Fantasy Tethered ( ellarose & Syntra. )

[ellarose]

Faline shuddered as a fervid sensation rolled through her like a summer rainstorm. Sensitive she may be, though it warranted mentioning that she had never known a touch this soft before. At least not that she could remember. (The mirror Cyrra, whose caress had morphed into a nasty pinch did not count.) The hands of lovers and perhaps mothers were often described as soft in her books, sculpting lovely scenes with the gentlest of words… but scenes were only scenes that were locked up in her head. That was dangerously apparent right now, the realization lying in wait as close to her as Cyrra was. No, she had never had either version of love before in her own life. Therefore she could not trace this feeling back to anything she had experienced before. There was nothing to compare it to, because this was the beginning. All she had of this brand of human affection was this one, precious moment that Cyrra had created for her. The start of her adventure beyond the cottage walls. The cottage which she would not be returning to any time soon. Because she would outrun those spiders for as long as her feet could still run.

(Why exist at all, if she was to remain unseen for all her days? Faline knew that within that cottage no one would hear her if she fell, that no one would know if she died.)

...So what if Cyrra had threatened to feed her her entrails when they met? A trite little detail when compared with everything else they had experienced together thus far, truly! Perhaps the assassin had only been in a foul mood. After all, she had fallen out a window earlier that night. Such a fright was surely enough to ruin anyone's day. And... and why else would she decide to treat her this way, otherwise? Perhaps the assassin had only needed time to grow to like her. Granny had once told Faline that she was a taste that one needed to acquire! (In the same breath, granny had also confirmed to the visibly hopeful Faline that she would never acquire that particular taste.) Heh. Oh granny, the old bat. But never mind that. Like seedlings, human relationships surely needed water to blossom into something beautiful. Ah, water. While newly frightening to her, it was still good for a good many things, too. And wasn't that beautiful as well? Wasn't everything? Like Cyrra's lively curls, which reminded her of the warmest honey. And her blue eyes, which reminded her much of that sparkling pool before she had nearly drowned in it like the whelp she--) Oh.

"You... are not going to call me a whelp?" Faline sniffled and at last found her words, however incredulous they were. "But I made a mistake." And mistakes were usually met with, ah, firmer words than this in her experience. She could think of several instances with both granny and Cyrra herself where this was the case. "I broke a broom. I set myself on fire." With that noted, she ignored the dread in her heart to glimpse the part of her skirt that had been scorched through, the fabric all black and spotted with little holes. Her favorite dress would never be the same as it once was. Tears welled again and she fought to blink them back. Cyrra had only just gone to the effort of brushing all of the others away, after all. In a way, wasn't the damage proof that she had left the cottage and lived a little? If she looked at it from that perspective, it could turn into something beautiful as well. It also brought to mind another idea. She was no longer constricted solely to her belongings in the cottage, was she? For the first time, she was free to roam and find new dresses. And to pick them for herself. The possibilities that sprang to mind lifted her spirits infinitely, the way that ants might join together to lift something that was much heavier than they could carry all on their own. Not to mention that she had Cyrra on her side now, whose strong arms were capable of carrying both Faline and her ant-thoughts high in the air!

"I was on fire." Faline repeated with a wobbly half-smile, on the verge of giggling in hysterics over it. The muchness of her feelings were becoming quite difficult to contain in her fragile human body. But then Cyrra's finger was on her lips, silencing her before it could rush out.

Faline squinted at her quizzically. And then she raised her pinkie in the air and stared at the assassin expectantly, tilting her head to the side. "True promises must be sealed with our pinkies, correct?" Ah, thank goodness she remembered that important human custom! Otherwise it might have been quite embarrassing. "I promise I will not call myself a whelp... so long as you do not, either." Then she gently bopped the assassins nose with her free hand, putting on her best smile. "Hehe. Look at that! I am already smiling. For someone who claims to hate magic, your words sure do cast a spell, Cyrra."

"All right. No point in crying. I suppose we must find Cornelius. And I would still like to meet the sentient clouds, too..." Faline hummed contemplatively. "Also, I believe a new dress is in order. I could not bear to go to the capital dressed like this! I, ah, I do have some money saved. So if we could stop by a market, perhaps, or a dress shop... that would be grand!"

 

[Syntra]

Yes, Cyrra rolled her eyes internally, just fucking summarize all of that for me. The reasons you’re stupid, I mean. Did the whelp think she had forgotten? Each failure, each instance of incompetence, was etched in the assassin’s memory, and oh, was the list long by now! A never-ending fucking bill, with new and new items being added with each passing second. (Crime number one: being a witch. Crime number two: dragging her into this fucking mess, and destroying everything she had ever worked for in the process. Crime number three: being cute enough to… uhh, what?! That, um, didn’t feel like her own thought. It might have hatched in her own brain, but maybe a cuckoo had laid it in there! You know, a metaphorical fucking cuckoo. Many of them were still roaming the assassin’s mind, even though she had done her best to engage in pest control. They were impulses, born of impure instincts-- of the filthy, burnt remains of who she once had been, stubbornly re-emerging from the cinders. …did she not know that nobody wanted her? Absolutely nobody? Especially not Cyrra! The bloody tears she had shed would not be for nothing, just because of the magic clinging to her like the stench of rotting meat. Ran’s sacrifice wouldn’t, either. Still, still she could see her with her mind’s eye-- tall and gaunt, her eyes just empty sockets, and… No. Thinking about that will not fucking help her.) “Yes, you were,” she confirmed. “Now you’re not. Water under the fucking bridge, I guess. Have you ever thought about what would happen if we were to hold each other accountable forever? That’s right, everyone would be fucked.” As they should be, by the way. Dodging responsibility was a uniquely human trait, and also one that had landed them into this mess in the first place-- the stain with blackened edges, from which the corruption spread.

A pinkie fucking promise? Cyrra had not thought that she would have to sacrifice her dignity, but here they were, she guessed! The cup of humiliation was a bottomless one, and she would drink, drink, drink, till her sins were washed away. Till she could look herself in the eye in the mirror, too. (A funny mechanism, wasn’t it? The guilt that settled itself in your heart, wringing every last drop of blood out of it. The sense of your own fucking shadow pursuing you, and tracing razors against your exposed skin. It never quite cut you, you know? But it sure as fuck didn’t let you forget about its presence.)

“Alright,” the assassin smiled. (It felt weird, to allow her lips to do that. Like using a limb you had forgotten about, and whose move-set you had to learn all over again. Still, what was it that Father had said? ‘Be a pond, child. Don’t be foolish enough to do anything on your own-- instead, react and reflect, all those things they want to see. The gods will show you the way.’ And, really, how was this any different? The whelp wanted her rose-tinted romance, so that was what she was going to fucking get. Heh!) “Pinkie promise, then. No calling you whelp. I may be a stranger, but even I know to respect the sanctity of such gesture.” That should have been the end of it-- they should have separated, and forgotten about the whole fucking incident. Had it been at least a little possible, the assassin sure as fuck would have erased it from her memory. Instead, though, Faline leaned forward, and… touched her nose? She smiled as well, sending an unexpected arrow right through her heart. (Pretty, the dazed thought passed through her head. But, no, no, no! Cyrra didn’t think that the witch was pretty in any fucking capacity, and her eyes did not fall to her lips. They weren’t round and soft and moist, and she’d never describe them as kissable! Just, you know, random thoughts. Also, if you looked at Faline through Cyrra-vision, you definitely wouldn’t see her surrounded by an explosion of rose petals!)

“Right,” the assassin cleared her throat, mentally kicking herself in the ass. Get a hold of yourself! “No reason to dwell here and attract more fucking demons.” Although, to be perfectly honest… no, Cyrra didn’t mind running Nyrea’s little errand. Not really. Sometimes, she thought, humans weren’t much better than the primal forces of evil-- you could even say that they were worse, considering that they had a choice. Unlike the demons, they fucking could walk the path of righteousness!

Thankfully, finding Cornelius wasn’t a difficult task. As stubborn as the little fucker was, he also knew better than to just run off-- somewhere in that stunted, animal brain of his, he was aware that very well who ensured that he didn’t starve. And don’t you ever forget it, you little bitch. Cyrra half-expected that their way would be intercepted by diabolical forces again, but the gods, it seemed, chose to have mercy on them this time.

