mason. Is that for me?”

“A little birdy told me you were up,” he said, offering a bowl. The flower upon Savan’s ear fell to his shoulder as a fine, sparkly dust. Savan took the bowl and gave a single prayer before stabbing a chunk of meat with a fork and devouring it. Mason offered Naivara the skewer and she took it, unable to look him in the eye. “How are you feeling, Mr. Goldenholi?”

“Crappy,” he said. Nothing I can’t handle. Why did everyone in the world find a way to lie to her? She yanked a chunk of meat off, then tore into it. “Naivara you’re going to make a mess.”

“And?” She asked. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my mess.” He sighed.

“It’s manners, Naivara.”

What if I want to eat like an animal?

“Who cares about manners?” She asked.

“I care,” Savan said. “I want you to be presentable in general-”

“Well you also want to suffer,” she said. “So I guess we all fall short.”

“Naivara.” She wanted to snap at him. To tell him to shut up. To tell him he was wrong and she was right and she was tired of feeling tricked day in and day out, tired of half truths and lies and the one thing she wanted was for someone, anyone, to be honest with her. Instead she stood up and slipped out the door, too annoyed to utter a word.

The Grove was crammed with employees of Atlas. Many of them were eating, some of them were chattering, others were laughing so hard their whole bodies shuddered and convulsed.

It felt unfair to walk through all that good feeling hurt and angry. Like wearing layers in the heat.

In the backyard, butterflies congregated upon the patch of green spiraling up the fence. The flowers bloomed brilliantly, multiple butterflies nestled between petals. She sat herself down on the porch and ate, the frigid air a welcome relief. She ate. Her hands became greasy. The sky shifted from blue to lilac, and fireflies began to sparkle. When she was done eating she stabbed the skewer into the ground and wiped her hands against her skirt. Atlas be damned. Her father be damned.

It got colder. She expected calm to follow but she was very wrong. The anger kept simmering. Hey daughter who dedicated herself to brewing medicine, I absolutely refuse to drink it. Fucking hell. She wanted to scream at him, remind him that mother didn’t get medicine. You ungrateful prick. Do you want to die here? Do you want me to be completely and utterly alone? There’s no winning.

The door opened behind her. The crickets were getting louder. She heard the hum of mosquitos throughout the town. Everyone dealt with the blood suckers.

“Naivara,” Atlas said. “Come up for dinner.”

“I already ate.”

He sat down beside her. He scratched at his neck, staring at the patch of green teeming with butterflies.

“I regret the break thing,” he said. “Come up for dinner.”

“Why would I do that?” She asked. “In what world am I going back upstairs?”

“The world where you have no prospects,” he said. “The world where your father is injured, the world where you have no money, the world where I’m right there, offering you a shot at not having to worry about those things. The world where I want you back.”

“The world where I’m done with you.” In the blink of an eye, he was crouched in front of her. He was close enough that an unpleasant heat caught between them.

“You’re not done with me,” he said.

“You kicked me out. We are done, Atlas.”

“No,” he said. “We had an agreement. You know it, I know it. I gave you everything under the expectation that we would work together. However you feel, we had an agreement.”

“Then our agreement is done.”

“I held up my end,” he said. “I gave you a home, and food, and protected you. You? You-”

“You cheated on me,” she said.

“You are paranoid. The point is, I want you back and you owe me, Naivara. Have a little honor. Besides, we had a good thing going, didn’t we?”

Naivara put her face in her hands.

“Naivara.”

Beyond their little yard, people were dancing. The thump of a drum cut through the night. The air was cold and there were butterflies and beasts, and somewhere, pacci was claiming a carcass for itself. Somewhere, her mother’s family spent another day in the dark.

“What’s that?” He asked. He pulled away and the chill of the night returned. Grass crunched beneath his feet. She peered through her fingers and saw him nudging something with his foot. “Did you drop a jar?”

“No,” she said, dropping her hands from her face. She stood and joined him, staring down at the glass remnants. Dead butterflies littered the earth. They were caught where the glass curved. Like leaves.

“Killian said memory loss is another symptom.” He approached the basement. “Where’s the lock?”

“...on the door.”

“There’s no lock.” He reached forward and lifted the door open. It hit the ground with a slam that cut through the night. “Seriously, where’s the lock?” Naivara thought that if she spoke, she’d simply stop breathing altogether. It was her voice or her safety. “Naivara,” he said, his tone grave. “Are you lying to me?”

“No,” she said.

“Well,” he said. “The doors are wide open. I don’t see the lock anywhere. You’re either lying or your memory is worse than I thought.”

“My memory is perfectly fine.”

“When is the last time you were down there?”

“A few days ago. When we were with the jeweler in the Grove.”

“The night you were indisposed?”

“Indisposed,” she said. “Where’d you hear that one?” He turned to face her, closed the distance and tossed her over his shoulder. “Put me down!” He jostled her and descended the stairs. She felt horribly imbalanced, envisioning herself toppling over his shoulder and into jagged stairwell. “PUT ME DOWN!” He jumped. How he could do that she didn’t know, but he leapt off the stairwell and landed against the ground floor. Then she met the earth with a crack, her lungs emptying. Her back ached, her arms burned, but all she could focus on was how little air was inside her. She could only manage the shallowest gasps of air, her eyes watering from the stress.

“Naivara,” he said. “Get up. Now.” She flipped onto her side, gasping for breath. She pushed to her feet and tried to ignore the dull ache panging through her figure. He took a fistful of her hair and held it, forcing her to look at the brewery.

The shelves were bare. The jugs of taf that had been collected neatly in the corner were gone. The saplings were clipped. Heat seeped into Naivara’s scalp. She remained perfectly still and silent, fully aware that she was on the chopping block. She felt him weighing his options, doing the ugly math of everything lost and everything they would have to do to recoup her work. It wasn’t their work anymore. It was her work. Because it was always her work when something went wrong.

He settled for shoving her. She stumbled forward and caught herself against a raised bed.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You have wasted my time, my money, my energy. You have stopped a change that could have changed our town for the better. Are you pleased with yourself?”

“I’m not,” she said, reigning in her breath. “I haven’t felt happy with a single thing I’ve done since meeting you.”

