Fantasy ♡ need you like a heartbeat. (starboob & ellarose.)

[starboob]

“Willow, won’t you please just look at me?”

Her mom’s words are laced with sorrow. She chokes on them. Even without looking, Willow can imagine the bob of her throat, the hand over her chest while the other reaches towards the daughter who won't respond. Apparitions like this always appear in the mist and, always, they beckon their victims with sweet nothings and saccharine promises. ‘It’s not real.’

As much as she wants to look, just to refresh the ever fading memory of her mom, she forces every ounce of her strength and attention on collecting the sample. Carefully, she dips the lip of the vial below the surface, watching the ripple across the blood while more sprays onto the back of her hand from the rain. Though her breaths are shallow and have been since stepping out of her vehicle, the smell dizzies her anyway, churning the contents of her stomach. Corpses and chains fill her memory. She grimaces, tightening her jaw. Between her mom's ghost and the gore all around her, every direction is a knife.

“I was wrong to run away. Won’t you help me come back home?”

This, too, is a lie. The simple fact is that Willow never disappeared. Willow never left. Her mom could have come back on her own, and she’s never going to. That is the bitter truth she swallowed more than a decade ago; Dahlia James is never coming back. Her eyes still sting like it’s the first time she’s coming to this conclusion. ‘I wish it were real, but it’s not. It's not.’

Behind her, Juliet's boots scuff against the rocky shore and that's the only warning Willow gets before she's shoved to the side. A small yip flees from her throat as her arms fly out in front of her to brace against impact. She skids over the jagged rocks, opening up a series of scrapes and cuts along her forearms; pain to burns over them like wildfire. Her vision blurs and unfocuses as she struggles to piece together what's happened. The whole world spins. Dizzily, she flips over onto her back, automatically moving her legs like eggbeaters to scrabble backwards and out of the way.

She searches for Julies and finds doubles of her spinning in her vision. The archer's arms are flailing, her torso jerks, but her head remains submerged in the lake, held down by some invisible force. That alone spurs the rest of Willow into action, staggering back up to her feet and, just as quickly, summoning her sword and staff into her hands.

Lucky and Grace move faster, however. The dragon leaps into the air and dives for the unseen assailant. Their claws sink into something (a head?) and they pump their wings, jerking it backwards and off of Juliet while Grace sizes up and pounces, maw open. She also clamps down onto something, snarling even as it tries to shake her off of its arm (?). Both companions thrash wildly through the air and though Willow cannot see what the companions see (or what Juliet presumably saw), she uses their positions as a guide, charging forward. Wind pumps through her legs, granting her speed, and as she approaches the assailant, she twists her torso and swings. The edge of the blade connects with something solid; something more firm than flesh though definitely not armor. Lines of gold start to trickle over the sword just as the antlered creature phases into view in strobe like patterns, looking down at the sword just barely wedged in his torso.

The antlered creature—the tyrant twists on Willow, unfettered by the companions’ efforts, like they are no more than babies clinging to their parent. His claws wrap around the blade and, swiftly, he jerks it away from his stomach. Willow stumbles backwards, feet sliding unsteadily over the uneven and slicked ground. He clamps down on her shoulder before she can fall, digging his claws into her flesh and tossing her through the air like a mere rag doll.

As Willow and their companions take on the tyrant, Juliet is only left free for a split second. Bloody arms burst up from the lake and wrap around Juliet's head and shoulders, holding her in a vise and pulling her into the water until she's submerged. Whatever has grabbed Juliet, its strength is unyielding. No amount of struggle loosens its grip of even deters their descent to the bottom of the lake.

At the deepest point, the waters, while still dark, are not red. In this hidden recess of fresh water, the spirit loosens her grip around the archer and pulls away, allowing herself to be seen with more clarity. In stature and build, she's not much different than Willow; although perhaps more athletically built with the thickness of a rugby player. Her hair is short and cropped just below her chin. While it fans out in the water, it's evident that it would have a slight wave to it if it were dry. Though the exact color of it is difficult to parse, it is dark with bleached ends. Her eyes are hidden by shadows, though they are not quite hollowed out; just hidden. (Somehow, they still fill with desperation.) Most striking, however, is the clear fire that spills in a thin stream from her chest, exactly where a thread would be.

Her hands move to Juliet's forearms, holding her in an iron grip. Stay. Her touch is ice. It burns. “T̸̖̭͊h̸̻̓͘e̵͊͜y̵̭̜̣͒̀’̵̡̼̹̓͒r̷̳̗͊̇̕ė̶̪̅̊ forgett̶̨̽i̵̞̥̇ń̸͓͖͜g̴̥̤̫͗͊ me.” When she speaks, her lips never move. The sound seems to come from her chest and echoes all around them. When Juliet does not reply, at least not fast enough for the spirit, she digs the tips of her fingers into her arms, tugging her forward as if that might bring Juliet closer to understanding. “D̶͓̔o̶̼̓̍ń̴̝'̵͉̘́ť̶͙̪ ĺ̷̦͝e̵̡̅̈t̸͍́̾ͅ ̸͇͚̀h̶͓̆͠e̴̹̞̾r̵̗̺͌ forget me. Please.”

The water heats up around them as the phantom becomes more frustrated, as nothing she wants to say comes out with clarity. The entire lake bubbles, peels of steam curling into the air.“H̶̨̛̗͘ẽ̷̦͘ ̸̮̻̏t̷̗̄͋͜r̸̡͓̽̈́i̵̹͎̔è̶͔̓d̶͚̪̓͑ ̷̳͋̀t̸̖̅͝ỏ̶͇ ̶̟̎̑ͅk̸͘ͅi̷̟̊̈l̵͚̤̏͊l̴͚̅̓ ̷̟̲̇̀m̸̘͒e̵͙͝ ̵͚̍ͅl̵̟͖̽̐i̴͈̔̆ͅk̶̭͆e̶̘͐͝ ̶̳̪͐͆ẗ̶̙̞́̈h̴̥͖̔̀ǻ̴̠t̴̫͂̕ ̶͚̓t̷̟̤͑o̸̝̞̓õ̴̢̦.̸̩̗͘ He s̶̘̏̚t̴͖̓ô̵̢̤͛l̸͈̣̀e̴͇̭̚̕ ̶͉̓e̴̼̞͗v̴͓̑ě̶͖͝ṛ̷͈̂͠y̵̗͘t̷͈̖͑͌h̶͖̑ḯ̶̞̺n̷͋ͅg̴̖̦̍̌ from me and–and now...” Her face screws up, contorted as if in pain. “I̵̺̋̆̆'̷̞̖̪̥͒m̶͚͓͇̔ fucking forgett̶̨̽i̵̞̥̇ń̸͓͖͜g̴̥̤̫͗͊ me too. Fuck! All I—”

A sonic burst vibrates through the water from the surface, interrupting the spirit. Her head snaps towards the noise, then follows the line of gold as it ignites down into the waters, connecting at Juliet's chest. It brightens, causing the spirit to turn away as she squints against the searing light. The spirit keeps her grip fastened around Juliet, even as her thread starts to help her slip away. "Please b̴͈̞̊ẻ̶̫̜̠̼̓l̴̦͘͝i̷̺̽́̂́ė̶͓̫͑͊ṿ̸̉̊e̷̛͓̟͖ ̸͔̦̒̈̕m̵̢̨͓̉̃̀e̸͕̲͘.̶͔̠̠̪̂͘ ̸̢͕͇̜̂D̵̖̙͖̆̃̚o̷̱͑͠͝ń̶͍̠̥̉̀’̵̖̥̖̽͂ṱ̵́ forget me, Juliet.”

 

[ellarose]

'Who are you?'

Desperate flames twist and unfurl from the spirit's chest like the petals of a circus rose. Even as the thread illuminates the depths, Juliet finds she cannot catch a glimpse of the spirit's eyes. Even so, she can feel the weight of the shadowed gaze on her, holding her down like an anchor in the depths. How is she meant to remember someone she's never met, someone she's never known? (Unless...? A fragment of the childhood memories she's forgotten flashes through her mind like a ray of sunlight upon the water. No. It was Willow and Willow only.) She's pulled upward by an unseen force, but the spirit's grip is unrelenting. Those phantom fingers dig in, leaving glowing slashes in the archer's forearms as she finally slips through her grasp.

'I don't know who you are. But I'll tell her you're here. You have my word.' It's all Juliet can offer, knowing as little as she knows. A glimmer of hope. That can be everything, coming from the right person. She knows what it is to be trapped, to scream as her insides boiled over without a single soul there to steady her. She knows--

Another set of arms closes around Juliet's waist from behind and brutally yanks her backward. Gasping, a few bubbles rise from her mouth. Water shifts and rushes in her ears. Like this, Juliet cannot see her assailant-- only the dark, long wisps of hair floating in the water around her like serpents. They lengthen and crowd around her, closing the spirit out entirely as she lunges and reaches out for her. Darkness swallows Juliet at the bottom of the lake-- the only source of light coming from the thread shining in front of her. It shivers and struggles, still fighting valiantly to pull her to the surface. (Willow.) Two dainty, ghost-white fingers rise to pinch it and the thread's light sizzles out.

A thousand eyes blink open, staring down at Juliet as her own begin to close. She hits her limit. She can't breathe.

"Drat. I suppose I should return your red cape so you don't fucking die." Sefarina sighs, as if her dying would be an inconvenience more than anything else. Juliet slowly comes to as cloth wraps around her shoulders. The slashes the spirit left in her arms turn into gills, her legs stitch together into a tail the color of darkened blood. She blinks hard, shakes her head, and gradually acclimates herself to breathing underwater... it isn't easy, as they come all ragged and panicked. "There. You ought to thank me. I stole it back from that vile monster Brooks."

Juliet's brow furrows. Her fingers brush against the familiar embroidery on the hem of her red hood. (The original red hood.) What does this--? No. She squints in a futile attempt to see, to look for a means of escaping this underwater enclosure. Don't answer her. Search for a way out.

"You don't understand the antiquated rules of your own kind, do you? You don't understand the gravity of the favor I've just done for you." Sefarina laughs, the sound like bells on the softest breeze. "The sea is a cruel beast, Juliet. To brave it, merfolk must be crueler. The people are as terrified of you as they are enchanted. Perhaps that's why so many stories punish you lot just for wanting..." She clicks her tongue. "For you, love is the pain of a thousand daggers. It's cutting out your own tongue and turning into sea foam. It's sacrificing a part of who you are. You've been taught to fear love, my dear. Makes my job so damned difficult."

"What are you..." Juliet pinches her eyes shut, massaging her brow. (This woman is a headache. A mind-fuck, as Meredith might say.)

The thread ignites again, illuminating Sefarina's cheshire grin. "Don't worry. I'll wait for you to come around." She trails her fingertip contemplatively over the thread, back and forth. "In the meantime... shall I acquaint myself with your new match?" With the wave of her hand, she commands the water, ripping the red cloak away from Juliet. The archer's tail spirits away, her gills flatten. When she brings her hands to her throat, she realizes that her choker has been torn off. Scaramouch. Her eyes widen. No. "Wait here, darling. I'll return. Try not to drown in the meantime."

***​

"Oh my... were you expecting someone else? It appears you've caught a kraken instead of a fish!" Sefarina observes airily. Standing on the surface of the lake, she dries the rivulets of water running down her body with a simple wave of her hand, commanding the winds around her. Her dark hair styles itself into perfect ringlets, she presses her lips together with a pop to restore their redness. The blue of her doll-like eyes is piercing against the blood-red landscape as she stares at Willow James. "Sefarina De Winter. It's a pleasure." She dips into a curtsey. For a beat, nothing answers her but the pattering of blood rain, casting ripples across the surface of the lake.

"There's nothing I love more than a dramatic entrance. This weather, though..." Sefarina twists her lips, arching a dark brow. "It's a little much, even for my tastes." She claps once and freezes the rain in a way where it resembles crystalized rubies suspended in midair.

Grace bares her teeth as her eyes lock on the woman, her orange fur bristling. She and Lucky are busy holding the flickering entity down and away from Willow.

"Willow James. We finally meet." Sefarina's gaze never leaves the sorceress. She doesn't seem to blink. When Grace lunges, a shadowy hand emerges from the water and slams her down. The fox whimpers, struggling fiercely beneath it. The suspended raindrops sharpen and fly at her, pinning her down further. At the same time, another shadowy arm raises out of the water in front of Willow. But instead of attacking, this one daintily offers to shake her hand. "Well, you're certainly scrawnier than the last one. Not that it matters." She waves her hand dismissively. "It'd be remiss of me to underestimate you. That magic you possess, hm... it's positively delectable. Where Viola failed, you just might succeed."

Lucky struggles, conflicted, but doubles down on top of the entity as it writhes to escape. They growl a fierce warning at her even so-- their throat glowing a fiery red.

"Goodness! Everyone thinks I'm here to fight. I'm not. In fact, I want you to succeed, Willow. I want you to find love." When Sefarina grins, it's shrouded in ulterior motives. The shadow hand offers her a thumbs up. "I've come to give you a choice. A test, if you will." She snaps and the hand opens up, spiriting the red hood and the Scaramouch choker into its palm. "Pick one." Her eyes glow to the point where they're ambivalent and soulless. She tilts her head wonderingly. "I should warn you... your decision will have consequences." She purses her lips. "Tick tock! Or she's going to drown with that wallowing ghoul down there."

 

[starboob]

Willow’s breaths come out ragged and heavy; her shoulders rise and fall as she eyes Sefarina, uncertain and unsure. She doesn’t dare move an inch, not wanting to tempt the predator. Even as her curls start to drip down into her eye line or even as the blood rains themselves sting her vision, she refuses to move. She refuses to look away. She will not give Sefarina reason to strike. All her assurances that she is not here to fight hold no weight or water. Willow knows better than to trust her. She’s trusted a vipress before and ended up poisoned.

Her heart slams like a caged animal against her ribs, the vein against her neck throbs, and for as much as she wishes running were an option, Juliet needs her. Grace needs her. She will not abandon them and she won’t put them at risk. ‘Be wise.’

Sefarina presents her with a choice and, naturally, does not explain the rules. It’s enough that she has Scaramouch. (But where did the red cloak come from? Willow’s never seen this one before and Juliet has been alternating between her Pantera and red racer striped jacket while in Evermore. Is it even hers? Can she trust Sefarina? Well, the answer to the latter question is obvious.) ‘What would Juliet do?’

‘She’d make her own rules.’ Accepting that there are only two options plays directly into Sefarina’s hand, confirming she has all the power in this situation. Willow refuses to give her any more leverage by playing her game; a game with ever changing rules, if she had to guess. ‘You can be fearless like her. She needs you to be fearless like her.’

‘And you need to be smart like you.’ Those lifeless eyes are analyzing her every move, waiting for her to bend or snap. Or will she break? For this brief moment, Willow holds some power. She tamps down on the rioting animal in her chest, willing it to calm. Lucky growls. Their restrained flame warms her back and reminds her that she’s not alone. Grace growls too, fidgeting in spite of the bloody pins keeping her down like a mounted butterfly. Warmth hits from the boiling lakes, the red bubbles popping all around Sefarina. If the temperature bothers her, she does nothing to show it.

Willow raises her hand. A glyph flashes on her palm in a too-quick-and-you-might-miss-it fashion. A similar glyph flashes under the shadowy hand, then encloses around the items. Sefarina grins like a scythe is splitting open her face, her eyes peeling open, unnaturally wide. But the woman never has her chance for the last word.

See, what Sefarina and Willow have both failed to considered is that the wallowing ghoul down there owns the lakes and she doesn’t take kindly to other beasts encroaching on her territory. Nor does she appreciate losing the seed of hope she’s placed with Juliet. Once the wallowing ghoul realizes that she cannot penetrate the dark mists holding the archer hostage, she changes her approach. The lakes are her bitch, after all.

As the items disappear from Sefarina’s hand and reappear in Willow’s, the red lake stills. Then, without warning, the blood waters pull towards the center in a rush, taking Sefarina along with it, as they rise into a dome shape, like a sheet-ghost. It continues to gather in size and mass, stretching into the clouds to be seen for miles even if the thrill seekers, storm chasers, and goths dispersed at the arrival of the tyrant. Sefarina’s form clings to the side of the body. “S̵̠̄́̍Ę̴̪̱̥̿F̷̘̝̋Á̴̟R̶̼͇̋͐̈́͜Î̸̩͈̞̃Ṅ̷̬͍̒͆̎Á̷̛͙͚͕͘ ̷̼̑͊D̸̨̡̡͎̎́̋E̴̢̛̗̹̒ ̴̙͖͐̀ͅW̶̧̮̬̌ͅḮ̶͚͙́́́N̵͚͓̻̖͑͌T̷͓̎̊̔Ě̶̘̣̆̍͋R̴͖͍̮͌͜͝S̸̼͋̈́͆͝,̸͇̤͎̌ ̷̜͚̬͛Y̴̼̓̾Ỏ̸̦̆U̴͎̿̀͠ ̸̨̛͎͗̎͐B̷̧̮̩͈̐̿̌̏I̵͙̣̱̊T̴̪͍̂͒͑̓Ć̸̢̡̪͎̾Ĥ̶͖̙̻̄̓.̶͍͖̯͔̊̽̐”

The lake spirit’s words come out in resonate high pitched screeches. (Like Godzilla in those old movies Leif likes to watch.) The trees are pushed back by the force, bushes are uprooted and fly away. Lucky has to grow to combat the force (as well as keep the tyrant in place). Willow slides backwards, barely able to hold herself up. She clutches the items close to her middle, protecting them.