The sun was already setting, the sky cracked and bloody from the wind, when they arrived to Aishwyriya. The city was wholly unremarkable, the assassin felt-- houses and houses and houses, whole rows of them, squeezed together. No sense of privacy, no sense of wonder. The all too familiar scent of unwashed bodies assaulted her nose again, and… ugh, yeah, she definitely did not miss the so-called civilization. The crib of humanity her ass! “We’re going to the market to get you that dress, and then we’re getting out of here. I hate settlements like this. You could drop dead right in the street, and those degenerates would just step over your fucking corpse.” Not that that was necessarily bad, mind you. An assassin always appreciated it when people knew to mind their own business, but something about the lethargy just irked her.

The market, at least, smelled a little better. It had to be all those spices, Cyrra supposed-- the stalls were no cleaner than the rest of Aishwyriya, but the sensory overload did go a long way.

“Buy my bread! The best bread in the empire!” someone yelled.

“Fresh fish! Get some fresh fish for your family!” another voice joined the chorus.

“Psst, miss,” a man, short and bald, called out to Faline. (He was wearing purple silks, and, by the looks of them, the assassin could tell that selling them alone could feed the average village. What was a bigshot like that doing here?) “Would you like to know what your future holds? Before my, Maestro Filiani’s eyes, secrets disperse like fog in the morning sun. For a meager price,” yeah, right, “I can tell you which opportunity you need to seize, and what people to avoid. Live your life free of worries! Just pick an animal,” he gestured towards a cage stuffed with chickens, who, by the way, were eyeing Faline with pure panic in their small eyes. (Their bok, bok, bok, a sound that could be so joyful? Right now, it translated to ‘save us.’) “and I will read your destiny from their entrails.” Ah. Ooof.

 

[ellarose]

There were so many buildings. And so many people, too! The epitome of vivacity, Faline skipped in meandering zigzags as she explored the bustling streets of Aishwyriya. Her trunk swayed in her fingers, her raven braid bounced behind her, and goodness-- she had only ever dreamed about roaming a busy street like this until this very moment. Now it was happening. It was really happening! Her skirt swayed with such a whimsical flourish around her legs that it was easy to forget that it was scorched. Oh, right. The dress. That was what they had come there for. (Could one truly blame her for forgetting, though? There was so much to take in!) Even then, there was no harm in doing a little sightseeing while they were at it. Nothing that Cyrra could say would deter her curiosity. Not even an honor-bound assassin was strong enough to contend with the force of her curiosity, which was as endless as an ocean. "My! I have never seen so many people in one place before." And goodness, her senses were thoroughly overwhelmed as she took it all in. The sounds of several different voices reached her ears, from people of all ages. The hum of various conversations mingled together. There was a burst of laughter from a group of children kicking an old dented can about. The noises themselves were aplenty, like the slamming of doors and the clack-clacking of horses tugging various carts along the roadway. She tried waving at some of the people they passed to see if she could make any new friends en route to the market... to no avail. Much like Cyrra implied, no one seemed to pay her any mind.

(Ah. Did everyone except for Faline already have their own place in the world? Would anyone ever have room for someone such as her in their lives? Those were the very thoughts that kept her up at night.)

"The smell of these spices reminds me of my childhood. How about you, Cyrra?" Faline latched onto the whiff of herbal, woody aromas as the convenient distraction it was. This place was full of a good many things to focus on aside from her own thoughts. (Her fears.) Might as well focus her energy on the one person she had in her life right now. Sprinkling metaphorical water over their friendship would cause it to flourish, yes? And if Cyrra's recent behavior was any indicator, it was that she was growing to... well, perhaps she was growing to like her. And that prospect inspired her heart to bloom like a garden itself.

While they were wholly ignored on the city streets, that changed drastically when Faline and Cyrra made it to the market. For in the market, it seemed that everyone competed for their attention instead. The best bread in the empire? Well, that was high praise! And fish!? (But then the merchant specified that the fish was for those with families, and... well, she had no family left.) Faline's attention was drawn this way and that... when finally one man addressed her specifically. Of everything the merchants were selling, she was perhaps the least interested in this small man and his fortunes. All she ever needed to know of the future appeared to her in her dreams! If he knew of the future as he claimed, could he not sense this already? When she could bend time itself around her fingers, when she could listen to it whispering in her ear, she did not need to have her fortune told for in exchange for currency that might be better spent on bread or, perhaps, a new dress.

Faline parted her lips to refuse the con man as politely as possible, only to freeze when he insisted that her destiny existed within the entrails of a chicken. The entrails of a chicken!? Sure enough, when she peered into his stall she noticed them all gathered in that cramped little cage. It was a truly heartbreaking sight. The poor dears! Why, those chickens did not deserve to be sacrificed for his... his piddling fortunes! Yes, she said what she said. They were no doubt piddling if he had to rely on needlessly bloody theatrics.

"Oh, I see. You should know that I am rather particular about chickens, sir. This might take a while." Faline provided as cordially as her righteous fury would allow. "My companion can also tell the future. You should surely, ah, have much to discuss while you wait?" She leaned slightly back towards Cyrra then, lowering her voice so that the man could not hear. "...Keep him busy while I free the chickens!"

Before Cyrra could possibly refuse this request, Faline quickly ventured inside of the stall and unlatched the cage to get to work.

"Fear not, my feathered friends. I will let no harm come to you." Faline whispered softly as she peered inside. One by one, she proceeded to place the chickens on the ground. "Go free."

"So... you're a fortune teller?" The man looked Cyrra up and down skeptically. "I must admit, you certainly don't look it. You into crystallomancy? Maybe tarot?"

It was plain to see that Faline's spur of the moment plan lacked much thought or stealth, however, when the chickens themselves inevitably wandered in plain sight beyond the stall and off into the heart of the market, their 'bok, boks' considerably more cheerful as they went along their merry way. Naturally, this development immediately caught the attention of the 'fortune teller'.

"Wh-- what in blazes are you doing!?" He bellowed. Uh oh. "My chickens!"

"Hurry." Faline pleaded with the rest of the chickens to leave the cage. They were running out of time! Knowing that she was quickly running out of options, she reached inside and took a handful of the birds into her arms. They fluffed their feathers against her and clucked wildly. "Cyrra! Grab the rest of the chickens and run!"

Laughing nervously, exhilarated and terrified, Faline proceeded to do exactly that! She ran through the market with an armful of chickens, attracting bewildered stares from everyone as she went.

 

[Syntra]

Cyrra Eiréal didn't really think that she was a victim of unreasonable expectations. When she drew her sword? She expected blood. When she bought food? She expected to eat it later. And, continuing the pattern? When she went to a market, she expected to be able to buy shit in civilized fucking manner! Faline, however, didn't seem to share the same vision. Duh. "Keep him busy?" It seemed that she might as well have asked her to cut her own hand off, because the sour look she gave her roughly corresponded with that. "Whatever for?" And, yeah, it would have been better had she not asked. Infinitely so. (Chickens? Fucking chickens?! Who the fuck was she, a reincarnated hen? That would explain a lot, come to think of it-- her weird chicken fixation, how she'd never heard her praising foxes, or her inability to make literally any fucking sense. The evidence had been there all along, and only now did she see it!)

'Y-yeah," the assassin ran her hand through her hair, trying to look her most mystical. (In reality, the onlookers would probably describe her as looking 'mildly constipated.') "I can see the future in... in weapons." Yes, mostly that of her targets. It didn't take a genius to look at their broken, bleeding bodies and conclude that they were going to fucking die, eh? The logic at least seemed sound to Cyrra.

"Hmm," Maestro Filiani shot her a doubtful look. "I can't say I have ever heard of this type of divination. You a stranger? The arcane arts in the faraway lands can be so-- hey!" his voice broke, suddenly rising a few octaves higher. "Release my chickens, you villain. Do you know how meticulously I picked them? All of them have a lineage far more noble than yours!" And, honestly? In that moment, Cyrra should have just stabbed the bastard. She could have accompanied it with a cool commentary as well-- something along the lines of 'bet you didn't see that in your entrails, you fucker.' Later, when she recapitulated the moment in her head, the assassin did exactly that! ...yeah, except that that did not happen in reality. Not at all. Maybe it was the witch infecting her with her stupidity, or just something strange hanging in the air, but Cyrra's feet... actually followed Faline's directions. Wow. I can't believe my life has come to this, she thought, grabbing the remaining chickens. Could someone please, pretty please, just fucking kill her?!

"I knew it!" Maestro Filiani howled in the distance, with all the despair of a man who had just lost everything. "You came to sabotage my business, and desecrate my chickens! But, just so you know, you won't escape. This market will always reveal all of its secrets to me!"

"Desecrate... his chickens?" Cyrra huffed, trying her best to catch her breath. "What the fuck does that even mean?" A good fucking question. 'Why are we running?' was another question of that variety, but as they dove among the stalls, the assassin figured they were too deep in. No, Filiani wouldn't get his chickens-- keeping them safe was fucking personal now. (...or something. Look, Cyrra had to justify all of that to herself somehow. And, hey, as long as you didn't acknowledge that she had no idea what was even going on, that sort of excuse worked!)