“Excuse me?”

“It doesn’t matter what I do. I fail. I can’t do this. I can’t. Cut me loose do whatever you like, I’m done.”

“Oh so you want to just get away with this?” He asked. “You owe me. You know how much this all cost to set up? Of course you do. We hashed that out together. Do you remember, Naivara?” The number made her feel ill. Once upon a time, the number had been exciting. A promise. A project.

“A hundred and fifty-seven gold,” he said. “How are you paying me back, Goldenholi?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He asked. “I fucking know. You’re going into the forest and getting back every component you lost me.”

“Atlas-”

“I don’t want to hear a word,” he said. “Give me your key.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Keys and locks,” he said. “What good are either if you don’t have the brains to use them?” He shook his head, trembling with rage. “You...you…” He turned away, storming upstairs. “Forget coming back home,” he said. “Forget Room 4. This,” he said, gesturing to the gloomy, dark basement. “Is all you’re seeing until you get a taste of the forest.” Then he leapt out into the night and slammed the doors shut.

“Atlas!” She screamed, stumbling up the stairs. “Atlas!” She pushed at the door but it remained shut. She peered through a hole and saw him securing the door with his belt. “Atlas don’t do this!”

“You leave me no fucking choice,” he says. “First you’re an embarrassment and now, now you’re a liability.I could kill you, Naivara.”

“Atlas,” she cried. “My father needs me!”

“Kallisto will take care of him,” he said. “And I’ll make sure nobody knows about the mess you’ve made.”

If he heard her, he chose silence. She slammed herself against the door, beating it with everything she had.

“I hate you!” She screamed. “You lying cheating scum!”

“You need to quiet down,” he said. “We can’t have the whole town knowing you’ve gone mad.”

“Oh I’m mad!” She spat, glowering at him through a gap in the wood. “I’m fucking mad, Atlas!”

“You,” he said. “Are making yourself look worse. It’s going to be very difficult to rebuild your reputation, Naivara-”

“I don’t care.”

“YOU SHOULD.” And he was closer now, so close that she felt him through the door. “You and me, we’re a pair. My success is your success. Your failure is my failure. You’re digging yourself into a hole and I’m not about to waste my time, my energy on you, not when you keep fucking everything up.” He pulled away. Grass crunched under foot.

“Where you going?”

“Me?” He said. “I’m going to inform your father that you’ve fallen ill.”

“But I’m not sick.”

“I’m aware.”

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fuctacles · 3 months ago

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get to know your mutuals

thanks @augustjustice for tagging me

coffee or tea • early bird or night owl • chocolate or vanilla • spring or fall • silver or gold • pop or alternative • freckles or dimples • snakes or sharks • mountains or fields • thunder or lightning • egyptian mythology or greek mythology • ivory or scarlet • flute or lyre • opal or diamond • butterflies or honeybees • macarons or eclairs • typewritten or handwritten • secret garden or secret library • rooftop or balcony • spicy or mild • opera or ballet • london or paris • vincent van gogh or claude monet • denim or leather • potions or spells • ocean or desert • mermaids or sirens • masquerade ball or cocktail party

No pressure tags: @blasvemous @stevesjockstrap @spectrum-spectre @kallisto-k

#tag game #cj stuff

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guggi04 · 2 months ago

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Thanks for tagging @kallisto-k ! Wow I’m really late with this one 🫣

I promised myself I wouldn’t ramble in the answers but I did ramble a little 😌

Tagging (sorry, I promise this is the last for tonight, otherwise just tell me to piss off) @frozenmemories1987 @hazzybat @cinder-rose @blossom-boo @ljubitelj-sonca

Thank you for the tags @medusapelagia & @fuctacles!

No pressure tags: @guggi04 @stormkpr @frozenmemories1987 @hellcheercaine @whataboutthefish

#ask game

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sabraeal · 6 years ago

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By Their Fruits Ye Shall Know Them

A prequel to the A Grain of Wisdom in the Stream of Folly and Creatures of a Brief Season

ANS week, Day 3: Air Reason | Cunning | Diligence | Clarity

Izana is young when he learns. His tutors did always call him a quick study.

The chubbiness of infancy still clings to him, rounding his cheeks and legs, the small fingers of his hands still too thick to hold a pen or write in neat hand. They are good only to pilfer sweets from the spread of refreshments, good only to wrap the window drapes around him and his daemon to shield them from prying eyes and scolding fingers.

“I don’t understand,” he huffs, offering Minerva another biscuit from his hoard. “There’s nothing special about Touka. I just saw him, and he’s as awful as always.”

Minerva turns up a pink nose at the snack, instead resting her chin on his knee, slit-pupils shining up at him from the dim. “Hela settled early.”

“That doesn’t seem like something to have a party for.” Minerva slips from cat to mouse, picking at the crumbs he’s leaving all over his frock. “After all, now she can’t be anything fun. She’ll just always be a big dumb dog.”

“Wolf.”

The distinction is arbitrary; Hela looks like any other dog, just bigger. “They should have been like us. You’ll never settle.”

“Of course I will,” Minerva scoffs, whiskers quivering as she turns a bit of shortbread in her paws. “You’re just too small.”

He stills, biscuit halfway to his lips. He’d never thought of that, that there would ever be a time that Minerva would not be what they needed most. “Touka isn’t.”

“He’s older,” she says, matter of fact. “And it only means that there’s something about him that’s certain, even now.”

Izana mulls this over, crunching thoughtfully. “And that’s good?”

Minerva is the still one now, even her whiskers motionless. “Not always.”

“You’ll be like Touka,” Father says, voice rumbling through the dark of the carriage. Moonlight limns the craggy lines of his face, its peaks as unyielding and unforgiving as the mountains of Mother’s home. “You’ll be decisive.”

He doesn’t look at him as her speaks; no, it is Kallisto that does, eyes shining in the dark like every monster he’s imagined. Minerva curls tighter against his neck, trembling.

Father clenches his hand so tightly the leather of his gloves creaks. “And yours will be right, too.”

Months later, his brother is born. But he almost isn’t.