“Ţ̶͚͙͔͖̼̈́̑H̶̱̙̠̫̎̑̈́̔̄E̸̜͙̼̐̉̾͆̏͌̾S̴̡̫̹̝̖̹͋̐̈́͗͐̿Ȇ̵̢̫̣͓ ̸̢̟͚̮̈́̇͊̂A̵̠̍͊Ŗ̸͉͙͉̭͊́̈́͌̕͠͠E̵̡̺̰̗̰̞͇̅̎͂͘͘ ̴̱̙̋͑̂M̶̢͇̭̝̞̅̒̃Ȳ̴̮͍̼͙̪̺ ̷̡̆́͜Ḻ̶̦͎̖͈͓̉̈́̈́̅͘̚A̸͔̞͍̲̥͐̾̀̀̏̃͘Ḳ̸̈͠E̵̬̍̍͌̓͗̚Ș̶̆́̌̂̄͝.̵̛̝̹͎͙̭̾̋͗ ̶͉͕̮̜̅̇G̴̛͉̳̻̤̫͂͋́͜ͅE̷̻͍̝̘̻̾T̸̛̻͉͉̺͚̀ ̶̛͔̘͍̪̞͗̎͘Ò̷̢̡̥͔̹̔̐̋͘Ų̶͐Ṯ̸̛̹͉͐̋!̶̨̯̱͋!̸̣͓͖͇͚͙̫͛̈́́͗͝”

Everything comes crashing down. The dome of blood water bursts, washing the surrounding woods in a tidal wave. Willow pivots and dives onto Grace, wrapping her arms firmly around the fox as she casts a protective bubble over them. Both of them are ripped out of place and fall against Lucky who’s large enough to be immovable. Another body lands against Lucky’s stomach and when the wave finally clears, Willow and Grace slump beside each other as the orb breaks down. Next to them, Juliet lies on her side in a blood soaked heap. Grace immediately squirms away from Willow’s side to check on her companion while the sorceress shakes out her head, trying to still the spinning world.

She grips the side of her head, pressing Scaramouch to her temple. With a small confused groan, she pulls the talisman away and stares at it blankly. As the details of the events prior to the blood wave come back to the sorceress, she whips her head around, searching for the red cloak only to find it missing. She leverages against Lucky's stomach to slide up to her feet, staggering with one hand on her injured shoulder, as she scours their immediate vicinity for the cloak or even Sefarina, but neither are immediately present. (She supposes that's half good news.) And with Juliet coughing up a lungful of blood, the sorceress has more important matters to address.

Willow slides down beside Juliet and Grace, inspecting the archer for external injuries—though it's impossible to tell what blood actually belongs to her. She goes to fasten Scaramouch back around Juliet's neck, patting the trinket lightly to affirm it's safely in place before she takes Juliet's arm into her hand, having noticed the obvious gashes. She inhales sharply. "We need to get you cleaned up." Never mind the bleeding claw marks on her shoulder. Lucky and Grace both give Willow an incredulous look, though Willow interprets the fox's expression as, 'What about me?' "You too, Gracie. We'll get you both sorted. I'll—"

“Get… Your fucking… dragon off of me,” Kinsley sputters from underneath Lucky, gasping for breath and interrupting whatever tender moment might have been forming between the group. Willow, nonplussed, does a double take, finding the socialite in the place where the tyrant once was, catching her just as the last of the tyrant’s sharp claws collapse into a gnarled scar at the center of Kinsley's chest. Her clothes are in tatters, her hair is disheveled, and she's streaked with blood. (Not of her victims, for fucking once.) Lucky shrinks and hops from the socialite, unfazed, and lands on Willow's uninjured shoulder. From their safe distance, they hiss.

Kinsley barely manages a scowl before she promptly passes the duck out.

 

[ellarose]

"We need to fetch a sample." Juliet manages to speak through shallow breaths, finally having coughed all of the bloody lake water from her lungs. They burn terribly, but that's nothing compared to the state of her heart. She rubs a trembling hand under her chin, bracing against ground as she struggles to recollect herself. Remember what you're here for. Focus. Sefarina will not distract her from their path. Not will Kinsley Prescot. Like Lucky, she pays the woman no mind as she combs the grass for the misplaced vial. "We need to. Or all of this will have been for nothing."

Grace huffs, gazing concernedly between the two heroines. Never mind the fact that the Juliet could easily qualify as a sample from the lake herself. All she'd have to do is wring the blood from her hair and voila! Still. They ought to collect it properly. When she finds the vial lying in the grass, she clutches it tightly in her cold, bloodstained fingers.

Juliet approaches the lake before anyone can pull her away. (Can't she do this one thing without completely fucking it up?) With a deep breath, she tips the mouth of the vial under the surface, watches as it fills. Once she presses the cork back on top to seal it, the water ripples. She grits her teeth, bracing herself as Sefarina reemerges. The woman doesn't close the distance between them, simply resting her elbows against the water's surface like its a table. She tilts her head intently, a coy smile twitching at her lips when she studies Scaramouch.

"So that's what she chose, is it? The abnormal, green disturbance. Which means I get..." Sefarina taps her nail against her lower lip, contemplative and delighted.

"You left me to die. Again." Juliet bites out, glaring at her. She draws back cautiously and slips the vial securely into her pocket.

"Good gracious. Don't be so dramatic, Julesy." Sefarina sighs melodramatically. When she comes closer, reaching out for Juliet, the archer unsheathes her dagger and stabs it unhesitatingly into her heart. The expression on the other woman's face couldn't be more unimpressed. As if to say 'really, Juliet?' "And there you go, trying to kill me again. Tsk." The dagger makes a schlick noise as she yanks it from her chest. The bleeding wound over her black corset stitches itself closed instantly. For no reason other than to be weird (Juliet assumes) she licks the dagger before offering it back. She grins in a lovely way which might have been endearing in any other context. "You never die for good, do you? It's the very reason why we make the perfect match."

Sefarina holds Juliet's hand as she presses the hilt of the dagger back into it. Smirking, she presses a kiss to her bloodied knuckles. Her touch is paralyzing, numbing the archer's fingers, and the words unspoken prickle unsettlingly over her skin. 'No one understands you like I do.' She peeks behind her at Willow. 'Precious thing, isn't she? Good to her core. She's going to turn on you when she sees who you really are. She'll abandon you just like everyone else. Me, though? I will always be here for you. Until the end of time.'

The surface of the blood lake bubbles again, a clear warning from the soul that lives there. Sefarina rolls her eyes, releases her, and Juliet snaps her hands back to her middle to warm them. Behind Sefarina, in the mist, she can make out Viola's form again. She's clutching her sword, readying it.

"You'll always belong to me, my swan maiden. As long as I have this." Sefarina hums tauntingly, tracing her fingertips along the ornate swirls and feathers of fine silver embroidery at the edges of the red cloak that appears in her hands. She folds the garment once, twice, and on the third fold it vanishes. "But I cannot lay claim to what is rightfully mine. Not yet. So I will let you go." She tilts her head to the side just slightly and flutters her fingers. "Have your adventures on the land, fall in love. I'll return for you then."

Sefarina smirks. Her dark hair swirls around her like an abyss and she sinks down, her face disappearing like the full moon behind a dark cloud, and she's gone. The magical blast from Viola's blade spirits over the water too late-- and then she vanishes as well. Juliet's left to stare at nothing but her reflection in the bloody water. Her nails sink into the dirt. 'She's going to turn on you.'

Juliet holds her breath, the shame weighing heavy on her shoulders. She's a small girl in a wood filled with creatures that want to kill her. She's a small girl in a castle full of disdainful stares. Every shadow, every tree and insect thinks her wicked. Would it be better if she just disappeared?

Eventually, Juliet rouses when she feels the warmth of Grace settling into her lap. Willow's hand is on her shoulder. Lucky's there, too, trying as gently as they can to usher them onto their back. She blinks hard, trying to shake herself from the trance she was in, and shakes her head. "Wait. There's something I need to tell you." She looks out at the lake, thinking of the spirit within. Let her do this one thing right. "There's someone in the lake. I don't know who she is, but she's scared. Everyone's forgetting her." A familiar fear creeps through her as she glances down at the gashes on her arms. They're real. They're proof. (Not that Willow has ever once accused her of madness, of seeing or hearing anything unimportant.) She stares earnestly into her eyes. "You're forgetting her."

 

[starboob]

There's something Juliet isn't telling her.

In the hour that has passed since the lakes, Willow keeps circling back to that one thought. As she tended to Juliet’s injuries and as Juliet wrapped her own, it needled her. When she peeled off her ruined clothes and stepped into the hot shower, she chewed her cheek over it. Even as she toweled off, checked on Kinsley (passed out version), then slipped into the crystal hot springs, it ran circles over again in my mind.

Idly, Willow watches the patterns of steam as they curl and wind around themselves higher into the air, disappearing somewhere in the luminescent crystal stalactites. She sinks lower, until the water is touching her chin. ‘It’s fine. Really, it is. She doesn’t owe me her story and there’s plenty I haven’t told her either.’

…But it’s not fine. She replays the scene at the lakes again. ("You'll always belong to me, my swan maiden. As long as I have this.") A new tangle adds itself to the knot in her chest, one she can’t just cut out. It’s not that she needs to know everything about Juliet; it’s not that Juliet doesn't have her right to privacy; it's that when Juliet’s autonomy is at stake, shouldn’t she be informed? Had she known, she wouldn’t have chosen the abnormal green disturbance.

‘I had the cloak though. I had it.’ She rubs her fingers together, imagining the feel of the velvet fabric and the firm texture of the embroidered stitches. It was in her hands until it wasn’t. And the implication…

She closes her eyes, leaning back until her head rests against the lip of the hot spring. (“I’d sooner piss off orcas than cut off my tail for some land lurker or, worse, a skyward.” Isla had wrinkled her nose at the thought of being matched with non-seafolk and the other seafolk in their group all nodded in agreement. "No love is worth my freedom.") A headache buds at the top of her skull, like someone is tapping a spike into her skull.

Not to mention the headache of Juliet’s message from the dead. (Nearly dead?) Willow had no idea what or who Juliet was talking about, naturally, but she took the message with all the gravity it deserves. She rubs her talisman, pressing her thumb against the rounded tip of Lucky’s baby tooth. ‘When did I know her?’

She drops the talisman and pinches the bridge of her nose. Will this clusterduck ever make sense?

Kinsley murmurs nonsense a short distance away, momentarily providing a distraction from her thoughts. They haven’t been able to rouse the haunted socialite and Willow is grateful for that. She’s not sure how she’d handle Kinsley after everything. (Though she’s more hurt by Dorothea’s silence, she’s also furious with Kinsley’s selfish behavior, even if it’s more or less expected.) While they haven’t figured out how exactly to get rid of her, they weren’t comfortable just dropping her off on Charming Street, for various reasons. Hence taking her back to their temporary base of operations, Temple of Fearless.

Coming to the temple had not been Willow’s first choice hideout following their encounter with Sabrina. It hadn’t even been a thought in her mind, but she knew she didn’t want to bring danger to the Rhode Island house. Safest place in all of Elsewhere—perhaps all of Evermore—or not, she doesn’t want to test the forces they are up against. She’s put her family in too much danger as it is. Returning to her own apartment downtown was never going to be an option either. That was confirmed when they dropped by to pick up a few things the morning after the Stake party and found it had already been raided.

The abandoned temple came as a suggestion from Sawyer who pointed out that it still has active sanctuary magics and, if it’s still a site the cult aims to target, it’ll be better for them to remain close to it. It had been sheer exhaustion that had them agree and then pure serendipity when the entrance to the temple's hidden undercroft revealed itself.

It’s kept them safe. It’s offered Willow some peace of mind that she’s not endangering her family by proximity. Meredith has also been grateful to be away from her mother’s house. It serves its purpose for now.

Anyway, since Dorothea said not to initiate contact, she isn’t sure what to do about Kinsley. She kind of hope that she’ll wake up on her own and leave. But it’s honestly such a low priority that she only thinks of it whenever the socialite murmurs in her sleep. The shadow beneath her scar moves like a parasite under skin, but Kinsley hasn’t turned or so much as even threatened to turn. And, despite the damage she took when the tyrant took over her body, her wounds closed on their own before Willow even had the chance to properly look at them. At least her well being is taken care of? Willow pulls her mouth to the side, unconvinced.

Her eyes flutter open when she hears the archer pad into the hot springs. (Technically, they’re built like communal baths. But neither Willow or Juliet have openly acknowledged this, deciding instead to use the warm waters like a spa. To accept that these are baths… would mean… Willow can’t even think about it without getting red in the face.)

“I asked Meredith to get our yearbooks from middle and high school to look for clues about the spirit you encountered.” Though unlikely, given the state of the spirit herself, there is the slim possibility that whoever she is, she hasn’t yet been fully erased from memorabilia. Even a half-faded detail could be helpful in identifying when this person got misted. (Both Meredith and Willow suspect it has to be a misting case, even if a bit peculiar.) “I’ll sort through my diaries later tonight, see if anything seems off about the passages.”

Those, unfortunately, will have to be something she sorts through on her own. What she writes is between herself and Phil (her diaries) only. Okay, and sometimes Lucky when they’re being nosy and look over her shoulder while she writes.

Speaking of the dragon, they snoo quietly behind her.

Willow observes Juliet quietly, avoiding the subject she actually wants to address. The one gnawing at her. The one that will calcify if she doesn’t say something soon. Her eyes drag over the bandages on Juliet’s arm. (Meredith drew little aliens over hers. Willow’s have little lightning bolts on them.) She touches the one wrapped over her shoulder, remembering Juliet’s nimble touch. The memory of it is enough to warm her cheeks. When the silence between them has stretched on for long enough, she decides to just get out with it. “So. You stabbed Sefarina.”

Her tone is neutral, showing no hint or sign of judgment. Juliet is discerning so there’s no reason for Willow to question her motivations. Her gaze pans to look at her feet dangling in the crystal clear waters, lit by the luminescent crystal below. “You can talk to me about her, you know. If you want.” Willow shrugs in an attempt to be casual. It’s a poor attempt. “Are... Are there things I should know about her? Or about you and her?”

 

[ellarose]

So. You stabbed Sefarina. Tamping down on her instinct to flee, Juliet settles down at the other end of the springs and leans back against a pillar of rock. Since washing the blood from her skin and hair, she smells of pomegranate and lemon. Like someone unfamiliar. (Not that washing herself clean will ever change who she is at her core.) 'She's going to turn on you when she sees who you really are.' Unable to meet Willow's gaze, she pensively observes the pools scattered all around them. Though something inside of her will forever be drawn to the depths like a compass, she doesn't dare touch the water now. The temple is supposed to be safe, yes... in her experience, however, any promise that has ever been made to keep her safe has been broken. How is she meant to trust anything, anyone, when it's the only thing she's ever known?

'Cross my heart...' Juliet looks up at the crystals above and sees Viola's reflection gleaming through a few of them, staring down at her with devotion that once ranged on romantic. Those eyes sent intoxicating thrills of hope through her. She thought she'd met the match to her flame, that they'd catch and make sparks. In the light they cast, she would find her way out of the dark maze she'd been trapped in. 'If that demoness returns for you, she'll have to answer to me.'

'No. She'll have to answer to us.' Juliet hears her own voice, so soft and fond it makes her sick to her stomach in the present. 'You... you're not just humoring me, are you? You actually believe me?'

"I can talk about her... you make it sound so simple when you say it like that." Juliet says quietly, staring off into the distance. Viola's image smudges and dissipates and her shoulders sink. It's exhausting. Is it even worth it to expend the energy when this story is doomed to end the same way? If Sefarina's appearance reminded her of anything, it's that she cannot rely on anyone but herself. While Willow has done nothing to dissuade her from opening up, she shouldn't have to carry the weight of Juliet's burdens along with everything she's already carrying. It'd be too much. The terror she'd felt earlier, knowing that Sefarina was leaving her behind to seek out Willow... it was immeasurable. She doesn't want her to become a target, either.

"I have stabbed Sefarina many times and will undoubtedly do so again. She's like King Cayman." Like me. The realization's been sinking in slowly. Juliet's mind is not so clouded as it once was. She buries her nails in her palms, cutting deep. She was underwater for far too long. Far too long for her to have been able to simply roll over and cough the blood from her lungs the way she did. 'You don't understand the antiquated rules of your own kind, do you?' "She is a menace who cannot die."

That certainly does not stop Juliet August from trying whenever she gets the chance. This will not end until one of them succumbs. Their feud is not something Willow should have to concern herself with. After she confided in Viola... everything went horribly wrong. She won't make the same mistake again.

Are there things I should know about her? Or about you and her? (You and her.) Juliet flinches at the thought. (You and her, you and her.)

"I'd have nothing more to do with her if I had the choice. I fell into her trap when I was twelve years old and I've been paying dearly for that mistake ever since." Juliet summarizes it in as few words as possible. It should suffice, should it not? "Sefarina's my problem, Willow. You needn't concern yourself with her." She shakes her head. "There is still much to be done, no?"

Kinsley mumbles in her sleep, as if to agree with her. She scrunches her nose and bats her hand about as if there's a fly she's trying to shoo away. Despite all of the things she's been going through, Juliet suspects she's dreaming of unfashionable shoes. (Perhaps it's because she's wearing the sort of expression Lavinia Laurence would wear in such a situation.) The thought makes her wonder about parallels, about the rules of their lands and Sefarina's presence... but Sefarina isn't quite human, is she? Ah. Drat. She needs to shake her from her thoughts.

"The spirit, for instance. I couldn't quite see her eyes, but..." Juliet muses, making an earnest attempt to distract them both. "She was near your height. Short hair. It was dark, but fair at the ends." She furrows her brow, tugging at a lock of her own hair as she considers it. "If you find any suspicious photos in your books, I may be able to recognize her. Has any 'misted' person been found in such a way before?" Or is this another first? Another instance where she may well be accused of seeing things again?

 

[starboob]

How is it that Juliet still doesn’t understand that she already is a concern of Willow’s by virtue of being someone she cares about? She summoned a full on rainstorm for Juliet. If that’s not enough, then the sorceress isn’t sure what else she can do to prove herself a worthy heroine. (Heroes have to save each other too. As Willow’s learning, heroes might be the only ones who save each other.) Then again, perhaps it’s bold of her to assume that her rainstorm had been anything other than fanciful spectacle. A fanciful spectacle that led to their chaotic departure from Folklore and added kindling to rumors that now paint Willow as some evil sorceress who steals away noblewomen and princesses with her dark magic, twisted ways, and ferocious dragon. (The ferocious dragon twitches and trill-snoos behind her.)

If nothing else, she thought their friendship might have meant something. But maybe they’re just not as close as she thought? Even if Juliet is the thieving rogue to her hunter princess, maybe that’s just not enough.

(Will she ever be?)