"Miss! Miss, do you have a moment to taste the best apples in the realm?" a young shopkeeper smiled at them. "The cheapest, too, and.. uh, excuse me? What are you doing?" Barricading the road, duh. Cyrra would have thought that overturning the fucking table and dragging it in the middle of the street kind of spoke for itself, but some people apparently needed everything pointed out to them.

"Fuck off," the assassin snapped. "This is an emergency."

"Bok, bok," her chickens said.

There, now the bastard shouldn't be able to pursue them that easily! Ignoring the string of curses addressed at 'the rude foreigners,' Cyrra shoved Faline into a back alley. As fate would have it, though? The duo stumbled-- stumbled and fell, ending up in a tangled mess of fabric and limbs. (Oof. The witch was close, and her body was warm, and, um. The jolt of electricity running down her spine was totally just pain, okay?! And she found herself staring into her eyes out of pure shock, of course! Not because they were pretty or anything silly like that. Also, her heart didn't skip a beat. Cyrra was an assassin, and, as such, had sacrificed feelings at the altar of efficiency. And, besides! The girl was a witch, and thus the embodiment of everything that was wrong with this shit world. No way was she, hahaha, feeling something other than hatred here.)

...what was more interesting, however, was the thing they'd stumbled over. It was a large, obsidian sword, just lying there-- kind of like a rock, except it very much wasn't that. (Its aura was dark, like the blackest of nights. Oppressive, too, akin hands around Faline's throat.) "Ah, there you are," the weapon smiled at her. "My favorite scabbard. How long till she kills you this time, huh?"

 

[ellarose]

At the end of the alleyway, one of the magicked doorways suddenly opened up. Evidently, this one wasn't meant for either Faline or Cyrra... because, as if hypnotized by some unseen force beyond it, the chickens waddled in a single file line inside. Their 'bok, boks' grew softer and softer as one by one they ventured into the other realm. And shortly thereafter? The door closed behind them and vanished in a sweeping whoosh of mysterious dark mist. Would they ever know where those noble-bred chickens disappeared to? Perhaps. Perhaps. Maybe they were fated for greatness, for something far greater than becoming the Maestro Filliani's piddling sacrifices after all.

But for once Faline wasn't distracted by the chickens. Nor was she distracted by a gorgeous pair of blue eyes which surely might have distracted her from the chickens otherwise. Because at that moment in time, the obsidian sword attracted her attention-- or no-- it rather snapped it from her with the sharpest of claws and teeth. It demanded an audience from her and it was hellbent on receiving it. Like the door, a dark mist of tendrils slithered towards her, lapping at her like she so often imagined the majestic ocean waves upon the shores of her dreamland. Much like the water, however, she did not want to go near it right then for fear that she might drown. Was that not what the whispers meant to imply, when it asked her how long until she got killed? The shadows stroked the bleeding scrape on her cheek, which she'd received when she fell, and the moment it brushed her blood... the walls of the alleyway were dripping with it. A drizzling of blood, rolling over the buildings in waterfalls. It spilled from her mouth, too, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't-- couldn't--

Had Faline the choice, she would have blissfully watched the chickens. They were adorable! She would have gazed wonderingly into Cyrra's eyes and thought of happier times to come. Such as all of the things she would have loved to try for the first time with a first friend. The possibilities. Resplendent and bright. Because she was still living, was she not? She still had time to live a life she had not been able to live for so very, very-- (but the sword had her now and it was not letting her go, wasn't allowing her to avert her eyes.) Choking, she tried to pry the darkness from herself... but the shadows were intangible and could not be touched. It forced her to watch as the alleyway rapidly flooded with blood and drowned her.

It was dark. It was cold. All Faline could hear was the thumping of her own heart and the ticking of a clock. The tolling of a bell. And then...

Flicker. There was Cyrra. Her hands covered in... red paint? Flicker. She saw granny in the back shed, dress painted with roses. Yes, it was paint. It must have been. Then there was the slopping sound of a tentacle sliding across the floor. Granny turned her head, her face caught in the phase between human and monster, her enlarged fangs hanging out of her mouth... dripping with paint? No. It was the delivery boy's blood. Oh. Right. Those weren't roses on granny's dress. That was blood. That was blood. Blood. There was an affronted screech, everything went dark and-- flicker. Running, breathing hard, pushing the boundary over and over and over again until-- flicker, flicker. Then Faline found herself lying on the ground, much like she was in the alleyway. She reached out a pleading hand as her vision flicker-flickered, but the assassin kept walking further and further away from her. There were painted roses on her boots. Faline tried to cry out for her to come back-- to please don't leave, please don't leave-- but her breath allowing her only a whimper with which to express her fears, a rattling in her throat. Flicker.

"All I need is a single memory, Faline Kairos." The doorman's voice echoed in her ears. A sixteen year old Faline peered at her reflection in an elegant glass coffin surrounded by roses. Glass roses. Not red. Not paint. Not blood. She traced the delicate edge of a petal, flinching when she pricked her finger. "I should think a girl such as yourself would go mad if she were to hold onto all of her memories. All of those timelines, all of those tragedies. You bear them alone, child. But you should not have to bear the weight of every possibility on your conscience."

Flicker. Faline opened her eyes again with a gasp, dizzy and disoriented. The alleyway was no longer covered in blood. Nearby, she could hear the bustling of the Aishwyria market. Each noise gradually reigned her back into the present and had her reeling, wondering if she had imagined it all. No. Her own imagination was safe. It was not quite so... so...

It was the sword. Faline scrambled backwards, as far away from the cursed weapon as she could get.

"My. I do wonder..." Faline's voice was always soft. Right now, though, it was also very small. Like a mouse who feared her friend, the cat, might take an enchanted sword and point it at her. Ha. But that was very silly, yes? Cyrra was not going to hurt her the way she hurt auntie. Cyrra, who had gifted her a flower and called her beautiful. Who brushed her tears away with the pads of her thumbs, offering her the softest touch she'd ever known. And-- and pinkie promised on her honor that she would not call her a whelp again. The Cyrra who first met her might have cut her up. But this was no longer the Cyrra she first met! She had softened now that she knew her as Faline and not a whelp. "I wonder where the chickens got off to? They... they must be noble indeed, to have run away so quickly. Oh! Do you suppose one of them was a prince?" She gently shook Cyrra's shoulder. Do not look at the sword, she pleaded silently. Do not touch the sword. "A chicken prince. Have you ever imagined a chicken in a waistcoat, Cyrra? It is a delightful thing to imagine. I strongly recommend it."

 

[Syntra]

‘Cyrra,’ a voice whispered, as smooth as honey. As sweet as honey, too, and that should have been her first cue to distrust it, but honestly? The assassin didn’t want to. It was the furthest thing from what she wanted, actually. ‘Cyrra Eiréal, why not stop with this farce?’ (Distantly, she was aware that Atropos was shouting. They were banging on the walls of her mind, with the blind fucking desperation of a man who was about to be hanged, but Cyrra barely heard it. Which, good. For far too fucking long, she had had to suffer through listening to others’ shit onions. ‘Your cuts aren’t aesthetic enough, Cyrra.’ ‘Cyrra, have you said your prayers?’ ‘Faster, Cyrra, or they are going to find out!’ Cyrra, Cyrra, Cyrra-- her very fucking name might as well have been a command, akin to a fancy synonym for ‘you must’. The voice, though? The voice was different. They spoke to her gently, with consideration, and actually asked her what she thought! Duh, what a novel fucking concept.)