“Chord around his neck,” the physician says with a bright smile. “Nearly choked the poor thing to death. Right as rain now, of course.”

“Do you want to hold him?” mother asks, still pale, hair plastered to her forehead and neck.

He doesn’t, but Father is away, Haruka in tow, and that leaves him as the man of the manor.

“Of course.” His arms jerk forward to accept the tiny bundle, graceless, like one of the stringed puppets in the market square’s theater.

It’s lighter than he expects; he nearly drops it in surprise. The physician offers a seat to help him shoulder the burden, but he doesn’t need it, not when his brother is so shriveled and undersized. He looks less like a baby and more like an old grape found under the sofa cushions, red and wrinkled and ugly.

“He’s –” The word ‘beautiful’ sticks on his lips; not because it’s a lie – he long ago grew accustomed to those – but because his brother’s eyes open, unfocused and unblinking, and find his.

They’re blue; not the steel of Father’s, but the deep, pure indigo of Mother’s. Just like his own.

There’s so much trust in them. He hasn’t learned not to give that so freely.

Maybe, if Izana takes care, he never will.

“His name is Zen,” Mother sighs.

“Zen.” Izana curls a finger down his brother’s cheek. “Hello.”

Something quivers in the blanket, just above his heart. Struggling against the linen of the swaddle, a butterfly, wings still wet, creeps up his brother’s chest. It quivers just under his chin, making the babe squirm in his wrappings.

“His daemon,” Minerva supplies, hushed in awe. “Does she have a name?”

Bassa Aske’s narrow face doesn’t allow for a smile, but his mouth settles in a lynxish grin. “Not until you name her.”

“Aske,” Mother breathes, eyes wide in question.

“Kallisto won’t like that.” Minerva changes shape restlessly on his shoulders, growing smaller and smaller and hugging to him tighter and tighter.

“Then she should have been here.” Bassa Aske lets out a huff. “She’ll get over it, in time.”

Izana frowns. Maybe Kallisto might, but his father...

Father never forgets a slight.

“Feronia.” Father’s mouth is a straight line, a pale slash across his face. “I suppose that’s fair enough.”

Kallisto’s tail lashes in irritation.

“At least it’s another son,” he continues, turning his back on both. Izana wishes his brother was older, just a little, so he might hold on to someone, might feel them hold on back.

Father’s eyes linger on Minerva, but she stays her ground. Only Izana can feel how she shivers at his feet.

“Now have another, in case one of you is a disappointment.”

#answeek2018 #day 3 #akagami no shirayukihime #daemon AU #Creatures of a Brief Season #my fic #ans #this is one of those fics that might end up with more chapters #for i definitely have more ideas with Young Izana and his daemon #but this was a good stopping point

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coyote-brainbabies · 7 years ago

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Profile: Dulcibella

*pushes down self-indulgent things with a profile*

Basic Information

Full Name: Dulcibella Nicknames/Aliases: Dulcie, Bella, Belcie Title(s): None Age: 40 (human years) Gender: Cis Female Orientation: Heterosexual Species: Dragon (Snapper) Birthday: February 17th Occupation: Hatchling Caretaker Powers: -tba- Living Family: Ari (husband), Bubo (son), Regulus (son), Shapur (son), Thema (daughter), Tsisana (granddaughter), Ursa (niece), Deimos (nephew), Nahid (niece), Aroha (grandniece), Lilura (grandniece), Fiachra (great grandnephew) Hometown: -tba- Current Residence: A territory just outside the Wyrmwound

Physical Characteristics

Height Length: 18'6” Skin: Pink and white Hair: N/A Eyes: Red Body Type: Extremely bulky and heavy Distinguishing Marks: Possesses the Paint, Piebald, and Underbelly genes. Left or Right-Handed“Forefooted???”: Right Quirks/Habits: Shuffling her feet when she's irritated. Voice/Voiceclaim: -tba-

Medical Information

Addictions: None Aids/Augmentations: None Allergies: None Conditions: None Physical Abnormalities: None Blood Type: ??? Mental Illnesses: None Other Notes: None

Mental/Personality Attributes

Known Languages: Draconic Positive Traits: Cheerful, kind, patient, understanding, motherly Neutral Traits: Soft-hearted, protective, modest, somewhat conservative, assertive Negative Traits: Passive-aggressive when angered, overly idealistic, indecisive, nosey, overly idealistic Optimist, Pessimist, or Realist: Optimistic Realist Introvert or Extrovert: Extrovert Fears: Heights, disappointing others, ghosts Secrets: None

Likes/Dislikes

General Likes: Children, meeting new people, making people smile, animals, floral scents, family, taking walks, holidays, romance, swimming General Dislikes: Rudeness, bitter foods, rain, ghost stories, cold weather, cruelty towards children, being rushed, saucy foods, being alone Favorite... Animal: Butterflies Color: Baby blue Food: Sand creeper ivy Music Genre: -tba- Season: Spring

Relationships

Best Friend(s): Beaumont Other Friends: Amice, Juvela, Buttercream, Kallisto, Shion, Peppermint Acquaintances: -tba- Significant Other(s): Ari Rivals: None Enemies: None Pets: A Mottled Buttersnake named Calantha.

Other/Trivia

Meaning of Name: Dulcibella comes from the Latin words dulcis, meaning “sweet”, and bella, meaning “beautiful”. Religion: Worship of the Plaguebringer Astrological Zodiac: Aquarius-Pisces cusp Chinese Zodiac: Pig Celtic Zodiac: Rowan Element: Earth MBTI Type: ESFJ Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff Alignment: Neutral Good

Dulcibella frequently uses pet names and terms of endearment for people.

Dulcibella will sometimes raise the hatchlings from scavenged eggs herself if nobody else adopts them. Among these adopted dragons are clanmates Sylvester, Cloud, and Reagan.

Dulcibella first came to Zaahira's lair after her birth parents were both exalted, being brought to the Auction House as a young hatchling by an older clanmate for another lair to take her in.

Dulcibella fell for Ari before he fell for her. When she first became part of Zaahira's family, Ari was just a little older than her, and Bella developed a little kiddie crush on him because she thought he was cool. After a little while, this shallow crush faded, but years later when they both reached adulthood, the feelings returned as something much more solid and genuine.