Regardless, to tell Willow that she doesn’t need to concern herself with matters of Juliet’s heart and health is like telling the sun to try rising in the west. Juliet doesn’t have to let her in, but she can’t stop her from worrying. She can’t stop her from trying. She’s Willow James, champion of love, and she’s going to save everyone, including Juliet. ‘I’ll be your hero.’

After a beat, the tension unknots from her shoulder blades; they drop as Willow leans forward, staring into the crystal lit waters. (Yeah, maybe it’s unwise to be in the water after everything with Sefarina. But Willow has to believe Fearless is stronger than some nightmare kraken.) Though Willow wants to say something, she remains quiet on the subject. The same heaviness that weighs on her shoulders is the same one causing her eyelids to droop. She’s tired.

She clenches her jaw, then clicks her tongue. The echo of it seems to span across the chasm between Willow and Juliet. Inches and feet have always felt like an impossible to distance to cross when she’s around the archer, and sitting across from each other now, the divide couldn’t be more obvious. But it’s fine. Really, it is. She’s probably just overthinking this and getting worked up over nothing. (Sabrina always thought so.)

“No misted person has ever been found before,” Willow admits, swallowing thickly as she checks over her shoulder for Meredith, but the fae is still out. (She saw the hope spark in Meredith’s eyes when they described what happened and noted how quick she was to suggest the mists.) “The mists are something of a mystery.” Mist-ery, she might have said, but she’s not quite in the mood for puns. “No one exactly knows the limits of their power, if any. All we know for sure is that once someone goes into the mists, they are never seen or heard from again.”

And, in certain instances, they are erased. The only evidence of who might have been are odd gaps in photographs and old writing that doesn’t quite make sense… It’d be a bigger tragedy if people knew how to mourn what they don’t know they’ve forgotten. In some ways, it’s the most forgiving aspect of the mists.

“They aren’t worth ruling out though. Like, we did see the mists at the lakes and they’ve been lingering around that area for a while.” Willow sets her palms against the ledge of the springs then hoists herself up so that only her legs are dangling in. Her skin prickles against the cool air. She doesn’t so much as shiver, ignoring it completely. “Another possibility could be that there’s a caster responsible for this, but…” Willow blows out a raspberry and scratches the top of her head. “That would take so much magic and mastery of will. I don’t think there’s a caster alive who could accomplish that.”

She’s not so sure that there’s ever been a caster with that kind of power; though she supposes it’d be unwise to disregard the possibility entirely. Their foes have proven capable of incomprehensible horrors, after all. Kinsley is proof. The dungeon is proof. The attempt on a companion’s life is proof.

“But if it were another caster, that would at least make undoing the spell a little easier.” In that it would identify the source. If it is the mists, she’s not sure what might be able to break the spell. “For now, I think there are measures we can take to preserve what’s left of this ghost.” She taps her talisman, drawing attention towards it. “I think with your help, I can cast a preservation type spell.” That should also tell them how powerful this magic is, if Willow is able to affect it. If even the likes of Sefarina think her magic is noteworthy, then perhaps she can contend against another caster’s spell or the mists itself. She chews on her lip. ‘Why can’t Juliet see that I’m strong enough?’

“The physical descriptors are helpful. It’s a start.” Willow gets up entirely from the springs, gripping her chin as she paces back and forth. None of it jogs her memory, but she supposes that’s to be expected. “About how old did she seem? And, aside from her message, did she say anything else?” Willow couldn’t understand her when she manifested as an angry personification of the lakes, but… “You’ve been able to communicate with spirits before—or they’ve sought you out before, like in Okeanos—did you hear what she said when she became that tidal wave? I just heard Godzilla noises.” Willow has yet to explain the concept of “Godzilla” to Juliet and fails to elaborate now, too focused on her feet as she paces. "If you could understand that... I mean, maybe we could ask Sawyer to help us with a séance? And maybe we could get more information?"

 

[ellarose]

“Will we be… dining with the spirit?” Juliet asks, watching intently as Tiger Lily Billy sets a freshly baked loaf of bread and a pot of soup on their makeshift table. The wolf’s companion pauses to stir the soup with a ladle, lowering their twitchy little nose into the aromatic steam and giving it a long sniff. After a moment they nod and make the ‘okay’ symbol with their raccoon fingers to give their seal of approval. It’s ready. They proceed to wag a finger at Juliet, noiselessly telling her to keep her distance. None for you, missy.

“The food is for sustenance.” Sawyer explains as she lights the twenty-first of the purple, blue, orange, and silver candles surrounding them. Lucky’s eyes are bright as they leap from one to the next, their eyes following the flickering lights like a cat with a new toy. “The flame for warmth. They’re ideal for luring spirits out of hiding. Fun fact— people commonly use the word ‘chilling’ to refer to spirits because they are chilly entities.” The wolf nods assuredly and then fixes Juliet with a stern look. “The food is for the spirit. As is the fire.” She turns her stern look on Lucky James next, who skids to a halt before they knock one of the candles over.

“We’ve got a boatload of salt in case things go toasty toasty.” As Sawyer speaks, a small boat lined with salt shakers floats by in one of the many pools surrounding them. Juliet eyes it skeptically. “They shouldn’t, given our location… but one can never be too careful in these trying times.” She clicks her tongue, shaking her head at Juliet and Willow both. A sample was all she asked for… and now look at the state of them! With the clap of her hands, Sawyer’s demeanor changes. She smiles, showing off a hint of fang. “Almost ready. I’ll go get the spirit board!”

When Sawyer turns around, Juliet inches closer to the table setting and surreptitiously reaches for the loaf of bread. No one will notice if a tiny piece goes missing, right? Before she can pinch a small section away, Grace bats her hand down with a paw and shakes her head. You heard her. With big brown eyes, the archer gazes longingly between the bread and soup. It smells delicious. How is she meant to concentrate, surrounded by food she isn't allowed to eat?

Not too long after, Willow supplies her with a breakfast bar from her bag along with a promise to have a proper dinner after they’re finished. As Juliet unwraps the breakfast bar and inhales it, Grace glances between the heroines like she’s peering into their past, as if it should have been obvious all along.

Once Sawyer sets the spirit board and vial of blood-water on the table, they’re ready to begin. The wolf instructs them to sit in a circle, join hands, and close their eyes.

“…I smell tension in the air.” Sawyer hums contemplatively. “Mhm. It’s hitting me in waves. Tells me we should start with a simple meditation. If our minds are frazzled, we’ll attract frazzled energy. Or my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Frazzle. We don’t want that.” The wolf lowers her voice conspiratorially. “She turned my whole class into bees once.” Something begins to move mysteriously under her coat and she whispers into her collar. “Shhh, shhh. Not you.”

While Juliet doesn’t believe herself to have been particularly tense before… when she thinks of bees— or, specifically, the not-bees— it makes her tense.

“Anyway. Let’s take a moment. Take a deep breath. In.” Sawyer sucks in a deep breath, “And out.” She exhales loudly and repeats this a few times. Then she starts to make chicken noises, bawking and clucking rhythmically.

“Is that how we're meant to summon the spirit?” Juliet asks, unsure. She does not wish to make chicken noises, nor is she certain it has anything to do with the spirit they intend to call. "With... with those noises?"

“No. Just thought it’d be soothing.” Sawyer shrugs nonchalantly. “Alright. Is everyone prepared? We’re going to start now.” She waits until everyone gives the signal that they’re ready before she begins to speak. “Tonight we gather to summon the spirit from the lake. To seek her assistance so that we might assist her. If you can hear us, make your presence known now.”

At first, there’s nothing but the soft sound of the three of them breathing. Then a breeze whistles through, stirring the flames of the candles. They can hear the gentle sounds of waves lapping at a shore and the pools surrounding them glow a red that resembles the water of the lake. Sawyer squeezes both Willow and Juliet’s hands before letting go of them, instructing them each to place a hand on the planchette over the spirit board.

“Now we can ask our questions.” Sawyer whispers her instructions, glancing between them curiously. It takes a moment as they all think it over.

“When we spoke before… you mentioned a he. The person who tried to kill you.” Juliet steels herself, her fingers tingling over the planchette. Who tried or, most likely, succeeded. “Can you tell us who it was?”

The planchette glides over the spirit board. It hovers over ‘yes’, but quivers, shakes, and moves to the space between it and ’no’ as if it’s unsure of what to do.

“A tyrant, perhaps… or a spoiled boy with too much influence?” Juliet tries to help things along, but the shaking intensifies.

“Why don’t we try a simpler question?” Sawyer suggests, nodding encouragingly at Willow. “William, you got anything?”

 

[starboob]

Sweat gathers in Willow’s palms until a thin sheen has formed over them. She rubs one against her knee, smoothing circles over the skin until it starts to turn pink. She doesn’t notice, keeping her green eyes on the struggling planchette. When she's addressed, she glances over at Sawyer and nods, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Um. Hello, spirit. I’m Willow James.” Her voice is only met by its own echo. She fidgets, then presses her index and middle fingers more firm to the planchette. It helps steal over her resolve and bolsters the reassuring voices in her head telling her that it totally isn’t weird to introduce herself to the spirit. It’s just being polite! (Even if they already technically know each other. Apparently.) “Do you recognize me?”

Once again, this question is answered by its echo. The planchette even goes entirely still, to the point that Willow isn’t certain that the spirit is still with them. (Was that too simple? Was that offensive?) Just as she goes to gauge Sawyer’s reaction, the candlelights flicker. A draft whistles from the far end of the chamber. It grows in intensity as the seconds tick, until it’s a full howl that snuffs out the candles and leaves them in the smoke. The glowing pools around them start to bubble, then roar to a sudden boil; splatters of water leap and sizzle against the cold stone of the temple.

Sawyer curls her lip and furrows her brow. “Crikey, I—”

All at once, the candles erupt into thin torrents of fire, shooting up and hitting the ceiling. The three of them flinch away from the heat. Willow whips her head around to follow the action and catches shadows leaping and dancing over the walls like a shadow play. (Sawyer suspiciously checks the soles of her shoes, making sure her own shadow is still firmly attached.) The shapes morph into globs of black that inch over the wall, stretching and spreading out until they collect into one solid mass. The edges of the mass warp as the shadow splits into two uneven globs. They both take the shape of ovals before becoming more defined and outlining two silhouettes, one taller and one shorter. The taller of the two appears more masculine while the shorter, more feminine. The shorter one also carries a sword that they rest against their shoulder like a baseball bat.

Willow squints at the two silhouettes, but before either silhouette can become more defined, the images shake and shiver. At the center of the spirit board, the abandoned planchette does the same. Then it cracks. In that same moment, the two shadows shatter like glass and dissolve, followed by a shrill cry that pierces through the air. “F̴̣͐u̸̍ͅć̵̱k̵͙̈e̸͉̋r̶̞̓!̶͎͘!̶̩̌”

Willow lurches forward, bending herself in half as she claps her hands over her ears, screwing her eyes shut as if that might block out the shriek. Even after it’s stopped, she doesn’t move until she feels the faint warmth of the candles return. When she opens her eyes, they’ve all been relit. Lucky is curled against Juliet, along with Grace. Tiger Lily Billy is fixing the table settings, side-eyeing Sawyer with contempt. But Sawyer is flat on her back and blissfully unaware of her companion’s glare. She groans, rubbing the heel of her palm just above her brow. “Twas not expecting that.”

“I’ll say,” Sawyer also says. (What?) While her voice is still distinctly Sawyer, the lilt of it has changed to something raspier. She also speaks in a clipped manner, similar to the way Charming Street kids speak. “Leave it to me to possess a cursed vessel.”

“Not cursed, I’m a werewolf,” Sawyer clarifies (to herself?), raising one finger in the air. “We have rights, you know. Also, you’re missing out on the perfectly good opportunity for a pun! I’m a medium. Not a vessel.”

“You’re awfully chipper about this. Not your first rodeo?”

“Not even my twenty-second.”

By this time, Sawyer has peeled herself off the ground and returned to her spot at the makeshift table. Her eyes have a soft white glow to them whenever she speaks, but whenever the spirit takes over, her eyes bleed into two inky beads as they do now when Sawyer (or rather, not-Sawyer) takes stock of the two heroines and their companions.

Lucky glides from Juliet's side and lands in front of not-Sawyer, canting their head to the side. They blep their tongue. Blep, blep. Not-Sawyer (Ghostie?) furrows her brow and ever so cautiously offers her open palm for the dragon to sniff. Lucky rests their head in her palm. Blep. “I remember you. You were Peb’s friend, right?”

Lucky trills in the affirmative.

Well. Willow supposes it’s a good thing her dragon is so popular that they’re even friendly with a ghost. Although, how is that her companion just knows everyone and everyone knows them?

Ghostie lets go of Lucky and returns her attention to the heroines. If she recognizes them, it doesn’t show. “You asked about m̸̘̒ȳ̸̙ ̷̈͜k̶͎͊ỉ̷̹l̶̳͂l̴̡̓ḛ̸͑r̷͇̕. How’d you know?”

Willow exchanges a look with Juliet, pulling her mouth to one side, but eventually answers the spirit. “You told Juliet,” she bobs her chin in her direction. “Do you not remember?”

Ghostie squints at the archer, then her brows raise. “Oh, right! You look different above water. Sorry about that, by the way.” She tents her right hand over her chest, lifting her left solemnly in the air. “Got desperate when I thought you were her.” She gestures with her finger around her own head. “It’s the hair. Honest mistake. You’re short—compared to her, that is. Ȳ̷̩ǫ̷͝u̴͇̇’̵̧͛ṛ̷̉e̶͉̊ ̸̙͝ṫ̶̹a̷̤̿l̷̟̂l̷̪̃e̴̳̋r̶̰͂ ̸̝̇t̶̓ͅh̴̼́å̸͚n̴̢̏ ̴̘͗m̵͇̍è̷̠ ̷̢́ì̵̮ṉ̷̍ ̵̖̅m̵̺͌y̷̭͌ ̷͉͐ǘ̴̖s̵̛̟ü̶͈a̸̰̋l̶͕̄ ̶̡̊b̶͔̀o̷̡͒d̷̜̿y̸̦̑, ̶̞͠w̴͕̐ḧ̷̩î̵̞c̴̟̚h̷̬̔ ̴̯͝d̶̠̃o̷̠̐ë̴͓s̶̥͝ǹ̶̫’̶̙̀t̶̻͒ ̴̭̈́r̶̢͝e̶͐ͅả̶̰ļ̴̒l̶͉̀y̶̝͌ ̸̞̀é̸̺x̸̗͠i̶͕̊s̴̲̃t̴̖̓ ̷͔̀å̸͎n̷̰̿y̶̨̕m̸͕͒o̷̻̐r̶̬̿e̷̞̍,” she chuckles nervously. “How grand, right?”

“Uhh, back to that whole being forgotten thing...” While Willow cannot make out everything that Ghostie says, she tries to focus on what she can understand and redirects the conversation. This, naturally, earns her a glare from the spirit possessing Sawyer. Willow raises her hands in surrender. “I think I can help with that. At least, I think I can stop it from progressing further.”

Ghostie stares at Willow, her shark-like eyes boring into the sorceress. Her features tighten considerably, causing Willow to fidget under the scrutiny. After a beat, Ghostie nods. “Okay. I do remember you being smart. That still track?”

Willow’s face immediately flushes, something like a memory coming back to her—just the faintest idea of old banter between friends. “Yes! I’m very smart.” Willow scrunches up her face when Ghostie snickers. “Do you want help or not?”

“I do, I do. Just couldn’t resist. Felt right, y’know?”

She nods, somewhat understanding. Despite not remembering Ghostie, something about her does feel familiar to Willow. (“Sorry I’m late!”) “It’s fine. It’s cool.” She sighs, glancing over at Juliet for a moment. “You never answered Juliet’s question though. About your murderer.”

“Yeah, about that.” Ghostie sticks out her tongue—well, Sawyer’s tongue, but even in this body a seal glows at the center of it. A silencing seal. (Super illegal, Willow notes, not that anyone seems to care about the rules.) “But if you can buy me some more time and get her ̵̨̖͌t̴͓͕͎̓͊ọ̷͖͍̎ ̵̛̝̅͘ř̸̯e̶̯͐m̸̗̲͝ͅe̸̺͔̩̚ḿ̶̫́͆b̵̳͖̌͝e̸̩̺̊̏r̵̠̤͛,̸̢̲̫̇̽ ̸͚̯̀͑t̵͖̂h̶̛͎̱̻̚͠e̷̝̖̐ṋ̸̱͖͌ ̴̩̣͍̀̇͘m̴̺̎a̸̜͕͑̆ẏ̴̡̗̦͝b̵̪̼̯͊ė̶̹̎ ̷͍͈̽̋͠I̴̤̼͑ ̵͙͍̉̽͠c̴̛̲͗͘a̴͉͌n̴̹̗͉̂ ̶̙̖͖̀̕f̶̠̦̱͆l̷̙̒̏͂a̴̗̞̠͆͆ẙ̵̭͓̗ ̴̢̜̤̈́͂̕t̸̡͉̔̃h̴̻̱͐̀ȧ̴̤̾t̷̞̓͜͝ ̴͔͙͋̐b̶̙͚̅ä̶̹͈̯́͛̈́š̶̞̔̀ṫ̸̩a̵̧͙̠͋̋̍r̸͕͙̉͂͜d̶̠̏̚ ̵̗͕̈̅͑a̶̙̟̗͐n̸̑̑͜d̵̡̛͙̓ͅ ̵̢̘̑̑t̷̘͎͛ū̵̼͕̀͠r̴͉̹̝̀n̸̻̣͋͘ ̶̳̱̄͌h̴̤̫̣̅ï̵̱̳͝͝s̴͔̀̕ ̸̭̦̈́͋̈́ẖ̶̄i̵͎̇d̷̜̎̉͝ĕ̶̱ ̶͚̹̹̽ḯ̴̲̞̱͂̎n̶̹̳͙̽̈̀t̶̟̝̰͋o̴̪͑̋ͅ ̵̻̣̉̀t̷͓͠h̴̖͇̲̿̈́͂e̷̠͎̬̊̐͝ ̷͙̈̓p̶̥̦͝ŗ̷͓̄͗̔ì̴̟̳̽d̶̢̛è̵̹͙̺͝ ̷̻̗͊͊f̵̳͕̀l̷̼̅̍ą̶͆̄ḡ̵͚̀ ̶̢́̒̆f̴͎͉͎̓̏͝o̸̢̹͆́̚r̴̪̞̀ ̶͓̜̪̋͂͐m̸̬͎̀͗ā̴͇̫͚̉l̶̼̼̔ē̸͙v̷̩̏̒ő̷͎͇̓̓͜l̷̙͙͙̚é̷̳̓n̵͈̥̙̈̑̄t̷̨̠̰͗ ̴̢̼̑̓́f̸̢̺͌̅͒ǘ̵̻̥̗͋̀c̶̗̎k̵̭͈̕ś̶̻̬̋̍.̷̲͍́͘”

“Her… So not me?”