‘There, there. Open up your mind. You have nothing to fear, child, and everything to gain.’ Visions flooded her mind, shattered into a thousand glass shards. She, holding the obsidian sword; a great power coursing through her veins, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. (If the gods had ever truly smiled at her, it must have been then, while bestowing it in her hands. ‘You must cut, Cyrra. A sword is for killing, and you are as well. Don’t feed your enemies false mercy.’ Indeed, damn straight! Mercy, too, was poison-- a slow acting one, filling your limbs with weakness. Death was much kinder, because at least you knew where you stood. …Ran, too, could tell you about that. Could have, had they fucking not taken her tongue.) The not-memory passed, like one of the waves in an endless sea, and another one followed. Father, smiling at her with those cruel eyes of his; embracing her, like one might do with a long-lost daughter. (She wanted to recoil. She wanted to, but she didn’t, held in place by an invisible fucking hand. ‘You’ve done well, Cyrra Eiréal. So, so well!' And, yes, that should have triggered her warning bells, too. Father and his ego, praising anyone who wasn't himself? Might as well hope that a pond would catch on fire! ...it did feel nice, though. Nice, in the same way that flames could be nice before they devoured your flesh, hungry for each inch of skin. That alone was better than most things in her shit life.) And then... then the third vision came, with the oomph of a door being forced open. Cyrra didn't want it to drag her inside, didn't, didn't, didn't, but--

Faline. Faline, drenched in what could only be blood. She was staring at her, her multi-colored eyed empty-- the spirit must have left them long ago, just like her dignity had left her."Cyrra," she said, with her dead, bloodless lips. "Cyrra, why? Did I not say I wanted to die a natural death? Maybe... maybe you didn't hear me the first time around. That's okay, though. Nobody ever listens to me, anyway. At least you didn't call me a whelp." What the fuck was the whelp going on about? Another pointless tangent? Cyrra opened her mouth, intending to tell her off, but nothing came out. Her voice was stuck somewhere in her thought, and blood was dripping from her hands, and... shit, had she driven the blade in her stomach? Because she sure as hell was doing that now, with great fucking gusto. (Good riddance. A witch deserved a fate no kinder than that, the assassin knew. Every fucking breath she took was an insult, an affront to the gods! ...the twinge of regret in her stomach told her otherwise, though. The memory of her smile as well. The ghost of her lips brushed against hers, tasting of blood and cherries, and--)

Without warning, Cyrra was ripped from the dream world's embrace. Her heart was beating in her chest, thud, thud, thud, and Faline... bless her little Faline heart, was talking about chickens. Of fucking course. (Absurdly enough, there was an unreleased sigh of relief at her distinctly not bloodied state. At her not being dead, in other words. Probably because she was meant to deliver her to Father? Not in fucking pieces, mind you! Definitely not because she'd crawled into her heart, or any sentimental nonsense like that. Nuh uh. Unlike all those fucking suckers, the assassin had discarded feelings ages ago.) The sword lay on the road, a bitter reminder of what had and hadn't transpired, and Cyrra... well, Cyrra did what she did best. Ignore, ignore, ignore! "A chicken prince," the assassin said, "should have a little chicken crown. Otherwise, it's a fucking fraud! A little lordling at best, pretending to be better than its chicken brethren. Deplorable, if you ask me. Or you support chicken monarchy?" The assassin rose from the ground, dusting her trousers. With surprising gentleness, she took Faline's hand, and... uh, kissed it? More like brushed her lips against it, in a gesture she herself didn't really comprehend. ('I'm glad you're okay,' would have been the easiest explanation, but also the most fucking inconvenient one. A sign of weakness. Therefore, Cyrra crushed it under her boot and didn't look back.)

"C'mon, Faline. Let's buy you that dress. What kind of it would you like?" The sunset was gentle, painting the sky in shades of orange, and maybe that awakened some sort of curiosity in her. "Also, the trick I performed at Nyrea's. Can you explain it? 'Cause I fucking can't and it bothers the fuck out of me." How did the saying go? Know thy enemy? For sure, and thus Cyrra had to learn more about the vile fucking magic infecting her core!

 

[ellarose]

"A crown. Why, of course!" Faline breathed out in a way that made her entire frame deflate, as if some invisible strings had been holding her tensely in place until then. The worried creases vanished from under her eyes, which lit up in defiant contrast to the obsidian sword lying nearby as she allowed her imagination to whisk her away to such a place, where a chicken could wear a proper waistcoat and a crown. "How charming. If there is a chicken prince, I should hope he might visit my castle someday." She sighed wistfully, her cheeks blooming with a natural pink blush. Beyond the concept of chicken princes, there was another reason why her spirits were flying skyward. Was it not a truly wonderful thing that Cyrra was offering suggestions such as these? For once, she was not the only one responsible for painting the landscapes of her own fantasy. In that moment, she was beside someone who actually listened to her when she spoke and contributing with responses that aligned with the things that she said rather than dismissing them as nonsensical. It was true that she had plenty to say. Oftentimes, however, she considered the possibility that she only spoke so very much because she felt that granny had only decided to listen to a pinch of her wonderings before sending her away. She tried subject after subject day after day, hoping that one of them might grab hold of granny's attention and start a conversation between them. Perhaps one day Faline would be someone that granny confided in. Nothing ever worked, though. She was stubbornly hopeful... but granny was just as stubborn-- if not more so-- and was firmly set in her distaste for Faline until the day that she died.

Granny had not been lying when she promised that she would never acquire a taste for Faline. (But perhaps that was a good thing? Those long, sharp fangs... the blood and fleshy bits in her fangs... no! That was a product of a silly whim to bake a cake at midnight. It was a nightmare. Granny was a granny in the same way that Hector was a chicken. And now the old bat was dead. There was nothing left to say. Nothing, nothing, nothing.) And Cyrra? Cyrra was nothing like granny. And the fact that she had listened to her when she spoke and responded was proof of that. (That she saw her as well, covered in blood paint? Another nightmarish thought born of a lack of sleep and nothing more.) Cyrra had offered Faline more than anyone had ever offered to her in her life. Her time. It was a far greater gift than anything she could have given her. Any wish she could have granted. And she did not mean to discount her friends in the other realm by saying this, of course, but time moved quite differently there. It was not the same sacrifice that it was for mortals such as them. Humans craved connections in a way that monsters did not. Natos told her that, once, when she was feeling particularly down. He warned her, however, that she need not concern herself with forming such connections... he warned that they often ended in tears and heartbreak. (But how could Natos know that to be true when Natos was a monster? And because he was a monster, she knew well enough that he would never come to understand the depths of her own pain. Did he not realize that the years upon years of loneliness were heartbreaking enough as it was? That she'd shed enough tears already-- and would only continue to do so-- when she cried herself to sleep more often than not?)

Astonished, Faline was jostled free of her thoughts when Cyrra's lips touched upon the back of her hand. The press of them was gentle, so much so that a butterfly might as well have landed upon it in a serene garden. They were in a dark alleyway, but they might as well have been in a sparkling castle for the way the gesture made her feel like a princess in a fairytale. The world itself transformed, where the edges of every surface glittered delicately like the tiny bubbles in the sparkling wine she had tried the night before. And she began to notice things-- little things-- like the cute, springy coils of Cyrra's hair and the appealing shape of her strong arms. (The shape of her lips upon her skin, too, lent her skin a warmth that was far more comfortable than they had the previous night. Softer. Like an unspoken promise to treat her with more care and respect than she had before.) If Faline must drown anywhere, she believed she would prefer to drown in the blue of Cyrra's pretty eyes-- which she was finally able to admire properly now that the visions no longer had a grip on her.

"Right, of course. I should not want to greet the chicken prince in such a state. This was my favorite dress... but perhaps I will find a new favorite tonight. I have never been dress shopping before. I shall have to see what I prefer when we arrive." Faline nodded resolutely, encouraged by Cyrra's words and the lovely colors of the sunset that washed everything in shades of orange and pink. (Cyrra's hair was especially lovely in this light. She made a silent vow to hold onto this moment as best as one could possibly hold onto a moment, to remember every detail as best as she could. If she bottled it up for safekeeping, she could return to it on a day when that empty feeling crept over her again and possibly not feel quite so alone.) Walking side by side, Faline was not quite so bold as to grab the assassin's hand... but she did occasionally allow the back of her hand to brush softly against Cyrra's. It was rather like the way Endymion swept their tail over her calves in greeting, she liked to think. The bustling streets were beginning to slow their pace to indicate the end of the work day, the noises growing somewhat softer than before. A street performer had begun to start playing a tune that lent to the atmosphere around them. This is nice. She thought. No. This is wonderful. Once again, the other woman awoke her from her thoughts when she brought up the subject of magic. Ah, yes. The magic.

"I possess the Kairos name and the Kairos magic... and through the years, I have come to understand that it allows us control over time or, in some cases, space. My granny was not related to me by blood. She did not understand it, nor did she ever explain it to me. So much of what I understand I learnt all on my own through experience... ah! Although it should be noted that my dear Endymion taught me a great many things, too. Our familiars can always be counted upon to help us. You know, I was... actually meant to go to auntie for guidance when I left the cottage." Faline bit lightly at her lower lip. Bringing up the subject of auntie was a bit awkward, wasn't it? Either way, she needed to continue down this path in order to explain. "Since you were given auntie's magic, I should think that what you did aligns more on the side of space than time. Oh. But watch this!"