Ari is the only one who calls her “Belcie”.

Dulcibella likes eating plants a bit more than seafood.

Dulcibella is a pretty good swimmer, and will carry hatchlings on her back like a mother swan while crossing a deep body of water if needed.

#flight rising #dulcibella #profiles

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nightspsyche · 7 years ago

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ooc: POLL TIME!

What should Elana’s new Vigilante name be? I’m sticking with the Greek Mythology theme

Kallisto (or Callisto) - a hunting companion of Artemis who was later turned into a bear. [There is a Callisto in DC and she’s part of the group on Themyscira.]

Psykhe (Psyche) -Wife of Eros (Cupid) who is often depicted as a butterfly winged woman. [There is a Psyche in DC but she hasn’t made an appearance recently but no Psykhe spelling] (Votes: 2)

#I'm honestly leaning more towards Psyche/Psykhe with Elana's Meta powers coming into play #With her shadow manipulation it totally works #I would think she'd be able to toy with people's head using shadows if she wanted #Not to mention the fact she does use some of the Leagues hallucinogens from time to time on criminals

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pumpkinpatchgarden · 1 year ago

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Stephen (man with beard in pink suit) was designed by me! Diamanto (woman with gem on chest) designed by rocioverse27/rochi277 Kallisto (pink curly hair) was designed by @rinaenergy17 Pasha (pisces marks with a braid) designed by katyarchangel on deviantart Delia (dark skin blonde) designed by avocadoafro on deviantart Haris (brown hair purple eyes) designed by landofadoption on deviantart Evi (pink hair orange eyes) designed by rocioverse27/rochi277 Marios (baby boy) designed by sunshine-adopt on deviantart Damla (baby girl) designed by fandomerror on deviantart

About Stephen: He was the son of a merchant and grew up constantly moving from place to place. He knew Diamanto since they were teens, with his dad making ocasional transactions with Diamanto's mom with the years, and they keept in touch with letters when they were appart. Thaks to his experience traveling and making business with other people he became a pretty good diplomat, and after becoming king that's the main way he helped his wife.

About Diamanto: Her full name is Diamanto Rhodon. She was raised by her mom, the queen, as a single mother. Her other mother (somebody the queen accidentally carried from another dimension) died at childbirth, and she "inhereted" the gemstome in her chest from her. Since her birthing mom was not a mewman and had basically no family history she had a hard time making friends (outside the ones that only got close to her as a future queen), and her mom had a hard time bonding with her due the pain of losing her wife at childbirth. Still, she was raised to be a kindhearted and compassionated person who, with time, also learned to become more assertive due people taking advantage of her. She always dreamed of having a big family, and she managed that as we see! Some people rumor that her hybridism caused a mutation that made her fist four daughters have purple eyes, while others say it's just a recessive gene, and some say that maybe both things are true. As a fun fact, her cheekmarks (balloons) changed colors with her emotions, becoming yellow when happy, and blue when sad.

About Kallisto: We already saw her with her family in another drawing, and as you know she ends up marrying a member of the Ponyhead family! In this drawing she 15 and just returned from a date in the clouds (that you can see in KsushaIsTryingToDraw's gallery~~), and it's the first time in almost a year she stopped wearing black since her maternal grandma died shortly before her wand ceremony. She arrived just in time to see her newbown new siblings! Her pendant is a gift from her girlfriend and future wife, Rosetta Ponyhead, wich years latter will be gifted to her future granddaughther Carina.

About Pasha: Her full name is Pasha Kallirroi, and she's a year younger than Kallisto. While she was a good person who mostly keept ho herself and focus on her art, she was known to be "scandalous" mostly due her strange and sometimes revealing fashion sense. She's always been very motherly, being practically obsessed with baby dolls and always taking care of her baby siblings, and this didn't change with time as we see. She's fascinated by her new baby siblings, specially her first brother!

About Delia: Her full name is Delia Melite, and she's three years younger than Kallisto. Her marks are supposed to be golden compass roses but I didn't manage to make them look like it lmao. As the middle child she easily felt left asside, wich caused her to kinda resent her big sister Kallipso. To evade conflic between them her dad took her with him in diplomatic reunions, sparking her curiosity for cultures outside her own. Slowly her bitterness dissipated, even if she still wasn't as close to her sister. Despise that, her dedication and respect was recognized, and her older sister trushed her for diplomatic missions with other kingdoms from across the oceans, where she eventually meet her husband and formed a family, still coming home for special ocasions. In this picture she's bothered because even if one of her new siblings was born with darker skin like her, she's still the only one with her maternal grandma's blonde hair, with means she'll still have to endure the jokes about her being adopted.

About Haris: Her full name is Haris Aglaia, and she's five years younger than Kallisto. As a fun fact, she always had a lingering smell of jasmine flowers (wich are her cheekmarks). Despise her looking curiously at her new siblings in this, she had a strong actitude and a bad temper rivaling that of her sister Delia. Still, she mostly used that actitude to pursue the injustices she saw, and became someone that her sister Kallipso coud always count on. There isn't many information on her, wanting to keep her life private.

About Evi: Her full name is Evi Nike, and she's ten years younger than Kallisto. She was a surprise pregnancy after they decided to not try for more kids, and the only one to come with her father's eyes. She was spoiled and loved during all her childhood, wich may have backfired since she resented her baby siblings for being born. She specially took it agaist her sister, since her brother getting attention as the only boy was undestandable, but she feelt like she took her palce as the "baby girl" of the family. She became meaner with her with the years, and some rumors even say that she had something to do with Damla's dissapearence years later, but that was never officially confirmed or denied. Her relationship with her family eventually became strained due her speaking about them badly behind their backs, but then refusing to apologize or explain herself when confronted. She was eventually cut off by Kallisto.