“No, I barely recognize you. Sorry.” She does seem genuinely apologetic about this, especially considering how she recognized Lucky before she recognized Willow. “Ï̶̬̆’̵̪͐͝ͅm̵̟̽ ̴̦͌ẗ̶̟̫́̒ä̷̺́l̷̡͗k̸̠̋i̴̦͗̊n̴͚͇͛̚ḡ̴͉ ̵̨̪̇͋a̷̙̪̓̚b̷̐́ͅǭ̸̈͜u̵̲̾͑t̵͓͉̚ ̸̖̏Ḏ̶̌̕o̷͚͋͘ͅr̷̦̤̔̏o̷̥͙̎t̴͎̕͠h̵͖̟͂ë̴̯̩́͒ā̷ͅ ̴̢̼͋B̷̟̮̓̀i̸͓͝r̶̀̚͜d̵̘̆̏s̵̺͖͊ǫ̴̜̒̇n̷̦̂g̸̹̣̏,̶̦͛ ̶͈̽̔m̷̳͔̂y̸̲̼̿̾ ̸̫̍t̸̞͓͛h̷̛̜̻͋r̶̯͛̈́e̸̻̅á̷͈̾d̸̙̀e̷͈͠d̸̟͂͜ ̵͈̄͂ͅm̷͎̆a̸̮̤͂̊t̵͖͎͆̈́c̶̡̀̎ḣ̵̺.̸̪͆”

 

[ellarose]

Is it possible for a thread to affix itself to someone new after it has been cut? Juliet pondered at seventeen when her family stationed a guard she had never seen before at her door. Their thread taunted her in the middle of the night, hanging across her bedroom while Viola stood outside. Such a phenomenon was unheard of, just as it was unheard of for a girl to come back to life the way she had. None of the books she stole from father's study possessed the answers she was searching for. Though she tried, she feared that she would never again possess the freedom to seek the answer for herself. So she made an attempt at rejecting her new match. The fates were either fond of playing cruel tricks on her, or they had deemed her a lost cause and abandoned her narrative entirely.

Is it possible for a person to possess two threads at once? Juliet would later ponder, the night she met Paris Brooks. The night she saw two threads splitting from her chest. Blue pointing left, red pointing right. Throughout the night they'd tangled all around her, emulating the confusing mess of her thoughts.

At the time Juliet wondered whether one of the threads was true while the other was not. There were two different paths she could take. One made up of lies and deception while the other pointed to true love. To her it was a choice during a time that afforded her very few of them. A choice she was determined not to fuck up. Because she'd been exposed to the ways of the world so early on, surely she would make the right decision. She'd learned the lessons she was meant to learn, no longer the fool she once was, and her narrative was at last showing her a sliver of mercy. It had seemed so obvious. To choose between Viola, who had somehow become dear to her despite all her efforts to push her away... and Brooks had tried to deny her any choice in the matter at all.

When Juliet asked Viola if she would run away with her, she'd never been more sure of anything in her whole life. She'd been discerning and ever so careful. And yet it had all gone straight to hell.

The scariest part was that she hadn't thought herself naive at the time. After everything she'd been through, how could she be so damned foolish? So then it must have been her fault, not Viola's. From there she would go on to try and clear her name. Except...

What is it supposed to mean when yet another thread hangs in front of Juliet now? She's avoided looking at it since she and Willow met, thinking it cursed... but now, she can't help but stare at it now. This thread is golden, sparkling, and full of unspoken potential. They used it to ensnare a hydra and to escape a fearsome tyrant's prison. It changes in ways she's never witnessed before. Is this what a real thread is meant to look like? (Or is it too good to be true? Another lie?) And if it truly is real, then...

It forces Juliet to consider a cruel thought she hadn't wanted to entertain before. To protect herself, her heart, from a betrayal far more severe than it had already experienced. All three of those threads were covered in lies like thorns on a rose's stem. Even Viola's.

Juliet hugs her legs against her chest, so tightly that the gashes on her arms start to burn. It's nothing compared to what's happening inside of her. To be such a fool for affection that she could fall this far, to have once been so certain of love where there was none... now she's left uncertain of everything. Each discovery serves only to drive the knife deeper, to the extent that she fears obtaining the answers she once sought out. Why go on this way if it ends in torment?

...Because knowing is the only way that Juliet can make choices that actually matter. It's the only way forward. Embracing the pain that comes with the truth so that she might be able to use it for something that gives it meaning. By understanding her own story, she can finally see the way this game is played. She can use that information as power, protect others from meeting the same fate. That's why she's still here, isn't it? To search for these answers, even at the risk of hurting and losing again. No longer is she a fool who will hope for more or lose herself in love that isn't even there.

Juliet opens her eyes. Though Willow's eyes are closed, she can tell from the way her chest moves up and down that she's lying awake. The spirit is Dorothea's true match. She wonders if her own enemies might have tried to do away with Willow if they knew of her existence... knew of their thread. Sometimes she wonders why she didn't meet her first. Then again... she did meet her first. Maybe that was for Willow's sake that they lived worlds apart, then. (Maybe it'd have been better for her if they never met at all.) Their thread itself may not be cursed... but Juliet certainly is.

Now that they've met again there's no going back. And there are some things she'll have to share if they're to make any progress. It won't mean anything. She knows better now. She knows better now.

"Willow?" Juliet begins, her throat crawling into her throat. She wrings her hands in her lap. "I was thinking about our conversation earlier, and... I understand it's late, but I have something I need to show you."

***​

"I don't have all of the answers, but I've realized these might help us in finding them." Juliet admits as she sets two of her bows down in front of Willow. She hesitates when she reaches for the third, but ultimately places it down alongside the others. As the newest, it may prove the most helpful. Lifting the first, she traces her index finger over the bow string. It's the color of ashes, it looks rotten. (It's Sefarina's, of course.) "I crafted each of these bows using threads that had been cut with hexed scissors." She lays it back down among the others with a soft 'clack', bringing a hand to her chest. "All three of them had been attached to me at one point in time."

"I believe at least one of these threads was falsified... if not all of them, considering the existence of our thread." Juliet glances meaningfully at it, swaying innocently between them. She sighs, though, unable to meet Willow's gaze. (After all... what will she make of this?) "If Griffith conjured a false thread, it's worth mentioning that he's not the first to have done so... and we may be able to find some of the answers we seek in Folklore." (Though if their leads are Sefarina, Brooks, or... her, then...)

"You're welcome to study them, if you like. I... apologize that I have not mentioned this previously. It's a rather delicate subject." Juliet squeezes her eyes shut, clenching her fists on top of her thighs as if bracing herself for impact. Keeping this information to herself until now... Willow may be rightfully disappointed in her. "If it helps Dorothea escape a similar situation, though, I am willing to share what I know. Though I must admit, it's not much."

This also brings about another question. Juliet considers how Willow's responded to Meredith's inquiries about the scissors thus far. Curiously, she finally chances a glance at the sorceress.

"Willow... what do you think of using hexed scissors to cut false threads?" Juliet bites her lip. "I'll admit, it's a painful experience. But I believe myself better off without them." She shrugs her shoulders gently, gazing down at her bows. "...I turned them into weapons I could use to protect myself. Perhaps Dorothea could do the same."

 

[starboob]

Willow massages circles into her eyes until black and white swirls kaleidoscope across her vision. It’s 2:30am and she’s been awake since they curled into their sleeping bags four hours ago. No amount of tossing and turning can push away the revelation that Dorothea Birdsong’s thread of fate has not always been connected to Griffith King. ‘Does she miss her? Did she love her?’ Her stomach is in knots. Her heart kneads itself against her sternum. ‘Is this why Dorothea is hollowing?’

Even as Juliet places her bows between them, she cannot quiet her mind; cannot stop herself from circling back to Ghostie. This on top of her exhaustion and lack of sleep slows her processing. When the archer speaks on the origin of her bows and how they were crafted—more specifically what they were crafted with, it takes Willow several minutes to understand the gravity of what her companion is admitting. It takes another minute for her to place why this doesn’t exactly come as a surprise.

("These casters are puppeteers of sorts. Binding false threads to those they wish to manipulate with love. Has... has Juliet ever told you about it? She would know more than I on the subject.")

Juliet expects her to explode. She can see it in the way she avoids her gaze and clenches her fists over her thighs. Willow remains quiet at first, unsure of what to make of this, though she knows she’s not angry. (Should she be? This is big. How many times has she asked Juliet for information on what she knows? How long have they been running in circles when a lead had been right there with them the entire time?) Willow rocks her head to the side and rubs her shoulder. No, she can’t be mad. This is big. No matter what, these false threads have contributed to the attack on Love. It doesn’t mean it’s the main cause or will be the thread (pun fully intended) that lead them to the source, but it could have gotten them closer than they are currently. And…

“It’s okay.” Willow exhales a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding and reaches for Juliet. She squeezes the archer’s shoulder then goes to collect the ash string bow. “Elise mentioned this,” she rolls her wrist, then gestures vaguely to the bows and their own thread. “Not in so many words, but it was heavily implied that you had experience with thread tampering.”

And Willow meant to broach the subject earlier, but soon after her conversation with Elise, Juliet came back to Nettlefred’s cottage soaked in sea blood. (Is that Ghostie’s doing too? Can Elise affect Ghostie because she is parallel to Dorothea?)

“I get that it’s hard to talk about.” Here, she makes sure to hold the archer’s brown eyed gaze so that she knows she’s being true. “And I don’t think we can afford anymore secrets. If you know something, Juliet… I–I don’t want to push you and if things were different, I really wouldn’t pry until you’re ready. But the bananas,” she yawns, “they’re hitting fans. If–If you need to write it down instead, if that’d be easier, I know that helps me, uh, you can. Should. But really, it’s fine. I’m glad you told me now. I–I could have asked earlier too. It’s good. We're good.”

She yawns, scratches her cheek, then raises the bow to eye level. She runs a finger down the string. It sends shocks of magic through her fingertip and up her arm, though that’s not necessarily surprising or worrying to the sorceress. It doesn’t tell her much either. It only indicates the magic is active. She yawns again, her exhaustion catching up to her but now that she has a lead, a thread to follow, she knows sleep will still shirk her.

“It should be up to the individual if they want their thread cut. False or not.” Willow glances at Juliet, meeting her eye. In her tired state, nothing stops her from reaching for her companion’s hand and offering a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe you can help prepare them for what to expect and how to cope in the aftermath. I’m not sure everyone is going to be as badass as you and turn their threads into weapons to protect themselves.” Certainly not in Evermore.

Where Dorothea is concerned… Willow drops her hand from Juliet’s, pulling it back to her center. How are they even supposed to broach this subject? Maybe it will be a small relief for her to know that Griffith is not her true match. And maybe it will cause her more grief. ‘You don’t know what you don’t know. Try not to pay your debts before they’re owed,’ she reminds herself, recalling the advice her grandmas once gave her. “We do have access to a pair of those scissors. We could mention it to Dorothea.” It seems safe enough to cut a false thread, after all. If Juliet has survived it without repercussion, she sees no reason to keep this option from Dorothea, unlike the way she does with Meredith. (Is Meredith’s thread true? But what would Sabrina, the Stakes, or that weird cult have to gain from…) Willow furrows her brow. “It’s worth mentioning,” she repeats, somewhat dazedly, her mind too scattered to catch that she’s even repeating herself. “If it’s something she wants, then I’d want to make sure she has an escape route secured soon afterwards. We need to find Elise.”

***​

Willow spends the rest of the night studying the bows. Juliet stays up with her, likely because she can’t sleep either with everything they know and all that they don’t. When the sorceress catches her staring with her inquisitive brown eyes, she scoots closer and starts to explain what she’s doing. She shows Juliet her spellglass, which is essentially a magicked magnifying glass, and allows her to look through it so she can see the traces of magic covering the false threads. “If these were made with glyphs, I’d be able to figure out what ones with the spellglass. But all we’re seeing now are the sparks of magic that were manipulated to match the original caster's will.” This, at least, tells her the threads were made with the Folklorian style of brew casting. This is not surprising, but it will require extra effort on her part to identify the ingredients and reverse engineer the soup.

By the time Juliet is just starting to drift to sleep, Willow manages to identify a strand of Juliet’s hair within each bow as well as what she assumes is a strand of the respective manipulators or… manipulator? She can’t tell.

Just as Juliet’s breathing is starting to change, Meredith rushes in from one of the other chambers. She skids to halt across the stone floor, startling Willow enough that she jumps and drops the blue string bow.

“Fucking fates!” Meredith exclaims, fumbling with the crystal ball under her arm. She almost drops it twice, just barely catching it before it can hit the ground and shatter. Her eyes are just as bruised as Willow’s and Juliet’s, yet frantic and wide as she holds up the crystal ball and points at it. “I was flipping through channels and—and—”

Willow crawls, stumbles, and pulls herself up in front of the crystal ball. At first, she isn’t sure what to make of what's happening. Helicopters are circling around some type of morphing shadow on a manicured lawn. On the ground, a team of casters circle the shadow pointing their wands and staffs at the thing. Spells shoot at it and as the camera pans wider, Willow recognizes the Birdsong estate. It’s only then that she manages to read the scrolling caption at the bottom.

BREAKING NEWS: Dorothea Birdsong hollowing. Magician forces called to subdue popstar.​

“We have to go. Now.”

"She's my best friend." Kinsley appears at the entrance of the room, swaying slightly and looking worse for the wear. (Not that any of them are in particularly good shape.) She braces one hand against the door frame. “You're taking me with you."

 

[ellarose]

Kinsley Prescot is not the sort of woman who's used to hearing the word no. And in the instances where she does hear it, she'll no doubt roll her eyes and pretend she hadn't.

They certainly don't have the time to argue. However, allowing Kinsley to accompany them is the equivalent of inviting the tyrant along to a fight that's already looking grim. As they speak, Jovi enters the frame, corrupted and enraged as she rushes the magicians. She unflinchingly runs one through with her antlers, spraying blood over the lawn and over the camera lens. Hellish screams raise to a crescendo and the magic ball's footage abruptly cuts out. The temple is cold and silent in the aftermath. Everyone's wide awake now.

"No. We're not." Juliet shuts Kinsley down firmly as she takes inventory of her weapons, ensuring she has everything she needs. Her bows. Her arrows, her falchion and every single one of her knives. "You've endangered us, others, and yourself one too many times now. At this point we'd be fools to bring you with us." Efficient and quick as ever, she checks the bandages on her arms, stands, and sifts through her belongings for her cloak. "If you truly wish to save Dorothea, you'll acknowledge that and stay here." She's ready now. "Willow brought her back before. And you know she wouldn't forgive herself if something were to happen to you."

In a way, Dorothea has already shown that they're expendable compared to Kinsley. While she has made efforts to show that she intends to make it right, it doesn't change the fact that she recently put everyone else in danger in a misguided effort to protect her friend. (Anyone who knows them better would surely understand that as well. While Juliet's tired brain can scarcely put all of the pieces together now, it needles at her that Dorothea's hollowed form is suddenly being cast in the spotlight when someone very powerful had gone to such efforts to shield her from it in the past.) Someone is always responsible for the stories shared in Evermore... and that someone is usually an enemy. Hm.

'I hope you are ready for what you have started.'

"You both have been carrying too much for too long. We're here to help." Juliet says earnestly. They're drowning in plain sight and her heart goes out to them both. (Yes, even Kinsley.) Of course she's going to offer them her hand. She meets the other woman's gaze, her brown eyes as serious as they are sincere. "So let us help you, gods damn it."

"But I... I..." Kinsley flinches as she takes a step forward, nearly stumbling over her own feet. Though at her core she hasn't lost the spark in her to fight for what she loves, surely she can see and feel that Juliet is right. What can she physically do in this state? She can't fight, let alone defend herself. She'd be helpless out there. (Like before.) "She's my best friend." She repeats the argument, her unshakable voice shaken. In this state, it's hard to believe she's murdered several people. Though, technically, that was never her to begin with. Underneath all of it, she's just another victim of this sick game. It's painfully apparent now that she's on the verge of breaking down. "She's my best friend. I can't lose her."

"We get it, okay? I get it. She's your best friend." Meredith speaks up, stepping in front of Kinsley and creating a barrier between her and the heroines. It speaks to Kinsley's condition and Meredith's resolve that when the fae presses her hands down on the socialite's shoulders, she can't summon the strength to push her away. "Go already. I'll make sure she doesn't follow." She looks meaningfully at them over her shoulder as they prepare to climb on Lucky's back. Her gaze softens when it reaches her own best friend. "I love you, Wills. Be safe out there." When her gaze ticks an inch over to Juliet, it surprisingly retains a small bit of that softness. "Take care of her. And, y'know... you be safe, too."

***​

Neither Juliet or Willow stop to consider what it meant to leave Kinsley and Meredith alone together. (Well, Sawyer was technically there too.) It's a sign the bananas have hit the fan.

Charming Street is eerily quiet. An enormous mound of bloodied, thorny vines grows on the Birdsong's lawn. Tendrils curl around the home behind it, spiraling elegantly around the roof and spidering over the windows. The vines continuously sift around each other like serpents, growing the mountain of thorns taller and taller yet, reaching for the skies above. Jovi is gone. The only sign that people had been broadcasting here is the shattered camera lying on the sidewalk. The remaining magicians and crew either fled the scene, chased after Jovi, or...

Ugh. The stench of gore is unmistakable.

Juliet steels herself, readying her bow and arrows. They ought to proceed cautiously, yes, but they can't afford to waste anymore time. She shoots the barrier with a magicked arrow that freezes the vines underneath to ice. She hacks through it with her falchion to create an opening large enough for her and Willow to climb through.