Faline manipulated time, then, so that she was now walking on Cyrra's right instead of her left. With a cheerful smile, she tapped her on the shoulder to make sure she noticed. To the assassin's eyes it looked very much like an act of teleportation, though no one around them lifted their heads or seemed to notice that anything was out of place.

"You saw that, did you not?" Faline asked, then transferring herself back to the left side which she'd been walking on before. "This is where we are connected. And if you take my hand, you can also travel with me. When we escaped the alligator's maw, for example. There is much I can do with time... but I have never been able to concentrate that energy into a single space to manipulate it the way that you did. Perhaps you are able to gather energies from multiple timelines and concentrate them to a single action? As I said before, Atropos will truly be your greatest ally in understanding your magic. They knew auntie in a way I did not and will also understand more of what you are capable of."

By the time Faline concluded her explanation, they were standing before a quaint dress shop beyond the marketplace. "Oh. They are going to close soon!" She noted upon seeing the closing hours written on the outside sign. That was an opportunity to offer a lesson though, was it not? Decisively, she took Cyrra's hand in her own and reached for her locket to call for the threads. She tugged at one that would afford them a little extra time. The hands of the clock in her necklace spun backward, granting them thirty extra minutes to browse. The outside world did not change much from such a meagre change-- with the exception that the deepening of the sunset colors in the sky lightened just a bit, raising the sun in the sky for a little while longer. "See? You traveled with me just then. And now we have more time to look around."

The bell over the shop door pinged to announce their arrival, then, and Faline pounced immediately upon all the different dresses on display, skipping from one side of the store to the next as she gazed with wide-eyed wonder at all of the different options. "Wow. It seems I will be spoiled for choice! Have you ever seen so many beautiful dresses before in your life, Cyrra?" Naturally she had questions to ask the shopkeep with each one that captivated her interest-- about the fabrics, the colors, the origin stories of each garment! And over time, Cyrra had helped her select a handful of options that were not too flashy, expensive or 'costume-y' for everyday wear. (Faline was truly like a bird, in that she adored the especially sparkly ones. But she supposed they would not be suited for traveling.) The assassin kept her grounded in such a way that she might find something practical for herself. Eventually, she narrowed her options down to a white dress and a black dress. Along the way, she had offered her companion an armful of outfits she thought she might like to try on as well.

Faline, currently trying on the black dress, gave a little twirl before the mirrors to see just how well the fabric billowed around her legs. (The dress had to be sufficiently swishy for it to be acceptable in her opinion.) There was an smooth elegance to the black and a romantic whimsy to the white. She quite liked both of them-- which left her feeling quite paralyzed at this particular branch in her path. Since she loved them both, she found that... well, there was a part of her that wanted to select the one that Cyrra preferred to see her in.

"What is your opinion, Cyrra?" Faline asked. She picked up the white option and held it up to herself-- and then lowered it to reveal the black again. "Black or white?"

 

[Syntra]

Fucking chicken princes, and castles, and gods-knew-what! Cyrra should have been outraged, and on some level, she sure as fuck was. Wasn’t it annoying, after all? The way Faline spoke and spoke and spoke, painting the monochrome reality pink? Because it didn’t become pink just because an airheaded girl said so. Didn’t fucking work that way. Willingly, the witch put blindfolds over her eyes, and the assassin could never, not in a thousand years, respect that. That being said… well, she also had to admit that she didn’t hate it. Not truly. Following that thin, thin thread of logic to its questionable source was sort of amusing-- you know, kind of like picking at a scab felt good even if you knew that you shouldn’t be doing that. “For sure,” Cyrra nodded. “You should work hard on improving your chicken manners, too. You wouldn’t expect the chicken prince to bow down to human customs, would you? That would be fucking rude. Better start practicing eating their shit, because I heard that’s the highest form of flattery where they are from. Your bok bok boks should be perfect, too. Can you even imagine trying to pay him a compliment, only to accidentally insult his mother? Happens all the damn time.” And, terrifyingly enough? The chuckle that escaped her lips at that sounded genuine, like a stream gurgling down a mountain. (There were warning bells, yeah. A whole fucking symphony of them, rising into a wild staccato. ‘Don’t! Danger! She’s a fucking witch, remember?’ But, at the same time, the assassin believed that her heart was absolutely, one hundred percent safe. It was a fortress, for one-- guarded by barbed wire, and a motherfucking dragon as well. None could get inside, and even if they did… well, they’d only find a hollowed-out corpse in its place, cracked open and drained. Drier than sand. No need to jeopardize her fucking performance for paranoia, right? She, Cyrra Eiréal, could never actually catch feelings! Not for a fucking whelp. Not even if her voice was quite melodious, and her mismatched eyes fun to look into, and her dark braid--)

“Hmm,” the assassin tilted her head aside, pretending that she understood what Faline was saying. “So I should consult Atropos, is what you’re saying. A damn shame. You know, I prefer your company to theirs.” Not even technically a lie, as Atropos was a little shit know-it-all of a familiar. ‘You can’t murder your way out of all your problems, Cyrra!’ ‘Why is stabbing people your first reaction to mild displeasure?’ ‘See, I think you shouldn’t drink wine before horse riding.’ Blah blah blah, more pointless fucking advice. Faline’s commentary sure was unnecessary as well, but at least she didn’t try to sell it as some hidden fucking gems of wisdom-- unlike that snake, who, by the way, knew nothing about what being human was like. (Also, her brain supplied, Faline is prettier. That thought wasn’t relevant, though, and so the assassin pushed it back where it belonged: to the fucking abyss. There, now everything was good again!) “So what, time and space are one? I don’t fucking buy it.” Call her stupid, but Cyrra genuinely didn’t see the whelp’s point. You know why there was a difference between ‘when’ and ‘where’? Because, surprise, surprise, they needed to differentiate between the concepts! As they were literally referring to unrelated fucking things.

“What the…” It must have looked comical, the face she made when Faline straight up disappeared, but the explanation did make sense. Cyrra wasn’t happy to admit it, though she could sort of trace the outline of the dream logic with her fingers, even if she couldn’t exactly see it. “So what, you just… treat reality like your puppet? A nudge here, a nudge there, and shit changes the way you want it to?” What a blasphemous fucking thought! Had the gods wanted them to be able to unravel their creation like that, they would have given them the ability, as opposed to the disciples having to study the darkest magic under the veil of night. (Then again, the assassin could also see how the same argument could be made for just… humans existing. Each and every day, all of them influenced their reality, without even realizing it. When a butterfly fluttered its wings? A fucking tornado was summoned at the other side of the planet, the old books claimed! …not that Cyrra believed in the equivalence, of course. Existing in the body the gods had granted you was entirely different to you metaphorically breaking into their treasury, and stealing their riches. No, she was just practicing. Right! Practicing bending the rules so that she could play her role convincingly enough.)

Buying the blasted dress presented a whole another challenge. Have you ever tried to, say, convince a fucking hummingbird that it shouldn’t fly? Yeah, talking Faline out of donning the brightest, most ridiculous robe was about as fruitful. “Come on,” Cyrra rolled her eyes, “you really wanna assault people with your clothes? Colors this bright can actually hurt. How would you like it, living with the knowledge that you stole some poor bastard’s eyesight? And besides…” she leaned closer, sensing an opportunity, “it would be a damn shame if what you were wearing attracted people’s attention, instead of you doing it yourself. For that, you’re too lovely. Choose something that accentuates it, not something that will eclipse you. Also, go with the white one. It’ll make for a nice contrast with your hair.” Needless to say, the assassin wasn’t actually giving it any serious thought-- getting the fuck out of the crowded, dusty shop was the priority number one here, and saying A or B was her ticket to achieving exactly that. That being said, though? Wow. The assassin’s cheeks colored pink as her eyes caressed Faline slender form, noting the way the dress hugged her… uh. Her assets? (No, Cyrra’s Eiréal’s willpower was not being demolished by a single article of clothing. Absolutely not. There wasn’t any fucking willpower issue in the first place, because she didn’t want to touch the whelp! Not in a way that didn’t involve one of her knives playing the main fucking role. Still, it wasn’t her fault that she had a working pair of eyes… and that she noticed things. That was normal.)

“You, um. You look nice,” the assassin blurted out. (Nice? Fucking nice? Ugh, just kill her now! Maybe, if she ignored that this happened at all, Cyrra could recover the shattered pieces of her dignity, but for now, they were lost. Ehm, moving on. Despite this minor fuck up, she still had to think of her mission!)