About Marios: His full name is Marios Nereus, and he's fifteen years younger than Kallisto. He's the first son of the family, and was born with her maternal grandma's eyes! Due his status as the only boy he was offen dismissed by people outisde of his family, not seeing him as useful. That actually played on his favor the time he helped his sister (now queen) with a plan agaist people planning to overtrow her, when the terrorist group kidnapped all his sister and demanded Kallipso to hand over the wand. To their surprise, the wand was a fake and it was Marios who carried the real one, catching them off guard and attacking them with spells his sister teached him before capturing them. Other than that it's known he also enjoyed traveling on his father's ship and taking on his diplomatic job, and may have married intro the Spiderbite family before they eventually founded their own kingdom during Calliope's regin.

About Damla: Her full name is Damla Metis, and she's fifteen years younger than Kallisto. Like her sister Delia she got her darker skin from her maternal great-grandmother, but also had the blue eyes from her paternal grandmother. She was born smaller and with a more delicate health compared to her twin brother, yet was a sweet and cheerful kid. Sadly she dissapeared before even reaching her teen years, and despise her mother and father making an intensive search for her she was never found. Some rumors say her sister Evi used her grandmother's scissors and trew her to another dimension, since the scissors dissapeared for years after the incident. Most historians think she died, but others theorize she may have lived on another dimension and started her own family, with no memories of her old life.

#traditional media #queens of mewni #svtfoe #family #Diamanto Butterfly #Stephen #Kallisto Butterfly #Pasha Butterfly #Delia Butterfly #Haris Butterfly #Evi Butterfly #Marios Butterfly #Damla Butterfly #crossover #steven universe #rose quartz #hybrid

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goldenholi · 1 year ago

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Chapter 11: How Unfortunate The Sky Has No Stomach

Mason disliked the thought of doing anything Atlas wanted him to do, so instead of wandering toward the raucous celebration in Eastgate, he moped in his room. He whispered an occasional hello to Naivara. No response. The flower began to hurt him. Just a glance crushed his heart. He tucked it in a corner of the room and propped himself up by the window, watching as folks milled toward the festivities.

He sank into a chair and opened up his journal. Before he could touch pencil to paper…

Hello?

“Hello Mr. Goldenholi,” Mason said. “Thought you were giving me the silent treatment.”

If I spoke to you in the presence of Kallisto, he said. I’d be smeared as a loon and dropped in a cell. Wouldn’t put it past Atlas to escalate things.

“Why?” Mason asked.

Why else? For Naivara.

“Gross,” Mason said. “I don’t get it. You’re alright. Naivara is alright. None of this crap should be happening.”

That’s Atlas for you. Say, where are you?

“Downstairs,” Mason said. He began to doodle a tiny portrait of a familiar face in the corner of his journal. Round cheeks. Curly hair. He was off. There was something he was forgetting.

You should go out and enjoy the festivities. Don’t mope around on my account.

“Nah,” Mason said. “It’s rebellion. Atlas wants me to go.”

Why? To perform?

“No. Just wants me to.”

Strange. Well I think you should go. I’m sure you would enjoy it. Naivara always did.

And just like that, Mason found himself drawn to the window.

“She did?”

Yeah. She enjoyed it.

Knock knock.

“Hey someone’s knocking-”

Say no more.

Mason set the flower down. The knocking continued, an eager series of beats. Upon opening the door he found himself face to face with a tan, brown haired girl. She was smiley and wore a simple dress. A dazzling little chain glimmered upon her neck.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Olive,” she said. “We met before. At Sistine’s. You came in needing a mirror.”

oh. Mason glanced down at her wrist and there it was: the bracelet with small green charms. He bit his cheek and nodded along. She looked different without the pigments framing her eyes, but her lips were still a bright, glossy, pink. Like she had eaten fruit and the color and shine had transferred to her mouth in the process.

“People say you’ve just been working and sleeping,” she said. “I figured a guy like you might want some fun. I’m going to Eastgate. Join me.”

Mason couldn’t remember the last time a woman asked him out. It wasn’t a thing that happened out West. He was dumbfounded. She tilted her head and he straightened up.

“I uh...just to keep you company,” he said.

“I’ll take it. Wear something nice.”

Mason shut the door. He changed in mildly presentable set of clothing, promising himself that this was for research. To learn about Naivara. And to investigate why that charm had been down there in the first place.

The moment he was out the door, she latched onto his arm. Like a cat that didn’t want to be set on the floor.

“So what do you think of Raaian?”

“It’s alright,” Mason said. “Haven’t met many people. Just the Goldenholi’s and Atlas, if I’m being honest.”

“Well now you know me,” she teased. Mason couldn’t muster the energy to lean into her friendliness. He just nodded and let her tug him along.

“I think you’ll enjoy tonight,” she said. “There’s dancing and drums and a light show…”

“Drums?” Mason asked. “Everyone made such a fuss when I arrived, I thought this town didn’t have music at all.”

“Well we do but it’s mostly drums. And flutes. People just like pretty strangers, I suppose.” He blushed.

“Thank you,” he said. They turned a corner and the music grew louder. He heard the discordant cheer of a festival and despite everything weighing on his mind, the joy seeped into him. Gradually, people milled about in the streets. Streamers of brightly colored triangles hung from building to building. Upon further inspection, Mason stopped.

“Are those butterflies?” He asked.

“Yeah. We use them as decorations.”

“Bit macabre,” he said.

“I don’t know what ‘macabre’ means,” she said. “But that felt like an insult. They’re colorful and lovely, so we put them to use. The Sutero adore them. Look.” She pointed at a porch. There, several Sutero folk crowded around a teenager with dozens of jars. Mason saw several white butterflies, and a handful of blue ones. “They’re tokens of affection down under,” Olive said. “White ones are for proposals. Blue for luck and joy.”

“Won’t they die down there?” Mason asked.

“Yes,” Olive said. “But they would have died up here too. At one point or another.”

“Isn’t it a bit sad?” Mason asked. “Being dragged out somewhere you can’t survive?”

“They’re butterflies,” Olive said. “They’d die anyway. At least down there they can mean something to someone.”

A cat batted at one of the jars. The teenage hustler picked it up and cradled it in their arms as they went back and forth with the Sutero folk, who began to bid on an especially large white butterfly. Mason’s mouth fell open in disbelief as he watched gold trade hands. Olive touched his chin and he shut his mouth so quick that his teeth rattled. He swatted away her hand, embarrassed.