While their thread casts some light in the darkness, Willow casts a spell to illuminate their surroundings to a greater extent. It doesn't take long for the heroines to discover that it's like a maze within... a maze of walls adorned with wilted roses and spikes. Given that they have a means to find each other again should they get separated, Juliet considers suggesting that they split up. Until...

'You're going to look so cool when that scars.'

Juliet pauses at the sound of the echoey voice, furrowing her brow perplexedly. Willow's walking ahead of her. "Willow, did you hear..."

That's when gray speckled feathers start raining down from above, landing like a delicate fall of snow. They accumulate to the point that they start to resemble clouds around their feet. Then those clouds start to morph, taking the shape of a-- 'Griffons were my favorite of the magical creatures.'

 

[starboob]

Months ago, this would have horrified Willow. Bits of flesh and strings of meat hang from thorns thicker than her wrist, blood pattering softly into growing puddles. For those who weren’t ripped apart, they’re left behind impaled; some still twitch. She swallows and averts her gaze.

To be sure, what she is witnessing is horrifying, but the old Willow who first embarked to save love would have frozen or run. And though the new Willow’s stomach has roped itself into knots, she knows better than to run. (The old Willow once joked with Meredith, long before her idea to save love was ever serious, that if no one else was going to step up, then she would. Now she knows there really is no one else in the realms endeavoring to save love except for herself and Juliet.) She can’t afford to run. Knowing what she knows, she has to be the strong one now.

She squeezes her fists around her staff, wringing her hands over it as she takes careful, measured steps forward. Her sword claps against her thigh with each step, reminding her of yet another security. And of course her dragon is perched on her shoulder and the fox is between her and Juliet’s ankles. Even so, Willow has to remind herself to breathe.

'You're going to look so cool when that scars.'

Her spine stiffens. It’s her. Ghostie. (Whoever Ghostie is.) Willow pauses, looking back at Juliet then around at the falling feathers seesawing to the ground. She nods slowly, furrowing her brow together. “Yeah, I can hear her, too.” She closes the short distance between herself and Juliet, linking their arms together. “We should stick together. I have a…”

As the griffon takes shape before them, her voice trails off. The pucker deepens in her brow as she stares at this figment of a companion, who looks back at her like he’s trying to pierce her soul. (“I’m sorry about them.” A teenage version of herself once said. Ghostie responded with a laugh, batting her hand through the air in a ‘don’t worry about it’ fashion. “They’re just having fun. Pebbles can take a few scratches.”)

On her shoulder, even Lucky is perplexed, canting their head to the side with a low trill. The figment of a companion—Pebbles does not respond. Lucky glides off of her shoulder and hovers in front of the griffon’s face. They trill again. ‘Is that you?’

Again, he does not respond, not to Lucky at least. When he opens his beak, it's Ghostie’s voice that comes out, sounding like she’s speaking through a school intercom. “You have to have a contingency plan, Dor.” The message ends with a stretch of static, then cuts out completely. Pebbles closes his beak.

Everything is still, until the griffon’s eyes flash bright neon green. Electricity snaps in the air and golden circles crackle, drawing themselves over the storybook vines. Juliet and Willow move the second the griffon's eyes flash, pressing themselves back to back; Willow’s shoulder blades just grazing under Juliet’s. The archer has her bow raised and the sorceress aims her staff. A bright counterspell draws itself at the tip of the citrine stone; her mirror ball breaks apart, pieces floating in front of the golden glyphs in front of her.

When the thorns thicken and shoot towards them, Juliet fires off one, two, three arrows that freeze the thorns in time as Willow activates her spell. As the thorns race towards her mirror panels, the panels reflect, instead, worms on strings and transform the thorns accordingly upon contact. Each newly minted worm drops limply to the ground. (Lucky grabs one with their tail, determined to save it for their favorite wood dweller.) Willow barely has time to readjust before the maze rattles, twisting vines cracking and shifting. The entrance they came through stitches itself closed as the walls move in closer, threatening to skewer them. She reaches for Juliet’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “We need to move.”

Lucky is already a step ahead of them, breathing flames into the vines to clear a path for the heroines. Grace also bolts ahead, barking to put out the worst of the flames and ensuring her companion isn't hurt by dragon fire. As they race ahead, unsure of their direction and only knowing that danger is all around them, they all work together to keep each other safe. When vines slither for their ankles, they never make it far. Gracie darts from side to side, ripping them through with her teeth. If glyphs start to form, Lucky burns through them before they can even finish. Likewise, the heroines take care of their companions. As Juliet observes Lucky's way of disrupting spells, she starts to fire off explosive, fiery arrows into the glyphs the dragon misses or can't get to in time. Willow, at one point, pushes Grace forward with a gust of wind to avoid her getting wrapped in the vines.

They run with no direction, helpless to the trap they've entered. It's a silent agreement that they ought to stick with one direction, figuring that this maze has to end at some point. (Though, from what Willow can recall, Dorothea's spell was growing and out of control, starting to rip through her mother's lawn and creeping towards the mansion.) Willow pumps her legs as hard and fast as they can go, ignoring the burn and ache in her lungs. She keeps running ahead, listening for any sign of her friend as they try to escape.

At first, she assumes her mind is playing tricks on her or whatever magic Dorothea has unleashed is trying to get to her, but a noise—a low strangled bleating, more like a wheeze—persists and grows louder as they approach a thick, twisting knot of vines. When Juliet glances back at Willow, wearing the same concerned expression as her, she nods, confirming what the archer is likely thinking. “Jovi.”

Lucky must sense it too, because they bolt forward. Gracie even leaps, wings unfolding from her back, to keep up with the dragon as they barrel towards the snaking vines. Fire rolls up the length of their neck and Willow, sensing this, skids to a halt. She reaches for Juliet’s elbow and pulls her back, too, throwing a glyph on the ground that encases the thorns around them in ice, dropping the temperature before Lucky’s breath causes a surge.

Even with her eyes closed, all Willow can see is orange. She squeezes Juliet’s hand through it, heat pressing uncomfortably against her cheeks. It dampens, gradually. Willow doesn’t open her eyes again until she hears Grace bark and the shatter of brittle thorns. Already, vines are suturing the opening closed and they have no choice but to jump through before it closes up entirely.

Willow spins around this new clearing until her eyes lock on Dorothea and Jovi. Dorothea is half consumed by shadows. Her face twists with pain or confusion, or maybe both. She lies on her side in the fetal position, clasping one human hand and one tendril-like appendage to the sides of her head, muttering incoherently to herself.

Jovi, meanwhile, lays in front of her companion. Her breathing is slow, labored. Cuts and gashes adorn her body. While her form appears stable now, both heroines know what the companion is capable of when Dorothea is in this state. They approach with caution, making sure the companion can see their hands. Jovi huffs, her beady eyes locking onto them. Her legs struggle to get under herself, attempting to get up.

“Jovi, we’re here to help.” Willow pauses, her eyes flickering between the companion and her friend. “It’s me, Willow. And you know Lucky. Juliet and Grace are friends too. Let us help, please.”

Behind Jovi, Dorothea mumbles, “I’ll follow you anywhere, to the moon and to Saturn.”

Jovi considers them, though her hostility never drops. Lucky glides in front of her sight line and trills at the deer at first with concern, then more firmly after she huffs. Eventually Jovi lowers her head and Willow takes one step forward. When the deer does nothing and even allows another step, Willow gestures to Juliet with her chin that they can proceed.

Once they’ve made their way around the companion and are in front of Dorothea, Willow lowers to her knees and pushes back some of the loose strands of hair sticking to Dorothea's face. She strokes her cheek with the pad of her thumb, trying to gently grab her attention. (If she even can.) “Dorothea, it’s Willow. Juliet is here too. We’re going to try healing you.”

Dorothea looks up at them, but doesn’t seem to see them. Her violet eyes stare through them, then start to sink and hollow. Tears run in rivers down her cheeks, her tendril-like limb wrapping around Willow’s forearm. “I don’t know what’s happening. I lost something that I need to find.”

“I know,” Willow bites her lip. “We’ll help you find her.” Her eyes flicker over to Juliet as she passes their thread to the archer, unspooling the length from her chest. Something in her chokes, seeing her friend like this. Even if she's seen it before, somehow it's worse this time. Maybe because she knows the truth.

An explosion shakes the clearing, coming from the wall opposite to them. The smoke doesn't even clear before Griffith snarls, "Step away from my fiancée, witch." His golden eyes pierce through the smoke and lock onto the heroines, though if he intends for an effect, their talismans keep them safe. As his silhouette forms, he limps forward, carrying his wand in one hand while the other is held like he's spooled something around it—likely, the tampered thread. "I know what's best for her. I know how to take care of her."

Jovi doesn’t seem to agree. She struggles to feet, more motivated by a threat she recognizes, and rises. Her legs shake and even in spite of that, she scrapes her hoof against the ground in warning. Antlers start to grow from the gashes littering her body, wounding and strengthening the companion all at once. She glances back only once at the heroines, then at Griffith.

She charges, giving the heroines one single opening to get to Afterglow.

 

[ellarose]

Sparks of violet lightning dance in the air around the three women, beckoning the luminescent whorls of a gateway into the Afterglow. They're vacuumed inside, thrown with abandon into the deep darkness beyond, and the portal shrinks out of existence before a swearing and bleeding Griffith King can graze it with his fingertips. They're gone.

Juliet blinks her eyes open, pressing a hand to the side of her throbbing head. Where... She can't be entirely certain if she's rousing seconds, minutes or hours after their fall into the unknown. Whether it's the bump on her head, sleep deprivation, an effect of the Afterglow or some combination of the three, she's been robbed of all her senses. It's too dark to see anything, too quiet to hear anything. When she presses her hands flat against the ground at her sides, she finds they're numb-- as if an unseen barrier rests between her and whatever she's fallen on.

Panic chokes her, drags her back in time, and she grasps around her for anything she can hold onto. Her knife. The ornate hilt cuts elegant patterns into the palms of her hands, giving her something other than vulnerability to feel. Breathe. Just breathe. Now, where is...

"Juliet? Where are you hiding?" Brooks. His breath is on the back of her neck, like a chill she can't get rid of. "If you embarrass me again, there will be hell to pay..."

The floor turns to cold marble. Juliet's lungs are restricted as they're laced up in that insufferable wedding dress. With her knife in hand, she shakily attempts to cut a slit through the front of the bodice so she can breathe again. This time will be different. This time, she'll...

"Found you." Brooks clicks his tongue, amused at the state of her. It's so dark, she still can't see anything. When she turns there's no one there... or so it seems. He's standing right behind her, pinching at the sleeve of her ripped gown. "My, my. Are you that eager to consummate our marriage?"

Juliet whirls around and instinctively stabs him in the heart. She breathes heavily, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Then, slowly, the candles in the chandelier above ignite, lighting up the room... and Willow James stands there instead. Knife through her chest. Blood dribbling between her lips. The color drains from Juliet's face at once. She drops the knife. No. "I-- I didn't..." She's not the epitome of moral purity by any means, but she's not a murderer, either.

"But you did. You stabbed me, just like you stabbed Sefarina." Willow's bloodied lips say without a pinch of surprise, as if she came to expect this of Juliet. "And you kept secrets. Now I'm going to die because of you."

Bzzt. "Love her or hate her, we’re kicking off this next hour with Dorothea Birdsong!" Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

Eerily off tune music plays through static, shattering the scene around Juliet and opening the curtains on a new one. Now she sits on a bench next to a notably unscathed Willow James. (Well, mostly unscathed. She still has her injuries from before... but no gory stab wounds in sight. Whatever she just saw, it wasn't real. That Willow didn't act like the real Willow, anyhow. Thank goodness.) Visibly shaken, Juliet takes a deep breath and quietly endeavors to compose herself. Willow is fine. Her clothes are unripped and Brooks is nowhere to be found. She allows her nerves to dissipate with the small dose of relief that often comes with waking from a horrible nightmare. She examines her hands, calmed to find them clean of any blood. Of her blood.

Juliet wraps her arms around herself. There were fragments of a warning in the message she just received that will continue to haunt her for quite some time. 'I don’t think we can afford anymore secrets.'

Before either of them can address the situation they've just found themselves in, a spotlight snaps to life and draws their attention forward.

The Birdsong mansion has been cut in half, like a dollhouse, allowing them to peer inside. Instead of containing rooms it's completely hollowed out and the ground floor is a massive stage. That's where Dorothea is, perched comfortably in a velvet lounge chair with thorns writhing around the legs. Despite the odd circumstances, she appears perfectly at ease. (Is she pretending, or is that really her?) A shadow with a microphone stands there, poised to interview her. Wooden puppets with blonde wigs, flowing costumes and hollowed eyes dangle in the background. They creak from the rafters like creepy, unconventional wind chimes. Across the manicured lawn, more benches blink into existence around Juliet and Willow, filling the area around the stage with an audience of shadows.

There are a few puppets in attendance in the front row as well-- most of which resemble the group that Juliet met at the mall. It's easiest to spot the Kinsley puppet, who is dressed in a sparkly, magpie bait shirt. Her lips are painted to be perpetually pouty.

Juliet's brow furrows. This scene doesn't seem particularly dangerous... yet. But it is weird as fuck. (Duck.) "We should--" She starts to stand, but a vine snares around her waist before she can rise, fastening her to the bench like a seatbelt. Damn it.

"Don't get up! The show's about to start." One of the nearby shadows chastises, but Juliet doesn't listen. She's already trying to cut through the vine with her knife. "Omigosh. A knife! Security!"

A stupidly buff shadow confiscates Juliet's knife as a catchy pop music plays over the speakers. The archer glares at the shadow's back, writhing against the vines as the show goes on.

"So great to have you, Dorothea. We know you must be so busy planning your wedding!" The announcer begins, shivering with excitement at the mention of the wedding. "You're one lucky lady, I must say. How does it feel? You're going to be a King! Has it sunken in yet?" A crater begins to open in the stage. No one acknowledges it.

Dorothea smiles prettily, as would normally be expected of her in a situation like this. (Minus the absurdity.) But before she can answer any of the questions, the announcer has more in store for her... and clearly doesn't care what she would have had to say, anyway.

"How does it feel to have your hollowing broadcasted for all of Evermore to see?" The shadow asks. A condescending tone overpowers their charisma. The atmosphere ranges on hostile. The puppets behind them morph together into a monstrosity of thorns and withered roses. "Boy. If I were in your shoes, I'd want to move to Saturn too!" A laugh track plays over the speakers. "...So embarrassing. But most of all, I feel sorry for Griffith. I mean, having to put up with your mess? Bless that man."

Juliet's stomach twists with the familiarity of it. The same way that Brooks used her trauma as foundation for his pedestal, Griffith is going to do the same if they don't stop it. Perhaps bolstered by the strength of her desire to do something, she takes her second knife and cuts through the vines restraining her and Willow at last.

"You're losing your reputation, your memories, your mind..." The announcer sighs. "What are you going to do about it, Dorothea?"

 

[starboob]

“What a shame she’s fucked in the head.”

Once again, Dorothea is interrupted as a giant version of Griffith sprouts up from the manicured lawn behind the mansion. His head alone is the same size as the house and he only grows as more of him comes up from the ground, until everyone must crane their necks if they want to see him at all. Not that they can see much of anything with the gleaming golden crown he wears. It shines on its own, burning flash-fairies into the eyes of those who stare for too long. His smile is sharper and the curved scar that resembles a dimple, more prominent.

“Love must have made her crazy,” Griffith continues. His voice comes down in resonate booms, forcing Willow to fall back into her seat. As she falls, he also falls backwards and is caught by a golden throne with plush red velvet cushions. “But it’s a good thing she has me to take care of her. Isn’t that right, deerest? Come, you don’t look comfortable down there.”

When he pats the space on his lap where he wants Dorothea to sit, she disappears from her spot on the stage and reappears on his lap, still at her usual size. Bile crawls up the back of Willow’s throat while the audience of puppets and shadows place their hands over their hearts with a haunting, ‘awww.’ The three walls of the house collapse like cards, allowing a full view of Griffith. Unprompted, the audience—Juliet and Willow included—grow in size to match Griffith's scale while Dorothea remains as small as ever on her fiancé’s lap.

“That’s much better, isn’t it?”

Dorothea opens her mouth, but before so much as a syllable can leave her lips, a thread and needle puff into existence and stab her lip. She yelps, blood dribbling down her chin, and grabs the sewing needle before it can thread itself fully, struggling to tug it out and keep it at bay.

“Oh, how smart of you, our King of kings!” The interviewer coos, clapping her hands together. “We needn’t strain the popstar’s voice. Though it is a silly waste of her talent, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Absolutely.” Griffith nods sagely. “What is the point of godblood if one is only going to use it for frivolous means? I promise all of Evermore that our seven sons will not take after their mother in mediocrity.” Dorothea whips around to glare up at him, losing track of the sewing needle for just a second. It slices through the side of her neck, once more forcing out a yelp. She claps her hand over the new wound and reaches to catch the needle before it can hurt her again. Griffith remains undisturbed, ignoring Dorothea entirely for the attention of the audience who also cannot be bothered to care for the Evermore's sweetheart.

He grins like he knows a secret and leans in conspiratorially. “They will be the brilliant clear-eyed leaders the realms need.”

The audience roars for their king, jumping up from their seats to chant his name until it’s lost to the cacophony of noise. Willow and Juliet sway with the crowd, attempting to squeeze themselves to the front but it seems for every step they take forward, they’re forced back by three, succeeding only in getting further and further from Dorothea.

Dorothea tries to get up, but falls back down as Griffiths spreads out his arms, flipping his hands up to encourage the shower of praise. A small grunt escapes from her lips when her palms and knees catch on his thigh. She shakes her head, strands of hair falling from her loose braid, and presses her eyes shut. 'What the fuck is happening?' Blood rushes in her ears, drowning out the noise until her pulse is the only thing she can properly hear. The needle tries to come at her again and, as if sensing it, she grabs it, not caring that it sinks into her palm. 'Why isn't anyone doing anything?'