The sunset painted the sky red, and when they walked out of the shop, Cyrra… didn’t know what they should do. Look for the lodgings? But that would mean being stuck in some fucking inn again, with all those disgusting, unwashed men. She could already see the rest of their night unfolding before her eyes, and no, she didn’t like the fucking vision! “Walk with me for a bit,” she told Faline. The city was as ordinary as it got, but when they came across a pond, with its surface shimmering, it was an obvious signal that they should sit down on the bench. There, a second of peace. A row of ducks was swimming there, a mother with her young ones, and thoughtlessly, Cyrra threw them some bread.

“You know,” she began, her tone measured, “I wanted to apologize to you for the way I treated you. I wasn’t fucking having a good day. Try being kicked out of an organization you devoted your entire life to and see what I mean.” Was the assassin coming on too strong? Maybe, but go big or go home, they said. Eagerly, Cyrra grabbed Faline’s hand. “You get it, don’t you? How much it hurts when people want to kill you for no reason.” Boo hoo, what a sad fucking sob story! There was no way it wouldn’t affect Faline and her stupid, soft heart-- the girl had empathy for an alligator, for crying outloud. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, she could even squeeze out a few tears? Ah, yeah, her eyes were getting wet already! (Absolutely unrelated to the fact that her situation did, indeed, suck. Cyrra was too hardcore for that.)

And, all of the sudden? The sky was full of lights, blue and green and purple, resembling a broken kaleidoscope.

“What the fuck is this?” the assassin asked, for once sounding impressed rather than annoyed. Breathtaking, that was what this was, and--

“Congratulations,” some voice responded, from beyond a rock. “The ancient runes picked up on your presence. As far as time-space anomalies go, this one is pretty decent. Fun, one might even say. So, what would you like to experience together? I’m, um, contractually obliged to help the Kairos heiress, so just the word and I’ll shift the reality for you.”

 

[ellarose]

Leaving the shop, Faline was fairly certain she would now walk with a permanent spring to her step for the rest of her days. (Although it was also fair to note that she already skipped more often than she walked as it was.) What a breathtaking experience that was! She had just made her first purchase ever and that indeed was an occasion to celebrate. How many afternoons had she dreamed of exchanging her coins for goods with vendors and shopkeepers, just like the way the characters in her books did? It was a quintessential part of the human experience and she felt she had just taken an important step closer becoming a part of it all. No longer was she peering out at the world from afar. (And that was a generous way to describe what her life had been until that point, seeing as she couldn't even get a glimpse of it. The cottage hadn't any windows from which she could watch it from. All she ever had was a view of the chicken coop, the trees in the yard, the boundary fence, and the faint blue shape of the mountains that stood far away. Always beyond her reach, unattainable. To think she had watched them from afar for all her life and had yet to explore them!) Along with the payment, she paid the shopkeep a compliment on her kind brown eyes before she and Cyrra set off on their way.

"You really think so? I feel nice." Faline admitted bashfully, her cheeks and ears blushing like the sunset at Cyrra's observation. So nice that she felt tempted to sing about it! She brought her hands to the sides of her face and pinched lightly to ensure to herself that she was not dreaming after all. 'You look nice,' the assassin had said. Naturally that made her feel nice! Considering she had established a while ago that nearly everything was a first for her, it went without saying that she had never picked out a dress of her own before. In the past, she had to search around the cottage for spare fabrics from which to make her own clothes. And while she loved the dresses she made dearly, there was something quite nice about having one stitched by, ah, a skillful seamstress's hands. For that reason, this was easily the prettiest dress she had ever worn. It accentuated her features in a way none of her other dresses had been capable of. The way it hugged her waistline snugly (but not too snugly) and flowed outward around her legs made her feel very much like a princess on an adventure. Even without the sparkle and shine of the particularly eye-catching gowns in the shop, this approach was a wholesome, adventurous take on the look. "It is only too bad that I lost my flower. The color would have matched this dress so splendidly! I still cannot believe it is mine. Just a little while ago, it was sitting on the display in that shop!"

Faline continued to walk alongside Cyrra, her footsteps possessing a bouncier rhythm when compared to the assassin's steady stride. Unlike before, though, it seemed that they had compromised and met each other's pace without sacrificing their individual personalities. It was a touching change, wasn't it? A piece of unspoken evidence that her companion was warming up to her. Contentedly, she picked wildflowers whenever they passed beds of grass and adorned her braid with them. They bought bread (and yes, she made a big deal about it!) and then settled down before a pond. She was so distracted watching the adorable ducks (perhaps feeling a twinge of longing for companions of her own, to have whatever it was those ducks had for herself one day) that she almost missed what Cyrra said. An... apology?

"I have never been a part of anything. So I suppose I don't know what it means to be cast out. Just like I know nothing of love, or happy screams..." Faline mused contemplatively. Yes, although the events of the night previously were hazy, she did recall that facet of their conversation. There were many things she would not be able to comprehend with her limited pool of experiences. To have been a part of something and rejected, though, must have been excruciating. "You are indeed correct, though, that false accusations and death threats are unpleasant." Cyrra might have been one of the people to issue them to her, but that was a tiny, insignificant detail now that did not bear repeating. She was apologizing now, was she not? (That flash of her, blood on her hands, that was nothing. A nightmare of what could be and not what was.) "I left the cottage for the first time yesterday... and without even knowing me, everyone I met seemed to decide who I was before I could introduce myself. A witch." Her light flickered as she stared at her hands in her lap. "I was born with magic... but magic is not who I am. None of them knew Faline. Because none of them could have possibly known Faline at that point in time."

"But don't you see, Cyrra? You are already making it up to me by getting to know the true Faline!" Faline beamed, tugging gently at the end of one of the assassin's curls and watching with delight as it sprung back up into place. Hehe. So cute! "No one has given me the time of day this way before. And time is the most precious gift of all. So you have nothing to be sorry for."

Wow! Faline's attention was promptly whisked to the skies when the sky swirled with a beautiful spectrum of colored lights. Based on Cyrra's reaction, she quickly caught onto the fact that this was not a normal occurrence. Ah. Come to think of it, the timing was spot on, wasn't it? That it provided such a breathtaking backdrop to this genuine moment between them, the assassin's apology must've been a good omen for their future together.

"Contractually obliged? ...The Kairos heiress!? Why, that's me." Faline gasped. She tilting her head to the side and rose from the bench, approaching the rock. "Wait a moment. Who are you?"

"Who, me? My identity is unimportant, miss. We owe a lot to your family is all." The voice became bashful. Faline quickly discovered upon investigating that it belonged to a tiny, sentient mushroom. Aw! She quickly scooped him up in her palms and gave the top of his big, mushroom head a curious poke. "H-hey! That tickles!"

"Cyrra, look! How cute." Faline exclaimed, holding her hands up for the assassin to see. The mushroom blushed, the stalk matching his red cap in shade.

"Aw, shucks." The mushroom proceeded to hide his face with two stubby arms. "You're too kind. So? How about it? You two want a night you'll never forget?"

"Oh! I'd love to attend a ball under the stars... with a chicken prince in attendance and everything! Just like we were talking about earlier." What? Faline figured she might as well put it out there! "What do you think, Cyrra?"

 

[Syntra]

In the words of the immortal sage: ‘What the fuck, man?’ Cyrra may have signed up for Faline’s ridiculousness, but she sure as hell hadn’t signed up for talking to mushrooms. Mushrooms were meant to be put into soups and sauces and, occasionally, roasted with a juicy piece of meat! To talk to them would be like… like talking to her shoes. And, in case you weren’t aware? Assassins did not talk to their shoes. In fact, she could think of few things that could tank her reputation deeper-- short of fucking marrying them, or maybe associating herself with a witch. Touché, Cyrra thought bitterly. (You know, maybe she should stop clinging to her reputation so fiercely. It had been a fearsome thing in the past, with her name alone being enough to strike fear into the hearts of her enemies, but that had been a Cyrra who hadn’t fucked everything up. Cyrra who had had the might of the Temple behind her, too. Right now, though? She was a shadow, wandering in the darkness. A shadow, with a Faline-shaped ball and chain tied to her ankle. That kind of Cyrra, she supposed, might as well hold a conversation with a fucking mushroom! …what kind of response was it expecting, though? Well, fuck her if she knew. Fuck her if she cared, too.)

“Sounds great,” the assassin nodded noncommittally. Ultimately, humans were simple creatures-- agree with them enough, and they would love you. That most of them wanted a fucking mirror, not a real companion, was a truth that few dared to accept. After all, what would that say about their own precious relationships? Nothing too pretty, Cyrra imagined. Nothing too pretty, and most would rather drown the taste of rot in spices than actually go and buy some fresh fucking meat.