“Oh!” She said. “Do you smell that?”

A sweet, warm smell wafted through the air. Olive took off and Mason trailed behind, following her to a small shop filled with people.

“The Rubi’s made sweetbuns,” she said. “We have to get some, they stuff them with gulo…” Mason stood beside her and listened to her ramble. A lively beat began to cut through the night, and he heard discordant cheer in the distance. Olive kept talking, the air was sweet, and folks chattered amicably. Mason wished Naivara were in line with him. He imagined himself saying something clever, and her smiling. Them splitting a sweetbread.

He jolted back to reality when Olive shoved a sweetbun into his grasp. She kept talking and he took a bite, and it was delicious, if not gooey. Like fried apples, except richer, thicker, earthier. And oh so sweet. He took big bites as Olive led him around the heart of the festivities. Couples swung arm in arm, children jumped around and squealed. Sweetness wafted through the air and laughter rang out from all directions. For a moment, Mason felt a familiarity that left him longing for home. But home was far, far away.

“They’re doing a light show,” Olive blurted. “Over there. It’s simple but good. We can eat together while we watch.”

“A light show?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s lovely, I promise. They tell stories, mostly for the kids but the folks who do it really make an effort. There’s music. It’s mostly drums but they use it to tell a story, not just for dancing. I figured you might like that sort of thing.”

“I would,” Mason said.

She led him close to the perimeter. There, a sheet was pinned flat against the wood. Makeshift seats made of crates and blankets had been put together, and several mats sat atop dewey grass. A handful of parents were already there, watching their children play in the open space. Olive suggested sitting toward the back, but Mason pushed for a spot on the ground. She caved, and he ate quietly, eavesdropping on passerby conversation.

“-didn’t pay and hasn’t paid. I’m stretching everything I’ve got.”

“-asshole.”

“I heard his little lady is sick.”

“Weak excuse. He’s avoiding us for a reason. We fixed the damn thing on an impossible deadline and he has the gall to delay what we earned. I’d like to see him repairing the perimeter…”

“Hey!”

Mason jolted as a small child burst into his personal bubble. “Hi!” The child declared. “Hi Mason how are you I’m better now.”

“Oh! Hello!” Mason said. “Felix?” The little boy nodded with his whole body, grinning.

“Felix, where is your Mama?” Olive asked, her tone grave.

“She’s getting sweet buns for Miss Maple and Katy and me,” he said, bouncing on his toes.

“Okay cool,” Olive said. “Well you go have your fun, Felix.”

“I will!” He said, diving in for a hug. Olive hugged him, then he ran off.

“Sweet kid,” Mason said.

“Didn’t know you met him.”

“Yeah,” Mason said. He chose not to elaborate. Shortly after a blonde woman rushed into the makeshift theater and sat herself down behind a red-headed woman. Felix sprinted over to her, and Mason paused.

He prefer’s blondes. That’s what the drunkard had said when he was searching for Naivara. The charm from Olive’s bracelet burned a hole in his pocket.

“So uh...what’s the show about?” He asked, trying to ignore the confusion and anger hardening in his chest.

“I don’t know tonight’s,” she said. “It’s usually about a hunter or something.”

A steady beat. Then, the cut out of a small a woman appeared upon the sheet. She walked in tune with the drum, as if confident in her path. The scene changed, small trees dappling the space behind her as she walked. The children quieted, settling down with their respective groups.

“What’s wrong with scene, children?” The voice rang out loudly and was dulcet, downright playful. Mason smiled at how even far, far away, everyone spoke the same to children.

A chorus of young voices rang out: She’s alone! She’s by herself in the forest! She doesn’t have a crossbow!

“Correct! Our fair maiden can’t travel alone, not in our forest. It’s always best to travel in a group, that’s the best way to ensure a safe venture anywhere outside of town. Our fair maiden needs some friends, can you help her call them over by whistling?”

The children did their best, spluttering and blowing. They sat there for a short while, parents giggling as they tried to teach their respective children to whistle. One parent tilted their head back and let out a long, smooth note and their daughter giggled, then tried to do the same: except her whistle sounded more like a howl. The children forgot their assignment, veering into the realm of animal noises.

“Oh no! Look!”

A cut out of a wolf entered the scene. Mason’s stomach dropped. The children screamed: no!!!

“A beast has entered the scene. It hasn’t noticed our fair maiden. What should she do?”

The parents gave a series of high-pitched whistles. A few rang out from the perimeter itself, and Mason noticed a handful of guards watching the show. It was sweet, but it irked him to think that there could be something out there that they didn’t see.

“That’s correct! Call for help! Look who have come to her side!”

More cutouts entered the scene, until she was traveling with a large group. The children cheered. The drum became steady and light. The wolf ran away.

“It’s good to have friends in the forest, but it’s dangerous to wander off, even if you stray only slightly.”

Gradually, cut outs disappeared from the scene. It became quiet, the drum akin to a heartbeat as the fair maiden idled in the forest.

Then she jolted, a wiry figure dropping into the scene. It motioned for her to join it, and she shook.

“Our fair maiden has come face to face with a hag.”

The children were quiet, eyes wide. The parents were solemn. Mason swiped at his brow.

The fair maiden trembled. The hag offered the fair maiden fruit.

“A hag is not your friend,” the narrator said. “If it offers you food, what do you say?

“NO!” The children roared.

“Dear children, you are correct!”

The fair maiden distanced herself from the hag.

“Can anyone tell me what hags do?”

“They eat your dreams!”

“They eat squirrels raw!”

“They do dark magic!”

“Correct!” The narrator declared. “Hags are unpredictable, and can hitch a ride into town upon unsuspecting people. Sweet children, if someone wanders from your group you must make sure it’s known, and make every effort to bring them back. If enough time passes, our fair maiden may be too hungry to resist a meal…”

The fair maiden crept close to the fruit. The hag twitched eagerly.

“No!” The children cried.

Another figure entered the scene: a man.

“Look! She’s been found by a friend!”

He stood beside her and led her away, until she was surrounded by a proper group of friends. The drum beat grew light and playful as the cut outs danced amongst themselves.