When she flips her head up, lifting her gaze from her lap to the crowd, she tries to search for her friends and finds only enemies. Even Kinsley looks vampiric. (She deserves that.) 'What's happening?' The question repeats itself just as she finds Jules's signature red hair and spots Willow soon after. They're struggling with the sea of shadows, trying to make their way towards her. One of the stupidly buff shadows wraps their arm around Willow's waist and when Willow struggles, the shadows double down on her.

“Hey stop!” She tries to yell, but her voice is lost to Griffith's thunderous laughter. She crawls forward, rises and stops at the edge of his knee and tries to call out again. “She didn’t do anything! Hey! Stop!”

No one is listening. No one ever does, save for Kinsley (but she probably hates her) and, more recently, Juliet and Willow. (And now look what she’s done by getting them involved. She is a danger to everything she loves. Maybe Willow always knew that. Maybe that's why she spent the last seven years avoiding her.) Her hands roll into fists at her sides, hot tears of frustration sliding down her cheeks.

Isn’t this exhausting? Isn’t she tired of this same old pattern?

Dorothea's breaths come out heavy and shuddered as her sense of control slips through her fingers, as the heroines are pulled further and further into the crowd. ‘No. No. What’s happening? This can’t be happening.’ Her fingers knot into her hair, curling into them as if that might help keep her head on straight. Her chest rises and falls, tears burning—literally—down her face. Her violet eyes glow and golden sparks glimmer around the demigod. She forces her voice to be heard. “Stop! I said stop!”

The labyrinth listens, but only because a sonic waves ripples from the demigod's mouth, her divine power freezing her tormentors. The largest of whom she is quick to escape, scrambling forward and sliding down the fabric of his pressed trousers until she hits the grass. Her arms flail as she runs for the heroines, the only ones who care; the only ones who might be able to help. As she runs through the shadows and puppets, they disappear in puffs of sparkly clouds and, eventually, even the giant version of her enemy dissipates. The cursed thread and needle disintegrate in her palm and her wounds clear away.

Once she's near enough, she wraps her arms around Willow and Juliet, enveloping them in her shaking form. "Thank fuck you're real. What's—"

Unfortunately, the demigod's power only has so much influence over Afterglow. A shadows creeps over the trio and when Willow peaks to look up, the dollhouse version of the mansion is coming down from the dark skies, capturing them entirely in its walls. Dorothea never gets to finish her question. One of the bedroom doors flies open, revealing a teenage version of herself and Griffith. Her head hangs with shame, her gaze avoidant while he paces back and forth, hands flying through the air. Whatever the conversation, they don't hear any of it. (Thank the gods.) But as he shouts, a speech bubble appears from his mouth, blowing up like bubble gum as the accusations and degradations continue. The words that scroll into the speech bubble crash into each other, indecipherable. The bubble continues to grow until the younger Dorothea is sandwiched between the wall and his speech bubble. She shrinks to become more comfortable. And shrinks again when Griffith's words take up more space. This continues until she's nothing.

Then the door opposite swings open and an even younger Dorothea with curled strawberry blonde ringlets stands at the center of her bedroom under a spotlight. Or it appears that way at first glance. When the doorway widens, revealing more of the frame, a giant version of Cordelia Birdsong comes into view. She hunches over her daughter, her spine forming a perfect and unnatural arch, like she's made of rubber, and examines her daughter through a magnifying glass. “Your elbows are too pointy and your hair. We’ll have to straighten it out.” With each scrutinous comment, the magnifying glass gets brighter, hotter, and more uncomfortable for the child. She tries to protest, but Cordelia Birdsong does not listen. “Silence, darling. I am not speaking to you and it is important you rest your voice. Mother knows best.”

And mother’s best gets her burned. Literally. The young Dorothea bursts into flames under the magnifying glass. Cordelia rolls her eyes and starts to chastise her daughter, but the door shuts abruptly after that, silencing the conversation altogether.

“Oh, Dorothea,” Griffith chimes from behind them in a singsong voice, but when Dorothea whirls around, no one is there. His tone darkens, sounding more like… “Where are you hiding? If you embarrass me again, there will be hell to pay..."

Dorothea spins around again, frantic. “Shut up! Leave me alone. I don—”

Kinsley’s puppet drops from the ceiling. She hits the ground in a heap, her limbs bent at awkward and unnatural angles. Her head lifts itself first and tilts at a ninety degree angle, her cold eyes warming until they're red. The puppet's eyes sear into Dorothea, pinning her into place. “You don’t even like him. So why is he yours?”

“Kins, what?”

The puppet's teeth sharpen into needle-like fangs as she gathers herself from the ground. “You stole him from me! You bitch!”

“You know that’s not true. Haven’t we…” Haven’t they had this conversation before? Aren’t they past this? Dorothea’s brow wrinkles together. Something’s not right. (Where are Willow and Juliet? Were they not real? Is her mind too messy to know what's real anymore?) “Our threads are connected. I’m sorry it happened while you two were together—I didn’t know.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Kinsley snarls, suddenly becoming her real self. “You couldn’t just stay away. Everything would have been so much better if you never came along at all.” Each word comes out in speech bubbles shaped like knives. Dorothea dodges one and her eyes widen when she looks back and sees it stuck three inches into the ground. When she whips back to face the nightmare posing as her best friend, she takes a startled step back, not recognizing the woman with brown hair wearing a dress shaped like a pastry—worse, she doesn’t remember dressing herself in such a gown either.

“Not a soul cares for you," Lady Lavinia continues, her words still coming out as knives. One pins the skirt of Dorothea's dress into the ground; then another and another. "They like only what you can do for them."

Dorothea tugs at her dress, trying to free it so that she can escape, but the fabric doesn't give. The knives don't budge. Desperate, she tries to free herself from the garment entirely, but the ribbons that tie the corset morph into vicious snakes that lunge for her fingers.

"Would it not be better if you simply disappeared?"

Piercing ice blue eyes then blink open above them and a voice she doesn't recognize chastises her. "Elise, darling. You have an important role to play. It is vital that you accept your place in the narrative."

 

[ellarose]

"I cannot see my place in the narrative from way up here." Elise's sweet voice echoes in response. The princess sounds impervious to what occurs down below-- though, as she herself stated, that's likely because she really cannot see it from wherever she is. The ice-blue eyes in the sky close and disappear. In their place, a royal opera box builds itself on the lawn. All around it, the air shimmers and reconstructs their environment into a Folklorian opera house. It's sparkling, a majestic building of gold. Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, arches and columns and grand decorum frame the stage area. A large portion of the ceiling is painted to resemble a clear blue sky, dotted with angels dressed in silks who hold armfuls of fruit or clutch their chests with the appropriate amount of dramatic flair for a theater. Two painted to look like winged princes shift ominously from one pose to another.

"Without love, we would not have a narrative. Love is the most important thing in the world. If we let it die, if no one fought for it... what would happen to us?" A spotlight tilts, illuminating the queen and princess, who stand before red velvet seats in the box to the front left of the stage. Elise rests her elbows on the balcony railing and delicately places her head in her hands. "Take the ballet, for instance. The prince is distraught, thinking his suitor will be chosen for him by his mother... so he decides to run off into the night. It is that very journey that leads him to his one true love."

"The prince had a crossbow." Queen Viviane says, folding her arms over her chest. "And the lovers died tragically."

"There are several versions of this story, mother. Not all of them are tragic." Elise argues with a weary sigh. Or, at least... I hope not. She clasps her hands together and floats another topic. "Perhaps you should give me a crossbow for my next birthday instead of throwing another ball. I heard from Uncle Zander that you used to--"

"...That's quite enough, Elise. The show's about to begin."

Curtains drop over the stage and rise again, entirely changing the scene playing out on it. "You wouldn't let me dance, either." Elise's voice vanishes altogether as the orchestra starts to play and ballet dancers glide in, taking their places to begin their performance. Shadows in the audience fall into silence and watch with rapt attention.

Dorothea isn't certain how she knows the steps, but she does. The ribbon snakes from before are nowhere to be seen. She's dressed in a flowing white costume while the puppet dancers around her wear shades of blue, yellow, green and pink. Their skirts whirl in such a way that they resemble a garden of pastel flowers with the idol as the centerpiece. From her own position on the stage, Lavinia sneers at Dorothea whenever her back is turned to the audience. Whenever the Folklorian dancer comes close enough, she takes every opportunity she can to sabatoge the star by surreptitiously attempting to shove and trip her.

Eventually, the dancers circle around the two of them, holding themselves in such a way that they create a wall to hide Dorothea and Lavinia from the prying eyes of the audience.

"Not only did you steal her..." Lavinia sneers openly now they're not on display for everyone to see. "You had to go and steal my role, too. I'm going to make your life a living hell."

A bucket tips over just above Dorothea's head, dousing her with ice cold water. The stage churns... and suddenly, the whole theater is submerged, sunken down to the depths of the ocean floor. The dancers turn into a colorful school of fish that look at each other confusedly before swimming away. When they disperse, they reveal a stone tablet where two glowing items sit. There's a sword with a pink ribbon tied around the hilt and a pair of shackles.

Elise swims towards Dorothea, the scales of her tail matching the ribbon exactly in shade. She unhesitatingly takes the sword into her hands, leaving the shackles untouched. Casting her gaze above them, where the painted princes once were, she gives an exhausted sigh.

"They'll catch up to us soon." Elise observes. The untouched shackles shake impatiently, about to pounce the way the needle and ribbon snakes once did... but before they can affix themselves to the idol's wrists, the princess slashes them through with the sword. The fragments sparkle as they fall down like rain. "This is quite the nightmare, is it not? In escaping your mind, I believe you found yourself in mine..." She smiles apologetically, fully aware of how strange this all sounds. "I spent quite some time with a sorceress recently. Read lots of interesting, forbidden books... I must admit, I was quite curious about Evermore and the twin that Willow James mentioned."

The water around them muddies, turning slightly reddish in hue. The shadow of an approaching ship looms over their heads. Elise. The water shivers and a maniacal laugh echoes all around them. The princess tenses, holding her sword defensively in front of her. I'm coming for you, Elise. The ship lowers a fishing net and Elise slashes through it before it can touch them.

"I would truly love to get to know you better. However, time is of the essence. Since you've sheltered yourself here with me, Juliet and Willow can no longer reach you. It's difficult to explain, but..." Elise bites her lip uncertainly. "You left them in your mind. I know it's daunting, but you need to find your way back to them before they disappear." The princess claps twice, summoning a few different mirrors in attempt to get the idol started. Different memories play out on each surface. There's a young Dorothea having her hair brushed (or rather pulled) by her mother. There's another with Willow and Dorothea by the lake, floating on their backs and laughing. One is a particularly hazy image of Dorothea standing beside a figure she can't quite recognize. "Which one calls to you?"

 

[starboob]

It’s official. Dorothea Rose Birdsong has lost her mind. It’s swirling down the drain of her sanity, snickering as it gets closer to the bottom of unreality. This is the only rational explanation for this hallucination of herself that is not quite herself. (And yet she is so inspiring to watch. She wields her sword with ease. She stares at those hunters with a conviction and determination Dorothea isn’t quite sure she has ever known. Maybe it was teased out of her too long ago.) Though Cordelia raised her better, she cannot help her gaping.

She doesn’t register the mirrors until the mermaid princess points them out. Even then, she has a hard time tearing her gaze away, somewhat convinced that the second she stops staring, this figment of her mind (this figment of herself who is not herself) will disappear. But Elise remains when Dorothea works the courage to peer into the portals, wincing at the first and aching at the second. The third leaves her nonplussed, brow furrowed together.

Without meaning to, she drifts closer to the third. Her eyes narrow to sharp slits, trying to pierce through the haze of the memory with sheer willpower alone, though it remains ever-opaque and blurred. Her hand lifts through the water, gently pressing her middle finger to the surface. It ripples. “Dorothea… Dorothea… Come with me,” it whispers, completely transfixing the demigod like a siren's song.

Her arm sinks into the memory, but the ship's shadow that crawls over them momentarily breaks the spell. She jerks her arm back, lifting her gaze as she recalls the net the mer-princess slashed through. “What will happen to you once I leave?”

“You needn’t worry about myself.” Elise grins, her mouth filling in with sharp teeth as her features turn gaunt and the whites of her eyes bleed to black, becoming something monstrous. "I am my own knight in shining armor and shall remain so until I am reunited with Sir Flynnigan." Her features shift back to the sweet princess Folklore has come to know. "But I implore you, you must go if you wish for the survival of our friends. They are in grave danger, stuck in your mind."

In the back of Dorothea's mind, she hears Willow's accusation echoing. ("You've changed.") She knows she must make this right and prove that her loyalty is to more than only herself. Even so, she hesitates before turning back towards the memory. She reaches for the princess's arm. "Wait. One last thing."

Elise cants her head to the side.

“Where are you? Can we find each other again?”

The princess smiles and reaches to touch the center of Dorothea's chest, causing it to glow pink beneath her fingertips. Her own starts to glow violet. "We are connected, you and I. Perhaps more than other parallels. Perhaps less. I know not.” She shrugs, unbothered, and waves her hand through the water. “We can always find each other, in whatever form or fashion we might require.”

Dubious as Dorothea is, she nods anyway. Perhaps because a piece of her knows this is real. Her mind might be fractured or fracturing, but some things still feel too real to ignore—like the memory pulling at her mind, clawing at the surface and begging her to search. With steeled resolve and another encouraging nod from the princess, she approaches the third mirror and places her hands along the rim—

She’s sucked into the mirror and stumbles out the other side, her feet crunching over dried grass and dead leaves. The world around her is painted in black and white, like an old television show. Tall trees dot the woods, their scraggly branches dipping low like they're invitations for passersby to climb. Though she cannot place where in the woods this is, she recognizes the great oak in front of her, if only because of the moon and Saturn carved into the bark. Her lips twitch with an almost smile, recalling the way Willow once took out her knife and etched it painstakingly into the bark of their tree.

'...But it wasn't Willow, was it?' Willow James wouldn't hurt a fly. She can't imagine that she would carve something into a tree. She squints at the carving, trying to make sense of the memory. 'Whose memory am I forgetting?' Or has she already forgotten? Dread pools in her stomach and sits like lead at the bottom.

"I can't wait to leave this place." A familiar voice pulls Dorothea's attention, causing her to spin around and face a version of herself from high school. Her teenage self is spread over a picnic blanket, staring up at her. It's not until the present Dorothea takes a few steps to the side that she sees the figure her younger self is fixed on. But the figure is a blur of gray. The only thing that is clear, is her voice. (It sounds like coming home. She feels like coming home.) The figure continues, "Just another year, then we can be whoever we want."

“You sure are confident.” The younger Dorothea says as she shifts, turning onto her side and propping her head in the palm of her hand. There’s a smile in her voice, a genuine curiosity, and an obvious desire to follow wherever this figure will go. “Someone is going to find out. Eventually. I think Kinsley is suspicious.”

“She’s always suspicious,” the other says, giving the effect that she's rolling her eyes. “You have to admit, she’s calmed down a lot since her thread of fate was revealed. Maybe she’ll miss this.”

Dorothea snorts, covering her mouth. “She’s a bloodhound for gossip and this?” She gestures between them. “I think she’s going to sniff it out and she’s not going to have the chill to keep it to herself. She’ll only think about being the one who gets to break the news.”

“Well, whatever. We can be a secret for another year.” The hazy figure takes the spot on the picnic blanket beside Dorothea. She pops five of the raspberries onto each finger and inhales them one by one. “Then we can be brand new again.”

“I still don’t understand what you’re planning.”

“Have you heard of the Weeping Woman?” When Dorothea shakes her head, the figure continues. “I found a file about her in my dad’s office. The gist of it being some woman was scorned, she cried and worked herself up so much that she turned to steam and became the mists.”

“What?”

“Mhm,” she nods. “According to my dad’s file, evidence suggests the mists might not be disappearing people, but instead giving them clean identities. It seems the mists’ goal is to take people who wish to escape—escape being broadly defined. Could be escaping a physical place or even a feeling, like the Weeping Woman who wished she’d never have to feel that way. My guess is she was already a gifted caster and her magic leaked, the will responded, and she transformed. It could just be folklore, but…”

“You’d risk everything for this?”

“Yeah, I would," her voice turns solemn, losing its usual lightness. "The file wouldn’t be in my dad’s office if it were a hoax. There’s a kernel of truth to it and I’d do anything to escape the roles we’ve been assigned. I’ll be anyone, so long as I’m with you.”

The memory starts to crack as the Dorothea, the one who is real, starts to feel a flutter of panic in her chest, the enormity of this memory (is it real?) slamming into her like a freight train into a damsel. ‘Why don’t I remember… Is this real?’

Pieces of the sky start to rain down like pellets of hail all around her, but for all that it's worth, Dorothea is unaware. Noise comes to her through a steel tube as her vision goes in and out of focus, her chest rising and falling in an erratic rhythm. The black and white world spins and the popstar might have fallen backwards into the void opening up behind her, but something tugs on her sleeve and pulls her away. Though she doesn't look until she hears Willow's voice.

“Dorothea, it’s time to go.”

Willow and Juliet both are wrapped in a shining golden ribbon—a thread. Dorothea follows the line of it from Willow’s chest to Juliet’s, who is in tow behind the sorceress. They’re covered in small scratches and scrapes. Vines with thorns are stuck in their hair and have torn at their clothes. Willow tugs on her sleeve again, begging the woman to come and barely withholding her frustrated tears. She chokes, swallowing thickly. “I need you to choose me for once.”

The veiled accusation is not lost on Dorothea and while it pierces her, she pushes her emotion to the side and reaches for the heroine's hand. "Okay. Okay, let's go."

The thread of gold unspools on its own accord, wrapping around the demigod. It flashes three times and—

 

[ellarose]

'If you need to write it down instead, if that’d be easier, I know that helps me, uh, you can. Should.'

A troubled Juliet glares at the blank piece of parchment she laid flat on a tree stump in front of her. Exhausted as she was when they returned, all through the night she tossed and turned. A myriad of unspoken words swam in her head, incessantly needling at her to write a letter goodbye. To confess everything she knows that might help her, leave, and then... and then? Would it really be benefit Willow if she left now? Traveling alongside Juliet is surely a recipe for ruin, yet the danger surrounding them has only intensified. Is she better off with or without her?