The mushroom, however? The mushroom frowned, somehow conveying the dissatisfaction even without having eyebrows. “Tut tut, Cyrra Eiréal! This is a gift for both of you, to celebrate you coming into your own. Inheriting the Kairos magic isn’t something to just handwave like that! It is absolutely imperative that you participate in crafting the fantasy. And…” the thing leaned forward, as if it had a message for her ears only, “…behave this time, okay? You have a good thing going on, so don’t you dare to plunge Miss Kairos into the depths of despair again. If that happens, all the mushrooms in this world shall consider you an enemy!” That was… uh, terrifying? Yeah, Cyrra was most definitely quaking in her fucking boots at the thought of being despised by fungi! What was next, grass declaring war on her? (Also, again? All the demons seemed to have one thing in common, and that was that they were tragically unaware of literally everything that was – or was not – going on, at any given time. Cyrra could only assume that magic had rotten their pathetic fucking minds.)

“Fine,” she rolled her eyes, “if you have to know, then I’d like to pluck the stars from the sky. There you fucking go.” The words spilled from her lips without thinking, as if she was talking to one of her old friends back at the Temple. You know, kind of like saying that you wanted the emperor’s stomach in response to being asked about your preference in souvenirs? See, the difference was that the mushroom wasn’t her fucking friend, and that its soft, spongy head couldn’t deal with the concept of sarcasm.

“Ah, what a delightful idea, Cyrra! I knew that you’ve been a secret romantic all along. I mean, if you weren’t, Miss Kairos wouldn’t have… ah, that's beside the point.” And, yeah, it was Cyrra’s brain now that had trouble deciphering what was happening! Because, all of a sudden, she was wearing a ridiculous, peach-colored dress. (Who even needed a skirt so puffy? The official guild of puffiness? Let it be known to all who listened that Cyrra Eiréal did not fucking approve!) “Who the hell picked this?” the assassin frowned, picking at the puffy sleeve with obvious disgust. (And, judging by the look in her blue eyes? One would have been forgiven to think that she was looking at a leech sucking on her flesh, not at an innocent piece of fabric.)

Perhaps not too shockingly, the scenery changed as well. The pond swallowed the rest of the ground-- it sort of looked as if the whole earth was composed of tiles, and with a flip of a secret switch, they all turned at once. Yeah, and the opposite side was all fucking water! Shit, Cyrra thought, every muscle in her body tensing up, but… no, the depths didn’t claim them. They didn’t even try. She and her companion were standing on the shimmering, glassy surface, and for a second or two, even the assassin was taken with the sight of the stars blinking back at them.

“Allow me to introduce you,” the mushroom shouted, for some reason shrouded in a fancy dark cape, “Miss Faline Kairos and Cyrra Eiréal!”

‘Bok, bok, bok!’ To say that the chickens were numerous would have been an understatement-- they were everywhere, like fallen leaves in the autumn, and all of them were leaning forward to get a better look at the guests.

‘Hmm,’ one of them frowned. ‘I don’t know. They don’t even have any feathers. I mean, can you imagine showing up in front of the prince dressed like that? Truly, the shamelessness of some people is exceptional. It’s like they don’t even understand that this is a sacred moment.’

‘Do you think they brought any worms?’

‘Pfft, as if! Humans really think that we like seeds. Seeds! That fad is so last century. I swear, one of us likes it and suddenly, they think the whole population is going crazy for the stuff.’

‘Silence!’ a mighty voice commanded, and all the chickens bowed their heads at once. And, the speaker? He was sitting on a throne made of chicken bones, and even Cyrra had to admit that it was the most magnificent chicken she had ever seen. His feathers were shining like copper, and… hey, hey, hey, was that seriously a fucking crown he was wearing?! Well, fuck her! For someone whose existence they had literally made up about five minutes ago, the chicken prince looked ridiculously fucking real.

‘They are our guests, and it is rude to demand gifts from them. Welcome, Cyrra and Faline, to the chicken kingdom. As you can see,’ he said mournfully, ‘we’ve had a small star infestation. Can you help us get them from the water? See, as fate would have it, you need to be named Cyrra or Faline to accomplish such a feat. Alas, the humans keep giving us names like Noodle and Bubbles, so we are rather disqualified. I, myself, am called…’ the prince shuddered, ‘…Doodle Doo. You also have to be dancing for that, and that is difficult to do with our legs. Well, what do you say? Will you help us? We will even provide music!’ At that, a thousand of bok bok boks filled their ears, sounding impressively similar to actual violin.

“What… what the fuck?” Cyrra stammered.

 

[ellarose]

Faline died and sailed off on a cloud to a starry, chicken-filled version of heaven. That was the only feasible explanation for such a spectacular turn of events. To think that just a while ago she had rode through the skies upon the back of a giant, cyan bird... and now she was attending a ball with the most magnificent chickens in the land. (Well, with the exception of... ah. A little twinge of sorrow pulled at her heart. Her chickens. Even among the many in attendance, it seemed that the feathered friends she'd had to leave at the cottage had not been able to attend. A shame. Were that the case, she could have introduced Cyrra to her all of her very best friends! She was certain that the assassin would find them positively delightful, with the way that she spoke of the chicken prince and chicken etiquette with such gusto before.) That small disappointment could not hold her down for very long, though, when she set her mismatched eyes upon the grand, celestial ballroom. Even without the chickens in attendance, the entirety of this scene was a sight to behold, as the music swelled and the floors sparkled. Curiously, each touch of their footsteps upon the floor caused it to ripple outward, like the touch of her fingertip against the surface of the water in a bath. The stars embedded within twinkled so brightly that her eyes reflected their silvery glow like gemstones. (They might as well have held stars all of their own within them, for how much wonder they contained.) Faline had pictured herself in a white ball gown that sparkled like freshly fallen snow in the sunlight to compliment the starry theme. Delicate pearly vines and flowers with chickens embroidered on the petals were wrapped around her long, raven braid. Even Cyrra looked the picture of elegance in the peachy dress she wore. Although with that scowl on her face...

"Oh. I suppose I did. I imagined you in that gown because I thought it would like quite pretty, so..." Faline bit her ruby-red lip hesitantly. Oops. Had she made a mistake? While she thought her friend looked very beautiful, she did want her to be comfortable. In a world like this, an overactive imagination could be very powerful indeed. For all it took was a thought for her to turn Cyrra's gown to an emerald green and reduce the puffiness of the sleeves. Then she changed it to sapphire-- perhaps to compliment her eyes. (Out of curiosity, she then imagined Cyrra dressed as a chicken. Hehe! While she truly looked quite endearing this way, she quickly amended this choice with an apologetic little bow of her head, imagining her in a very handsome suit. Her companion did seem to prefer trousers to skirts, after all.) "You are beautiful no matter what you wear, Cyrra. Do you like this one better?" She tilted her head, cupping her cheek in the palm of her gloved hand as she considered it. "Although if you do not, I believe you have just as much power to shape this world as I do. If you can imagine it, it can be done! For example, your request brought the stars here... see?"

The mushroom had essentially granted them a magical playground. It was a truly generous gesture.

Faline stood still as a statue when the time came for their introduction. She had never attended such a glamorous ball before. What was the proper etiquette? It seemed that the chickens were already beginning to cluck their negative opinions of them as well, and...

Then the chicken prince spoke upon his throne of bones. He was majestic. As the other chickens bowed their heads, Faline immediately knew to dip herself into a polite curtsey. She tugged lightly at Cyrra's sleeve to urge her to do the same.

Goodness! Faline truly must have a firm word with whoever looked upon the chicken prince and chose to call him Doodle Doo. She had always chosen respectable names for her animal companions on the principle that they were to be treated with respect. Hector, Lady Featherington, and of course Cornelius their horse. There were many others as well, but thinking of all of her friends would surely cause that sensation of sorrow to emerge once more. Now was not the time for tears. There was a great deal to be happy about, in fact. Although when the prince brings up water, she must admit that she was rather hesitant. (And yet they couldn't refuse the prince's request, could they?) Fear tugged at her and she resisted the urge to fidget with her braid. Such a habit would be unbecoming of a lady in attendance of a ball-- and also, she would not want to rouse her lovely hair adornments. Dancing was suggested, the chicken's symphony of music swelled once more and... dancing? Well. Perhaps it would be all right, then!

"I think you mean to say... what the bok, Cyrra. Remember your fucking manners!" Faline held her hand over her mouth politely as she giggled. "Oh, forgive me. Remember your boking manners."

"Bok, bok, bok. Thank you for your hospitality and consideration, your majesty." Faline turned quickly and gracefully as not to keep the chicken prince waiting for long with her antics. She bowed her head and held her hand sincerely over her heart. "Bok, bok. I cannot swim, but I can indeed dance. I will do my best not to disappoint you."