“Sweet children, you must never leave anyone behind in the forest. The right thing to do is stay by you friends side and bring them home. Remember: hags make hags.”

“Hags make hags,” the children sang.

“Are you okay?” Olive asked. Her hand touched his shoulder and he shoved it away. Mason pushed to his feet and left, heart bounding, the green charm burning a hole in his pocket. “Hey? What did I do?”

“This!” Mason said, yanking the charm out. “This is what you did. I found this is in the basement. Care to tell me why it was there?”

Olive froze. Her gaze darted between the charm and his face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her voice stilted. “I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you,” Mason said.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” she said. “We can still have a good night, can’t we just let this idea you’ve got go-”

“I can’t do that,” Mason said. “I know that Atlas has a preference for blondes. I know he cheated on Naivara, I know you were in the basement. What the fuck is going on, Olive?”

“I...uh… Treasure!” She ran, pushing past him as she sprinted away. “Treasure!”

There she was. Eyes trained on Mason like he were some sort of criminal. A Sutero man stood at her side. His skin was a rich, deep blue. His eyes were pale. His hair was long and done in fine braids with bits of gold interspersed throughout. He was tall and strong, with a terse look about him. “What’s going on here?” Treasure asked.

“Treasure,” Olive whispered. “Treasure he thinks I was in the basement-”

Her expression darkened. Mason held up the green charm. Treasure glanced at the man beside her, then at the charm, then back at him.

“Come,” she said. “Let’s discuss your concern. Olive, go home.”

“It’s fucked up,” Mason said. “Very fucked up.”

Treasure led him away from the festivities. They walked until the drums sounded like dull thuds, and delight was a faint rustling in the distance. The Sutero man remained close to Treasure, glancing at Mason intermittently.

“What do you think you know?” Treasure asked.

“I know that Olive was in the basement,” Mason said.

“Alright. What about it?”

“Felix’s mother is the woman Atlas cheated with,” Mason said.

“And?” Treasure asked.

“And...and-”

“Think wisely about what you say next,” the man said.

“I think that you robbed Atlas,” Mason said. “I don’t know how or why but I think it was you. I think Clarice was the distraction.”

“Very bold accusation,” Treasure said.

“A claim like that could backfire severely,” the man said.

“Who the fuck are you?” Mason asked. “Why are you here-”

“Mason,” Treasure said. “Meet my partner. Brigadier Hagan Burkhardt.”

“That supposed to mean something?”

“It means that you need to choose what you say very wisely,” Burkhardt said.

“He’s been here a short while,” Treasure said. “Allow me to explain. Down under, there’s a monarchy. We call them the Crown, and the Crown have soldiers. My love, what authority do you have?”

“The only individuals who supersede me are the Crown itself and General Kalina.”

“You hear that Mason?” Treasure asked. “He answers to exactly two people.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“It should,” Burkhardt said. “It means I have a lot of influence. A lot of resources. It means I could be a very valuable friend if you’re ever in need.” Mason squinted.

“Mason,” Treasure said. “Don’t say a word. Don’t speculate. I’ll tell you the whole truth, so long as you swear to keep it to yourself. Hagan will reward you.”

“I don’t want anything,” Mason said.

“Right now,” Burkhardt said. “A week from now, that could change.”

“You know what I want?” Mason asked. “I want to know why you’d pull a stunt like that knowing how Atlas would flip on Naivara.”

“You’re speculating.”

“Is she just the towns punching bag?” Mason asked. “First Atlas, then Killian, then you?”

“What do you mean by Killian?” Treasure asked.

“Oh like you care,” Mason shot.

“I do care,” she said. “Why do you bring up Killian? Did he do something?”

“Treasure,” Burkhardt said. “We should take this discussion back home. Where we know who is listening.”

“What the fuck did Killian do?” Treasure asked.

“What do you do?” Mason shot.

“Let’s go to Sistine’s,” Burkhardt said, taking Treasure by the shoulders. “Let’s go. Let’s have this discussion indoors.”

Sistine’s was crowded. Sutero folk hovered around the counter as a woman with bright orange curls offered up drinks and small doses of various drugs. She lifted the bar flap and the three made it upstairs quickly.

“What did he do?” Treasure asked. “What the fuck did Killian do this time?”

“He thinks Naivara has female hysteria.”

“Fake,” Burkhardt said flippantly.

“Not to Atlas,” Mason said. “Certainly not to Killian.”

“I don’t know what that is, love.”

“I think it’s best we keep it that way.” “No I need to understand it, I have to be properly incensed.”

Burkhardt grimaced.

“It’s a concept that women’s wombs move,” he said. “The idea that the womb is an entity unto itself that influences a woman’s composure.”

“What a polite way of saying it,” Mason said. “It’s a made up condition for demonizing women who don’t behave right.”

“Condition?” Treasure asked. “Like a cold?”

“More like a disease of the mind,” Burkhardt said. “It’s all bullshit,” Mason said. “And you know it’s made up because sex is a treatment.”

“Excuse me?”

“Treasure-”

“Espero que muera pronto,” Treasure muttered. “No pienso que voy sobrevivir una ano mas compartiendo este pueblo con Killian, Hagan, I’m done.”

“You speak Orsil?”

“Don’t get distracted,” Burkhardt said. “We’re here exchanging information to clarify a misunderstanding.”

“Nuh uh,” Mason said. “I want the truth.”

“You want the truth?” Treasure asked.

“Yes!” Mason said.

“Alright,” Treasure said. “I know Naivara’s making pacci. I know Atlas put her up to it. I even know how he got the damn instructions. You wanna know what else I know? I know that he thinks he can manufacture it, but he’s wrong. He’s wrong because he didn’t get full instructions, he got partial.”

“How do you know all that?”

“I just do,” she said. “And now, now he’s making medicine without awareness. And he’s going to try and divorce the town from relying on the underground, and he will end up getting people sick or hurt or dead. So I sent him back to square one. Happy?”

No. Mason wasn’t happy in the least. Naivara couldn’t win if she tried.

“Is it all botched?” He asked.

“Most of it,” Treasure said.

“This feels weird,” Mason said. “This feels illegal.”