A blot of ink drips off the quill and onto the parchment with an ungraceful plop. There seems to be no right thing to do, having dug herself down as deep as she has. Wicked as Juliet might be at her core, she loathes to think of what might happen to Willow if she leaves now. (How dare she abandon anyone when she knows all too well how it hurts?)

'It's because you care.' Quiet. Stop. 'You try not to, but you care. You care, you care...'

The small voice in her head chimes like bells among the leaves whispering overhead. Like it's something joyful and not the most tragic outcome of all. Juliet slumps down, burying her face in her arms against the stump. Once they were girls, playing games in an imaginary castle. Then they ventured into Folklore's wood, Willow retaining some of that childlike joy at the sights all while she learned to stand her ground, to fight. Fireworks became donuts and donuts somehow became the entirety of the tournament-- Willow risking everything to save her, in front of all of those people. What is she doing? What the hell is she doing?

'You're in over your head, Juliet August.'

They're safe... for now. When they left the Afterglow, their thread whisked them off to a deserted cabin of all places. Evidently, it's the camp where Willow and Dorothea once worked as counselors. (Juliet did not understand the concept, nor did either of them think to explain it to her after the night they had. From the word 'counselor', it sounds to her like a grave and noble occupation.) Given no one was around, they surmised that the camp must have recently said goodbye to their last group of kids for the summer season. It seems it's a cherished place they shared, a place where Griffith King would never think to look for them.

It affords them the chance to catch their breath, to regain their strength before they venture out to face the world again. It won't be long-- they're all too worried about Jovi to take more than a single day to recuperate. However, they decided it was necessary to sleep. They won't be of help to anyone otherwise-- even if it seems there's no time left for them to rest.

Juliet snuck out quietly that morning, letting Dorothea and Willow sleep in. She gathered berries and found a spot to sit outside... because alone in the woods is the closest she ever gets to feeling at home. It occurred to her that they might require a moment alone together, anyhow. 'I need you to choose me for once.' The thought of those words sends a pang through Juliet's chest, one she doesn't entirely understand. Perhaps it's best that she doesn't investigate it.

It brings her to mull quietly over Meredith's protective nature. Willow's family, the surprise party and the bashful expression on Dorothea's face when she handed Willow her birthday gift. The blush on Sawyer's face when she was kissed on the cheek. Willow's far more charming than she realizes, and... well. At least she'll have support when Juliet is gone.

Juliet, meanwhile, will be alone again. Sometimes she wonders why she fights so damned hard when that is her inevitable end. It won't matter one mite what she did right when her wrongs are unearthed, will it? It never does. Fates... and the last time she put this much thought into a letter, she was writing to Viola. Setting her pride aside, baring her soul, begging her to come back. To give her a chance. The worst of people clutched too tightly to her while the best of them left her behind.

What must it be like, to be loved without looking for it? To be loved without asking for it? If love shapes a person, Juliet thinks, then it's no wonder why she can hardly see herself. It's dreadfully confusing when she visits the Rhode Island house and one of Willow's grandmothers drapes a blanket over her. Or when Willow bandages her wounds and presses kisses to them. What do they see in her that's worth caring about? Ugh.

Juliet should feel no remorse for leaving, after all the world has done to her. So many have made leaving look easy. Yet...

Listening to the birds singing in the trees, Juliet thinks it must be nice to be a bird. Perhaps if she encounters King Cayman again, he'll simply put her out of her misery by turning her into one and--

Grace's wet nose tickles Juliet's elbow and she raises her head. Unbeknownst to her, ink has smudged onto her cheek. With a sigh, she wraps her arms around her companion and holds her close. Feather light, she brushes her fingertips over the fox's scars and thinks about Jovi. The truth of the matter is that she does care too deeply to leave now. Even if it won't matter, even if she's alone in the end... she can't possibly leave now. Elise is depending on them, too. Here these women are, suffering like she once did at Brooks's hands. She can't abandon them. It's the reason why she started on this disastrous path to begin with. Might as well see it through.

'Juliet?' Juliet lifts her head, checking her surroundings. Millie? She finds the witch's reflection in her glass bottle of ink, owlish eyes staring unblinkingly at her. From the grave expression on her face, the archer senses something's amiss and buries everything on her conscience to attend to her. 'There's something I need to tell you...'

 

[starboob]

Sleep comes to Willow in fits. Had she not already pulled an all-nighter the night before, she might have had another sleepless night. It’s only sheer exhaustion that pulls her under, but that alone does not mean it stays with her, nor does it mean it’s peaceful. She wakes in starts and stops, dreams flooded with red visions and screams that could shatter glass. Fire warms her cheeks, her lungs fill with ash and smoke and always, always, always she shoots upright in a cold sweat just before figuring out the nightmare.

She’s wide awake again, cold morning air biting into her cheeks as it whips through her curls. The summer sun is already up and reaching for its peak. It dollops drops of orange and gold over the evergreen woods and the still sleeping suburbs of Elsewhere. It would be beautiful in any other instance. On this morning, Willow only has dread.

Dorothea’s arms are wrapped firmly around her waist as they fly together on Lucky’s back towards the Temple of Fearless, where Millie said was Sawyer’s last known location before she sent her SOS to her Folklorian parallel. Juliet flies next to them on Grace’s back.

In another life, Willow might have admired the morning sun catching Juliet’s hair. In another life, she might have been rose dusted thinking about Dorothea Birdsong holding her waist. None of that registers now.

A plume of smoke billows out from the direction they are headed and where Willow knows what to expect, it still does nothing to prepare her to see the smoldering temple. She doesn’t even need to ask herself why no red mechanical beasts are howling down the streets to preserve the historic site. Lucky echoes her feeling, ripping the air open with a piercing shriek that sends the birds from the trees and the critters in the woods fleeing.

Dorothea’s grip around her waist tighten. Willow feels her heartbeat stop. “Willow…”

“Don’t. We don’t know anything.”

Even the heroine knows her hope is nothing but smoke and mirrors. It takes everything in Willow to remain rock steady as the definite ruin becomes more and more obvious, as her bones threaten to crack under the weight of her fury. Neon electricity sizzles in her eyes, causing their hair and Grace’s fur to stand on end. She doesn’t hear Lucky’s trill of concern as storm clouds gather and tighten over the temple. Wind and thunder breathe through her and she lets them. She lets the gods in and becomes the vessel for their power. It turns her veins to lightning, her heartbeat to thunder that rolls and rumbles over the morning skies, and her fury to rain. It comes down in a sudden sheet, like a full bucket tipped over.

By the time Lucky lands at the former entrance to the temple, small rivers are already running down the streets. Willow hardly notices. She dismounts, feet hitting the ground in two splashes. Her back is straight, her eyes still glowing as she pans over the damage. Dorothea brushes against her shoulder, her jaw set while her fingers twitch and tug at the sleeves of her shirt.

“I…” The demigod starts to speak, then stops, clamping her eyes shut as two steady streams slide down her cheeks. “I don’t want to go inside.”

“You don’t have to.” Willow briefly glances up at her old friend. In another life, it would have broken her heart to see Dorothea distraught. Another version of her would have reached up to sweep the tears away. Now her sympathies stop at her glance. It’s not that the heroine doesn’t understand what they are likely about to see. It’s just that she’s tired and needs to conserve her energy. She needs to be strong. She needs to be a hero; a real one. She can’t be soft. “Juliet and I will go. Lucky can stay with you.”

She looks to Juliet and Lucky for confirmation. Lucky blinks once then rests the tip of their chin to Dorothea’s shoulder, trilling lowly as a comfort for the demigod. With the matter settled, Willow motions for the other two to follow her towards the smoldering temple, a burnt shell of what it used to be. They all know what to expect when they cross the threshold. It hangs in the air between the three of them and yet Willow cannot help but to grip onto the slim hope that… That this all may be the result of Kinsley, Meredith, and Sawyer’s efforts to stop the tyrant’s followers. But the truth sits in the gravity of Millie’s somber tone. A happily ever after isn’t waiting for them inside.

Willow has to remind herself that Meredith and Kinsley are both safe. She might not know where they fled to, but they are safe. Millie said so. ‘They’re safe. They’re safe. Meredith is safe.’ She wrings her fists around her staff without realizing it. The stone at the tip provides them with some light as they step into the rubble and ash. Fire dancers sob into their skirts over the ruin. Some seem grateful for the rains to put them out. The columns they once ran between to hide from the cult, to dodge Sabrina’s bullets, are blackened and some are toppled over. Half the temple is sunken and Willow gets the sense the rest could come down with a sneeze.

Her nose and lungs fill with damp smoke, masking the scent of spilled blood. At the center of the former temple, where Fearless’s seal once gleamed, is a fissure that forms a foot wide divide, splitting the seal. Willow’s knees go slack. Grace is there to catch her, still at her larger size, and offers her shoulder for support. “Jules… They… How are we going to tell Dorothea?”

Dorothea already knows, of course. Jovi never made it to Afterglow with them. She stood between them and Griffith and… Willow presses her eyes shut, two tears sliding down her cheeks as she works to suffocate the rest. ‘You need to be stronger than this.’

Between the fallen columns, creeping between piles of rubble, a predator stalks their prey. Six pairs of red eyes watch the heroines and the winged fox. The tail’s tongue flickers out of its mouth while the ram’s and lioness’s head dip low to pounce.

“We need to find—” The sorceress squeaks at the end of her sentence, catching the red glow of eyes as they emerge from behind the pile, leaping through the air. The chimera’s front paws are spread out, claws and teeth bared!

 

[ellarose]

Juliet watches Willow as they venture into the temple... or what's left of it. Looking at the sorceress now, she sees fragments of herself reflected. It's in the short answers, in the way she never reached out when she told Dorothea to wait outside. Over time, it's only natural to be whittled down by the grief and responsibility of it all. Though she doesn't wish this upon Willow, it's the path she chose. The same path she chose, once upon a time. Still. It's too much to carry alone. One seldom feels like a person anymore when they've no time to stop, to breathe, to process.

Being a hero sounds so damned romantic in the storybooks. When Juliet breathes in the air, laden with blood, the scent of their enemies triumphs, she considers starting a new chapter. One where she grabs it by the throat, ruthlessly drawing on all the venom she'd been poisoned with in retaliation. No longer a palatable phantom of who she once was, but a force to be reckoned with.

The fresh desire to scream claws at Juliet's throat as she gazes down at the blood. Her vision blurs, her fists tightening at her sides as she imagines Grace lying there in Jovi's place. 'If you don't behave, I'm going to put this mangy creature down. Don't test me, Juliet.' Willow's crying. Juliet cried her tears a long time ago. Now she smolders like the temple does. There's only righteous fury. For Jovi, Dorothea and for everyone else who deserved better.

Grace unleashes it for her, standing boldly in front of Juliet and Willow to face the chimera with a hauntingly mournful howl. The sheer force of it knocks the monster backwards before it can sink its claws into either of the heroines. It smacks entirely through three charred pillars, each one shattering to dust as it barrels through them. As the chimera struggles to stand up again, the fox lambasts it with a piercing bark that pins it back down. Grace's orange coat glows, shivers and flickers, like it could turn into flames at any second, though there's scarcely any damage a flame could do in this rain. That might be for the best.

Juliet stands stunned for a moment, attempting to tamp down on her anger as it sparks through Grace like a vessel. Though she knows some of it belongs to her companion. And rightfully so. In another life, that could have been her. She saw a kindred spirit in Jovi, and they couldn't save her. Of course she feels that loss just as fiercely as the rest of them.

"You know… We keep approaching this from the angle that you’re a noblewoman from Folklore—Amoria, was it? But… you can be whoever you want to be here. You can be yourself." They're not in Folklore, are they? And Brooks is practically dead to the world, pitifully losing sight of himself with each day that passes in the wood. Juliet loosens her grip. Their enemies have never hesitated to inflict harm on them. Not once. So why does she?

'I won't stop you, Grace. Not anymore.'

Grace bares her teeth, growls and scuffs her paws against the ground, kicking up water. She lowers her head, studying the chimera carefully before she pounces. Keeping her eyes firmly closed to avoid the snake's hypnotic stare, she rakes her claws over the creature's six eyes and then snaps the lion's throat up in her teeth with all her might.

The chimera unleashes a hideous cry that knocks both Juliet and Willow off their feet. Grace stands firm above it, unaffected. She burns brightly, the noise phasing through her, and she sinks her bloodstained teeth deeper. While the chimera tries to shake her off, she growls quietly, her breath warming until it's blazing hot, and the beast's feathered wings catch fire. The rain is all that keeps it from spreading out of control.

Juliet tears her attention away from the harrowing scene when she notices movement in her peripheral. Upon catching a glimpse of Sabrina's ruby-eyed gaze, she tries to warn Willow only to find herself locked in place. Shit. Meeting the Stake heiress's gaze was her first mistake. She struggles in vain to fight the paralysis, straining to reach for her knife, but she can barely twitch her fingers in towards the palm of her hand. Any noise she attempts to make is muffled through her closed lips as Sabrina noiselessly slithers toward her, coiling her snake half around the archer's body until she's tighter than the boning of a Folklorian corset.

"Does royal blood really run through your veins...?" Sabrina's quiet voice slithers and echoes, like they're in a world of her own making as she leans in closer to the archer's ear.

"Mmf." Juliet tries to speak, but once again, is unable to do so in her current state. Damn it all.

"I've been thinking we could gut you to find out. Might be useful." Sabrina casually slides the tip of her pointy black fingernail along her captive's throat. Juliet's gaze shifts to the blood-soaked stone, the smoldering ruins. Like they gutted Jovi. She closes her eyes and lowers her head to avoid meeting Sabrina's hypnotic stare again. Monsters.

The tip of Sabrina's serpent tail strokes over her heart, over her scar. A familiar shiver of helplessness rattles down her spine.

"Think it'd finally scare her off if I killed you? Could be the wake-up call she needs." Sabrina turns her attention to Willow, who is currently absorbed, concernedly watching Grace fight the chimera-- perhaps wondering if she should intervene. "Willow should never have gotten involved in this. You know that as well as I do."

As if sensing that she's being spoken about, this is the moment that Willow notices Sabrina.

"Seems I have to do more than bat my eyes to get your attention these days, huh cutie?" Sabrina's mouth lifts in a humorless smirk, bordering on a snarl. Taking one of Juliet's knives, she casually raises it to the archer's throat. "It didn't have to come to this, you know. But now..." It's apparent now that Sabrina and the chimera aren't the only foes in their midst. Several of them linger around the few pillars that are still intact, appearing as if out of nowhere. When did they...? "Now... you need to give us what we want. Or her blood is on your hands."

 

[starboob]

Thunder shakes what’s left of the temple. It booms across Elsewhere; windows shiver, wood shingles rattle. The booming is incessant, in rhythm with the storm child’s heartbeat. Her skin could sizzle and bubble with how hot her blood becomes. Her chest rises and falls in rapid uncontrolled patterns, eyes burning into Sabrina like she’s daring her to flash those red eyes.

“You know,” Sabrina drawls, pressing the blade closer to Juliet’s throat, her lips flush to the archer’s ear. She speaks in a whisper loud enough for Willow to hear. “I didn’t even have to use my usual tricks on her. She was so desperate, I just had to give her a crumb and she’d follow.” She smirks, looking directly at Willow now. “She’s so fucking easy. Obsessive, too. You better watch out, little red, else she’ll go psycho on you.”

Willow loses herself for a moment, her head floating off her shoulders while the temple spins. The god-blessing flooding her veins is only reason she remains standing. Her fists tighten around her staff. The citrine stone sparks and brightens while the figures clad in black close in on her and Grace, unperturbed by the obvious warning. The sorceress sniffs, grinding down on her jaw as if that might stop her flow of steady tears, hot and boiling down her cheeks.

Grace’s eyes shift between the heroines, lingering on Juliet for a moment before she eyes each of the goons and their companions. She never releases the chimera, but bares her fangs through her grip, clamping down harder with a low growl. Flames lick over her fur, sizzling as rain pours through what little remains of the roof.

“Oh, how cute. She’s crying.” Sabrina rolls her eyes, her lips pulling to one side in a smirk. “What do you even think you’re going to do with that bejeweled tree branch, huh?” She cocks her eyebrow. “You always choke, so why even try? Just admit you don’t have the stomach for this.” The heiress pauses, and when the sorceress doesn’t stand down, she pushes the blade against Juliet’s neck, allowing for a shallow cut. Blood leaks from the wound, dribbling over the knife and down the archer’s neck. “And let me be perfectly fucking clear, in case you’re still on this hero shit: I will tear apart everyone and everything you love, starting with this twat,” her snake half squeezes Juliet for emphasis. The end of her tail strokes her captive’s jaw, then hovers over her bottom lip. “And it will end with that hick farm you call home. So ask yourself, are you really prepared to see your world burn?”

‘Fuck you.’ Another Willow—the old Willow—might have lost her spark, taunted by the woman who tore her down, but the old Willow is dead. Sabrina’s words don’t touch her. Not her taunts, not her threats. It doesn’t matter what she does, Sabrina is already on a warpath. Nothing will stop her. Willow can’t afford to back down now.

Her green eyes flash; the only warning before the entire room is swallowed by searing white hot light.

A thick bolt of lightning races from the skies down to the temple, striking the space between Willow and Sabrina. The force of it knocks the heiress and her goons off their feet like bowling pins. And the subsequent force of thunder keeps them down, bellowing through the temple and splitting more cracks in the surface.

The sorceress grabs their thread. It sings gold, wrapping around Juliet and teleporting her from where she stood into Willow’s arm, free of Sabrina’s red glare curse.

All the while, Grace holds steady, disaffected by the commotion. It’s only when the temple is steady that she moves again. She jerks her head to the right, tearing out the lioness’s throat by way of letting go. She coughs out the bit of meat from her bloody maw, blood spraying over her fur from the chimera’s wound as it half collapses under the dead weight of the lioness. The remaining portions of it struggle, hissing and bleating while the wings flap to break free. The chimera then comes undone all at once. The snake head tail disappears in a flash and, like a shooting star, soars through the air until it hits Sabrina, knocking her back down again albeit unintentionally. The ram leaps free from the lioness, running from the temple while the falcon flees to the skies.

As Sabrina recovers, peeling herself from a pile of rubble, she blinks, dizzily searching for the Rhode Island brats. Her brows knit together, locking onto the dead lioness and the growing pool of blood that the heroines and their bitch companion are now standing in. Her nostrils flare.

In a fluid motion, she reaches behind her back, pulls her gun from its holster, and whips it around, aiming and firing at Grace.

 

[ellarose]

The gun fires with a jarring bang! Grace disappears and Sabrina's bullet lodges uselessly into the rubble instead.

Juliet's heartbeat throbs in her ears. All she can hear is the ringing echo of the gunshot that gradually fades out to the sound of the falling rain. 'Grace?' There's blood where she stood, sure, but that's the chimera's blood. Grace survived the wood alongside her. She survived the kingdoms and all the dangers they've faced since. Grace is-- Grace is fine. 'Don't leave me, Gracie.' Lost in a haze, gripping her bleeding throat, she doesn't notice the way the air around her sizzles. Eventually, the combination of wind, rain and fire creates a heated mist that envelopes the heroines in an extra layer of protection.

Except Grace hasn't disappeared. Not really. An orange lizard dashes out from where the fox was previously standing and clambers up her companion's leg, nestling safely against the crook of her neck. "Grace." Juliet exhales, the tenseness in her shoulders dissolving. "Thank the fates." (All her training running away from an overeager Lucky James has certainly paid off.) The concern between them is mutual. This vantage point offers Grace a close look at the still bleeding cut on Juliet's neck. The scales on her back gleam and shift around, mimicking the way her fur bristles when she's troubled. 'I'm okay.' The archer strokes a finger over her companion's back to calm her and the little lizard hisses like an extinguished flame.

Sabrina lines up a second shot and the heroines disperse, jumping apart just before she fires. Bang! Another bullet is lost to the rubble. Thunder rumbles ominously overhead. Grace morphs back to her fox form and leaps down from Juliet's shoulder, baring her bloodstained teeth and unleashing another earth-shattering howl, knocking their enemies backward once more before they can fully recover.

The archer lowers her hand from her throat, breathing slowly as she takes in her surroundings. Juliet envisions the scene as if it were occurring in Folklore's wood. The remaining pillars the trees, the smoke a morning fog. Monsters lurk in the underbrush while the leader of the pack prepares to strike. Sabrina. Before this fight can escalate further, they need to take their chance and strike while Sabrina's still somewhat disoriented. Grace gave her a chance. Willow gave her a chance. Like hell is she going to waste it.

Like hell is she going to let this narrative turn her into the damsel in distress again. Juliet sinks the tip of an arrow into her arm, charging herself up like a red bolt of electricity. She weaves herself around the goons before any of them can blink, wrapping them in the golden thread and restraining them. The archer comes around full circle and tackles Sabrina from behind, knocking the gun out of her grasp. It skids across the slippery temple floor, towards Willow James.

Juliet takes Sabrina's wrists in her hands and pins them to the ground, hocking a wad of spit in the heiress's eyes before she can use them against her again. It's satisfying, but not satisfying enough. Not after her display back there. Those things she said to Willow-- the way she threatened her.

"That's--" Sabrina balks, scrunching her nose blinking her eyes rapidly. She writhes around but can't free herself-- or wipe her face clean. Juliet smirks at the sight, mildly amused. "Fucking disgusting! Were you raised in a barn?"

"Close. I was raised in the wood... and I suppose you could say I have something of a reputation there." Juliet leans down to whisper in her ear, mirroring the woman's earlier taunts. With ease, she wills a blade into the palm of her hand without having to reach for one. If they lay their hands on you, cut them off. Show 'em you're not one to be messed with. "Little Red's known to take the hands of monsters like you." The blade presses down against Sabrina's wrist, and...

 

[starboob]

Sabrina sucks her teeth as the blade slides into her flesh, sinking in like soft butter. Hot red liquid pours out in an instant. Her lips part, involuntarily eliciting a shuttered gasp, something that falls between a moan and a mewl. More infuriating are the tears that spring in her eyes, mixing with the saliva already stinging them. She writhes beneath the other woman, careful to keep her bleeding wrist as still as she can manage while simultaneously trying to buck the Folklorian brat off of her.

Tendons snap with wet pops; lightning sharp pain lances up her arm to the tips of her fingers. Her entire body is rocked still, if only for a moment. She doesn’t dare look. Grinding down on her jaw, keeping her eyes shut tight, she uses Juliet’s proximity to her ear against her, whipping her head around like a viper and sinking her teeth into the other woman’s neck. Juliet August is unrelenting, however.

Bone cracks, as thunderous in her ears as the actual thunder outside. Her eyes snap open, finally, wide and subsumed entirely in neon red. Her teeth sink deeper into the archer’s neck, burying the cry that would have otherwise erupted from her throat.

Sabrina ignores the soft slump of her now severed limb, panting as she releases Juliet without full awareness. Black sands scatter behind her shut eyelids and it’s Laithe who reacts before the heiress recovers. His head sprouts from the wound, inadvertently staunching the bleeding, and darts towards Juliet, fangs bared and dripping with venom. Two drops hit the temple floor and sizzle until a hole burns through the stone. The archer is off her in an instant, though Sabrina barely tracks it, only knowing that a weight has been lifted from her torso, allowing her the freedom to scrabble back up to her feet and wipe her eyes clean with the hand she does still have. Her arm is shot with aches and throbs, though it moves wildly through the air, at the complete mercy of her companion who continues to snap at Juliet, spraying acid-like venom in her direction.

Not far from the brawling women, Willow stares at them, unmoving and unblinking; frozen. Her cheeks flush and the rhythm of her heart changes for just a second—a second that all of Elsewhere can hear. ‘This isn’t… It’s not for you, WJ.’ Their thread flickers without her noticing, giving away for just a second as doubt creeps in.

Grace lifts her front paw, torn between heroines. She starts towards Juliet when a gunshot blares through the temple, a bullet whizzing past her and Willow. Electricity sparks over the soaked rubble behind them where the bullet hits and spreads wider. The fox growls then charges the assailant while Willow stamps her staff into the ground, absorbing the electricity before it can touch anyone and redirecting it towards the skies.

A sharp yelp comes from where the gun had fired, followed by a gunshot as it clatters to the temple floor. This round hits what little remains of the altar, immediately disintegrating it upon impact. When Willow finds Grace, her teeth are sunk deep into the offending goon's arm, bending it at an impossible angle before she releases, growling in his tearstained face for good measure. She looks down the rest of the line, challenging each one for a turn.

As Willow is making her way towards the fox, glyphs start to shine on the temple floor, dotting over it. Her brow furrows, side-stepping as one forms just under her feet. Shadows gather over each symbol, rising into columns of varying heights and collapse like a curtain falling, revealing eight more cronies. Conrad now towers over the sorceress. His usually blue eyes are gleaming gold when they burn into her, his lip curling as he looks down at her. He places his hand on her shoulder before she can move, bruising his fingers into her as he yanks her to the side, all but throwing her into a pile of jagged rubble before he makes his way towards Sabrina. "Out of my way, whelp."

If he thinks anything of what he’s stepped into, his features do not betray him. Even as he steps on the heiress’s severed hand and watches the women, his expression remains like a statue. He jerks his chin. Two of the goons crowd Willow, while four go towards Juliet, and the remaining two approach Grace.

“Lady Juliet,” Griffith, through Conrad, dips his chin. Then, to Sabrina, he informs, "You're taking too long."

 

[ellarose]

Everything is a blur, a sharp ringing in her ears. The warmth of the blood on her hands. An aftereffect of the bite, perhaps, or...? Juliet recalls the tears welling in Sabrina's eyes and her chest tightens until she can barely breathe. No. Keep it from your mind. Seriously? She oughtn't feel a shred of remorse for what she did. The cult already killed Jovi. Sabrina threatened to kill her and so many others. (While holding a knife to her throat, no less.) Not to mention the way she spoke to Willow... 'Oh, how cute. She’s crying.' It ignites a vehement desire to burn away the fleeting, misplaced sympathies. Juliet's taken the hands of many monsters. The only difference is that this one is wearing the face of a human being. 'I will tear apart everyone and everything you love, starting with...'

Everything Willow loves. And Sabrina was implying that Willow loves--

Ha! What does Sabrina Stake know, anyway? About them or anyone? All of her assessments about Willow, for example, were cruel and blatantly wrong. It would be a betrayal to unthinkingly accept anything that woman says as the truth after all the graciousness Willow has shown regarding every story she's ever heard about her in Folklore.

Never mind that Willow summoned an impressive storm for Juliet's sake again or that she somehow used their thread to keep her from harm... but that's-- they're-- they're partners. The archer's heart betrays her with a hopeful flutter. (What is there to hope for? Don't be a fool.) When Willow learns the truth... she'll see her differently. If she doesn't already, after what she did to Sabrina. After this, the sorceress may not want to continue to fight. And even with the resolve and strength she's shown thus far, Juliet wouldn't blame her for that. It's a lot to stomach.

Relentless violence ripped her innocence away too soon. It shaped her and she didn't have a choice but to fight back with vitriol. As a child she sought knives for comfort instead of kisses and hugs and sweet nothings. Doesn't that say everything?

...It's no way to live.

Juliet grinds down whatever emotion remains in her, leaving room for nothing but the fight in her as she holds her own against four. Three, as she knocks one out with the blunt end of the knife she retrieved from the ground. Her blood still drips from the blade where Sabrina held it against her throat.

Lady Juliet, someone addresses her formally, but Juliet cannot be bothered to acknowledge this mid-battle. You're taking too long. Fuck it. She quickens her pace, sweeping the legs of another goon in such a practiced series of movements it's casual, the expression on her face bored beyond belief. The mountain of a man falls face-first onto the ground, and she uses his back as a platform to leap up to a high pile of rubble.

The ground shifts, unstable beneath Juliet's boots, and a trail of dust and tiny stones cascade to the floor. She plants the soles of her feet firmly to keep herself from sliding as she prepares her bow and arrows. Before the muscled man can recover, she shoots a time arrow at his back and freezes him where he lays on the ground. Brushing a hand over the remaining arrows in her quiver, she settles on a trap arrow and uses it to ensnare the remaining two in a net.

"Bro, get off me!" One goon presses against the other, unsuccessful in his attempts to get off the ground. "What are you doing?"

"Sorry bro, no can do. It's the net." The other... blushes?

"Oh, there's a-- okay. I understand, bro." He sighs. "I understand."

Juliet quirks a brow, shakes her head, and hastily sets her sights elsewhere. Grace is holding her own, viciously tearing through anyone who dares to challenge her. She's agile and clever as ever, shifting forms to avoid taking any damage. The companion is so efficient that one of her opponents turns around to flee the scene. He keeps his head low, his eyes fixed pointedly on the floor-- especially seeming to avoid Sabrina and the somewhat familiar Charming Street man who stands next to her. The peculiar gold eyes of the man sear into this goon's back as he makes his escape. Interesting. It somewhat reminds Juliet of Millie's golden eyes, and of-- wait.

Did he have golden eyes before? That man-- Cornlad? He didn't make much an impression on her when they first met. That said, it stands to reason that he'd have made more of an impression on her had he called her Lady Juliet when most of the other Charming Street fellows took to calling her Juliet or Jules. The archer shakes the thought for now, instead shifting her attention to Willow's fight. The sorceress holds her own, using the lightning she's redirected to her advantage to keep a barrier between herself and her assailants as she gets to work on a glyph. Pride swells in Juliet's heart. She reaches for another arrow with intent to assist her, deciding it's fine time they finished this fight, when...

The ground shakes and Juliet nearly loses her footing. The mountain of a man she thought she had frozen in time stares up at her with blazing, golden eyes and throws his body at the rubble with abandon. Eventually it gives and the archer slides down with the avalanche of stone and dust, hitting the ground hard, her temple striking stone. Darkness comes instantly.

Fighting it, slowly blinking a constellation of black stars from her eyes, Juliet squints. Everything's blurry, sounds are underwater echoes. He shouldn't have broken free. His eyes shouldn't have been that color. There are many pieces to this puzzle, but there's no time to snap them together when she hazily notices one of the henchmen near Willow reaching for Sabrina's discarded gun. Move. Her aching muscles are slow to respond, but the urgency of the feeling in her chest ignites the thread between them. Move, gods damn it. She's in trouble.

Juliet teleported before, surely she's capable of doing it again.

All that happens next happens too fast. The gun is picked up from the ground by a different man with the same golden sheen cast over his eyes. He duly examines it before pointing it at Willow James. Without warning, without a theatrical villainous spiel, he squeezes the trigger and--

The bullet whizzes through the air but Juliet August is faster. She appears in a flash in front of Willow, wrapping her arms tight around her middle. She takes a bullet to the back to prevent the sorceress from taking it to her heart. The force of the blast brings them both to the ground in a heap, Juliet's heart pounding against Willow's, her arms still wound tightly around her.

Thunder booms and everything darkens as a large, dragon-shaped shadow is cast over the temple ruins.

 

[starboob]

“Damnit, Sabrina!” Griffith growls through his newest meat suit. “Get a real fucking gun.”

Sabrina barely restrains her contempt. If the neon of her eyes could shoot lasers, the man housing Griffith would be nothing more than pulverized meat. She holds her shoulder, trying to keep Laithe from attacking, though the temptation to let her companion do as he pleases is strong. It’s soothing to imagine those golden eyes burning.

If either of them notice the shadow cast over the temple, neither react, perhaps assuming it’s another storm cloud rolling over the scene of their latest crime. It’s not until Lucky shifts, allowing Dorothea a view into the temple, that either of them take note. The demigod’s voice fills the air, complemented by a choir of unseen fae. “Assholes! Let them go.”

Conrad's eyes glitch back to gold, while the goon stumbles back and rubs his head with the end of a gun he doesn’t remember acquiring. Conrad looks up at the demigod with a grin so practiced, it’s sincere. “My darling, you need to calm down. Remember what the doctor said?”

Dorothea’s eyes blaze into his. Her copper, strawberry blonde hair fans out behind her. Sparks of golden lighting travel up her arms and snap in the air around her. She lifts her hand into the air, holding it open. The white outline of sword flashes in strobe patterns with the hilt placed perfectly in Dorothea’s palm and when the demigod closes her fist around it, a pink ribbon billowing from the end, the light fades as the princess’s sword comes into her hand from Folklore. “Don’t tell me to calm down and I’m not yours.”

Lucky sweeps into the temple like lightning, barreling towards Griffith. Dorothea has the blade poised to sever his head clean from his shoulders, but when Conrad’s body never moves, she swerves at the last minute and only cuts into shoulder. Griffith does nothing more than pivot to watch Dorothea fly around on the dragon. “Be reasonable, deerest. I know you don’t wish to harm anyone.”

And while that might be true for Dorothea, it isn’t true for Lucky James. They take a lap around the temple and come at Griffith with flames spewing from their mouth, launching fireballs towards Evermore’s golden boy.

As that all unfolds, Juliet’s blood pours over Willow, getting sticky in her hair and soaking into her flight jacket. Her breaths are erratic, uncontrolled as she paws at her companion’s shoulder. “J–Jules,” she sobs, gently trying to will her to move, but her body is stiff and convulsing against her. “Don’t–Don’t do this to me. You’re Juliet freaking August.” The archer doesn’t respond with more than gurgles, if she can even hear her at all.

The healer’s granddaughter shifts from pawing at her shoulder to feeling around her back, searching for a bullet wound that isn’t there. She pulls her head back as much as she can manage to search Juliet’s face for a hint of what effect that particular bullet might have had. It’s hard to make out much of anything, aside from the blackened veins bulging against her neck. “Shit.”

She struggles beneath the weight of the other woman, and not for much longer. Grace is at their side, nudging Juliet first with her nose then whining into her ear. When that does nothing to rouse her companion, the fox and sorceress work together to peel the archer off. Willow works to pry the comfort of her arms from her middle while Grace lifts her the rest of the way off, using her jacket like loose scruff. She lays her companion on her back, stepping away, albeit reluctantly, to let Willow get close.

Willow hovers over the other woman, pushing her red waves from her face, just barely stifling a gasp as she takes in Juliet’s features. Her eyes have rolled back, the veins against the whites completely black giving them an almost gray look. Sickly yellow-green foam comes from the sides of her mouth, prompting Willow to turn her on her side so she doesn’t choke. Two glyphs trace themselves over the sorceress’s palms. She hovers them over the archer’s body, barely restraining her sobs. ‘Focus. Focus. You can cry later, WJ.’

New flames now cover the temple as Griffith easily dodges each attack, jumping between the expendable suits. He even yawns. All Dorothea can do is hold onto the dragon as they chase her fiancé around the temple, getting nowhere with it. Eventually, when Lucky sweeps low enough, she tumbles off their back, and springs back up with the sword ready. “Enough!”

Between the cracks and gaping holes in the marble surface, vines and roots writhe through. Stones shift and collapse as the rose bushes make room for themselves. They wrap around what little remains of the columns and encase the outside of the temple itself.

Griffith balances himself on the shaking ground. His eyes blaze when a vine snakes around his ankle, looking around the room only to find that all of the goons have otherwise been ensnared by Dorothea’s command. The thorny stems continue up his legs, holding them tightly together. Soon he’s lifted from the floor as the sharp vines continue to wind around his borrowed body, pinning his arms at his sides.

Dorothea closes the distance between them. She grabs his face in her hand, yanking him to meet her mottled violet-blue gaze. Tears well in her eyes, though her voice still comes out steady and clear. “I am going to take everything from you, just as you’ve taken everything from me. You better find a new place to hide, Griffith King.”

The gold in Conrad’s eyes glitches and disappears. His puppet body hangs entirely slack, eyes closed. Dorothea searches the other goons for traces of him, but he’s gone. As is Sabrina, but observation is pushed to the side when she lands on Willow and Juliet, immediately rushing over to them as the sword glitches away, back to Folklore and her eyes return to their usual hue.

"Is she—"

Sirens sound softly from a distance, growing louder with each second, indicating that they have to leave. The question has to wait. Though, by now, Juliet is no longer convulsing and is slack thanks to the sorceress's efforts. Willow, with Dorothea's help, lifts Juliet from the ground and places her on Grace's back. "Let's just get out of here. Can you cast an invisibility charm?"