“If the Crown knew what he was doing, he’d be in a world of trouble.”

“So…” Mason paused. “Why don’t they?”

“They can’t find out,” Treasure said. “They can’t. If they did, it would backfire on the whole town. We’re dealing with this quietly, Mason. So nobody gets hurt.” “Except Naivara,” Mason said.

“Mark my words,” Treasure said. “The moment Naivara is back, I’ll do everything in my power to set things right. She’s caught in an awful mess and I want nothing more than to get her out of it.”

“Why didn’t you just say something?” Mason asked. “Why did you have to steal the pacci?”

“Because Atlas doesn’t listen,” Treasure said. “He doesn’t listen to Naivara, he sure as shit won’t listen to me. I did what I had to, Mason.”

“And you think this is fine?” Mason asked, looking at Burkhardt. “You think it’s right? Naivara got dragged out into the forest. That’s just, okay?”

“This town needs the Crown on its side,” Burkhardt said. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“It’s wrong to leave Naivara out to dry.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Confront Atlas! Tell him it’s wrong to send Naivara out there!”

“He hasn’t said a word about it,” Treasure muttered. “He’s not going to acknowledge it. We can’t either.”

“Why not!”

“Because then he’ll know I’ve been snooping,” Treasures said. “And he’ll find a way to punish me. To punish everyone who relies on me.”

“The way I see it, either Naivara’s on the hook or everyone in this house is,” Burkhardt said.

Mason clenched his fists.

“So how does it end?” Mason asked. “Because if Atlas needs Naivara and Naivara can’t make pacci, where does that leave her? She’ll never appease him. He’ll never give her a break.”

Treasure softened.

“You really like her,” she said. “Don’t you?”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Listen,” Treasure said. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Naivara gets out of this mess. I will.”

“How?”

“When she’s back, I’ll talk to her. I’ll knock some sense into her. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to make sure this doesn’t hurt her any more than it has. I promise.” She set a hand upon his shoulder. “And I’ll put in a good word for you,” she said. “Let her know how much you care.”

“No,” he said. “No. Something about that feels wrong. You want me to keep my mouth shut in exchange, don’t you?”

“Well Naivara doesn’t need to know-”

“You betrayed her!” Mason shot. “Don’t pretend you didn’t! You hurt her and now you wan’t to pretend you didn’t, make it right without her knowing and all that crap. That’s fake and misleading and, and-”

The wind left his lungs. His back collided with a wall, his clothes dragged as he was lifted up, the wooden wall creaking beneath his skin. Burkhardt held him in place, silent, eyes narrowed.

“Talking wasn’t working,” he said to Treasure.

“Put him down.”

“No,” Burkhardt said. “No. Mason, you won’t say a word about any of this to anyone. Maybe there’s power in wandering the world alone, and maybe it’s served you well, but it certainly puts you at a disadvantage in the present. Let’s pretend you disappear. People will be disappointed, but they will assume you’ve wandered to a new town. That you had your fun and left.”

Mason felt his heart beat through his whole body.

“If you pit Naivara against Treasure,” Burkhardt said. “All you do is sabotage Naivara. She doesn’t have anyone else to fall back on. If you run your mouth and she learns about this, she won’t want to accept help when she needs it most. Let’s pretend she musters up the courage to leave Atlas. You want her to be truly, utterly alone?”

“N-no.”

“You’re going to keep your mouth shut,” Burkhardt said. “You won’t breath a word. Say you understand.”

“I understand,” Mason choked out. Burkhardt slackened his grip. He leaned in close, and Mason shrank.

“I won’t be leaving town for a while,” Burkhardt warned. “If I hear a whisper about Treasure’s involvement in this, trust that I know the most heinous portions of forest. Trust that I could drag you out there kicking and screaming, and nobody would bat an eye. Trust that I’d tell Naivara you left her behind.”

His fists unclenched Mason’s shirt. Mason shoved him away, then fled the scene entirely, scrambling downstairs. Treasure’s eyes remained locked on Burkhardt, who knew better than to turn and face her wrath head on.

“I had to do it,” Burkhardt said. “He’s young and in love. I needed to knock some sense into him.”

“You always assume you know best, Hagan,” she said. “I wish that were true.”

The low tones of a horn rang throughout town. Most slept through it. Those who were awake paused and searched for the source. Mason followed the sound and discovered Atlas, perched upon the perimeter at Westgate. He was a wreck. His hair was undone, his clothing haphazard. A great knot of fire burned in Mason’s chest.

“What happened?” Someone called. Atlas didn’t reply. He turned his back to the crowd. He knew how Mahog worked, and she only showed if he gave her his full, undivided attention. He stared out into the forest, waiting for a patch of darkness to climb up the perimeter.

He blinked, and a woman appeared crouched upon the edge of the perimeter. A wooden mask eclipsed her face, white hair framing it like cotton sprouting from a seed.

“You have called upon me,” she said.

Atlas took a knee and bent forward.

“High Druid Mahog,” he began. “I come to you in need. My fiancé is missing. I believe she was stolen by a hag.”

High Druid Mahog stepped down, onto the walkway. She stood facing him for a short while, as if passing judgement. Sweat pooled at the nape of his neck.

“Will you help her come home?” He asked.

“I will help you,” High Druid Mahog said. “What you ask is no small feat. If she is taken with the hag, removing her from her new home will be difficult. It will take time.”

“I need her to return home safe,” Atlas said. “That’s all that matters.”

A short while passed. Mahog deliberated in silence. The forest murmured, leaves rustling against one another as the wind chilled Atlas’ skin. She was out there. In this cold, without knowing the land.

“The next time you see me I will have Naivara in tow.”

Atlas looked up and she was gone.

How did Mahog know her name?

The news spread quickly: Naivara had been stolen. The festivities were cut short. Like a flower closing up, the drums quieted. The cheer diminished. The night grew colder and quieter as everyone came to terms with the reality that a girl had been stolen. That she had been ripped from the town and was out there in the dark somewhere, alone.

Mason idled in the street, eyes trained on Atlas. He was a shadow against the sky, still, unresponsive.

Mason wished for the sky to swallow Atlas whole.

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