"Indeed, bok bok! We have a special guest waiting to meet you, should you manage to collect six constellations into this jar." Doodle Doo informed them with the graceful wave of his wing. A chicken butler brought a glass jar upon a silver tray and set it down upon a pedestal. "Good luck to the both of you."

The chicken's music rose to a crescendo and Faline took Cyrra's hand in her own, guiding her down the grand staircase and to the center of the ballroom where the chickens in attendance strutted off to make room for them.

"May I have this dance?" Faline asked at last, holding Cyrra's hand with her left and positioning her right upon her shoulder. Watery tiles shot up to the ceiling all around them, leaving only a rounded platform for them to dance upon. All around them, a rushing waterfall of night skies and falling stars from the rising tiles encircled them. The sound of the water caused her to tense, however slightly, and she tried to gloss over her fears with a gentle smile. "You may throw me this time, so I might catch some of the stars. I would not want to disappoint his majesty, Doodle Doo." She nodded solemnly. Poor, poor Doodle Doo. What an unfortunate name! Even more unfortunate than that, however... "Now that we are surrounded by falling stars, it reminds me that I have two more wishes to make." She gazed around at the roaring waterfalls of stars and then met the assassin's gaze again. "Do you think, perhaps... perhaps that..." Oh. Words usually came so easily to her... so why were these ones so very difficult to say? It might have been because there was some part of her that did not want to make this wish. She was indeed scared and that made it much harder. But if she was ever to live out her dreams of seeing the sea... "Do you think you could teach me how to swim someday?"

 

[Syntra]

Ugh. Stupid fucking dresses! If Cyrra could, she would travel back in time and murder the fuck out of whoever had invented the cursed design. (Well, maybe aside from the person who had made Faline's dress? It, um, made her look quite lovely. Not that the assassin cared for such things, of course-- she just thought the world was bitch-ass enough already, and maintaining acceptable levels of loveliness kept things balanced. And balance, ladies and gentlemen, pleased the gods!) "Great," she smirked, "make me look like a fucking lump of moss instead. Or a rainy day?" No, the color wasn't the problem! It was the shape, and the puffy puffiness, and-- and, wow, this was actually kind of nice. "Thanks," the assassin said, without bothering to determine if it was just part of her performance or something more genuine. Fucking see? That was how you kept your sanity intact! Through some good old not-denial. "That's much better. How the fuck do you even move around in this? Aren't you afraid that wind will blow and expose your priva..." ...uh. Had the whelp called her beautiful? No, it wasn't her first time hearing the compliment-- delusional men in particular just adored giving her unsolicited fucking feedback, usually accompanied by a lecherous wink. (You know the kind, right? The one that said 'meet me in the alley, love.' Often, Cyrra had, and she'd even let her best friend tag along! Her knife, that was.) Faline's words, though... they were innocent, like the touch of butterfly wings. Totally free of any fucking baggage, and that might have caused her brain to, um, implode. "Y-you too. Are beautiful, I mean." ...what? It wasn't untrue, and it aligned with the goal of getting her on her side! It totally wasn't a fucking slip, or anything silly like that. An assassin had to aim true, even with her words. Especially with those! Cyrra Eiréal, the greatest disciple of the Temple, would not commit such a blunder. (Narrator's voice: "She would, and, in fact, has.")

Figuring that dignity was overrated, the assassin did curtsey. When it came to the 'what the bok' bullshit, though? Yeah, that was going too fucking far! For far too long, Cyrra had struggled with the regular words-- each sentence had been a battle hard-won, a small success on her warpath. Was she going integrate fucking chicken sounds into her speech now?! Not bloody likely! "Careful there," she put her arm around Faline's waist. "You don't fucking know what you just said. What if you've just insulted his mother? This intonation of bok, bok, bok can mean just about anything!"

"Ehm," a certain chicken shifted uncomfortably, "you have just insulted all of our mothers, Cyrra. Please, never utter 'bok' again! Your way of speaking is too naturally murderous for you to be able to communicate without insults. Miss Faline, though? Her Chickenese is lovely. Here, my dear, have a feather as a token of my affection." Alright, so for the sake of her own fucking sanity, Cyrra was not going to comment upon any of that. (The star bullshit made no fucking sense, either. Call her a heretic, but didn't stars just... reflect in the water? Meaning that they weren't fucking there! Getting them out would require them to extinguish the ones in the sky, and... That's where you're fucking wrong, kiddo. You're acting like this isn't a totally bullshit make-believe.) "For sure, your majesty," Cyrra bowed, figuring that the more she resisted, the longer it would take. When an emperor asked you to jump into the fire, you just... fucking did, okay? And while this prince was fictional, the assassin could only assume that blind obedience was the one fucking thing he required from his subjects.

"All of my dances, if you like," Cyrra offered her a bright smile. After all, there was no time to waste. The hunter who wanted to catch her prey had to make the bait tasty-- sweet enough, so that it masked the foul scent. (That she didn't find the idea of dancing with the witch too revolting was a whole separate issue. One that the assassin would not think about! See, with the delightful, delightful obliviousness, everything would be fine.) "I do feel like I should make up for my disastrous first attempt. How about paying you back with that promise, hm? Of all of my dances being yours." ...till she kicked the bucket, at least. Heh! (Oddly enough, the pleasure that usually came with deceiving a dumbass just didn't come today. Maybe because the whelp's death wouldn't be fun enough? Father was likely to claim her for himself, and he didn't like to share his toys. Yes, that had to be it!)

The water was shimmering like a diamond, competing for her attention with the light of the stars, and the assassin couldn't help but gasp in wonder. (It was nice, okay?! Get off her fucking case.) "Hmm... maybe I don't want to throw you, though," Cyrra winked, putting her hands on Faline's waist. "I do quite like you in my arms." There, another fucking cliche from the oldest book in the world! The good thing about Faline was that, to her, they were as fresh as the morning fucking breeze. A sitting duck, that was who she was. A sitting duck who somehow had an army of mushrooms at her disposa-- No, Cyrra shook her head. Don't fucking buy into her nonsense! Just how infectious was it, really?

They moved with the music, each step more coordinated than the one before it, and, yes, the assassin did kind of see what this was about now. (Battle, too, had its own rhythm-- one that was punctuated with the victim's screams, but a rhythm nonetheless. And, once the parallels were drawn? Her brain connected the dots, with everything falling neatly into the place.) "I will," Cyrra promised. "Soon enough, if that is your wish."

The stars rained on their heads, similar to snowflakes of glass. Tiny lights danced along with them, like ghosts of ethereal couples, and shit, wasn't the way they reflected in Faline's mismatched eyes stunning? No, shit, shit, shit! Cyrra fucking meant 'stupid.' Right, haha. A common fucking mistake, considering that they began with the same letter.

But then, though? Then some of those stars joined together, held by a golden tether of its own, and formed... well, a woman. A woman whose eyeless, starved face was familiar to Cyrra, so much that her heart clenched painfully. (Within her sockets, there were stars as well. The assassin's own scar started to burn, clearly reacting to the presence, but she was far too paralyzed to really react. Could that be--?)

The mysterious figure reached for her, trying to touch her with her translucent hand, but something wrapped around her torso, binding her to a starlit column. "Cyrra, no," she cried, tears of blood streaming down her cheeks.

Ran.

(She was fucking dead. Well, not dead per se, but might as well have been. Sometimes, the assassin thought, death would have been kinder.)

"Please. Please, I'll be good. Don't let them--"

Ran.

(This made no fucking sense! Ran couldn't be here. She was in the catacombs under the cathedral, bound to service--)

Strange, worm-like branches pierced Ran's skin, and she gave a long, shuddering wail. "Cyrra, don't you love me?"

And, yes, that was the moment she let go of Faline. The assassin stepped forward, only for the floor to crumble underneath her weight-- the very same branches then lifted her into the air, seeking her warmth, seeking her life. Seeking vengeance, Cyrra knew."Good," Ran smiled a mirthless smile, akin to the grimace of a corpse. "Now we can finally be together, you worthless bitch."

 

[ellarose]

It seemed that a rosy blush of red had made a permanent home of Faline's cheeks. Beginning with Cyrra's charming words and the gentleness of her hand set upon her waist. Every dance? She... exclusively wished to dance with Faline of all people? Really!? They had danced before, so she now possessed the experience to distinguish that it was not just her touch that was stroking this beautiful (but somewhat dangerous) flame in her. Although the touch aspect of it all played a role in it as well. There was an unspoken, caring manner in the way she held her now. Her arms felt like a much softer, safer place to be than before-- when the assassin had tossed her into the air, into the water, and yanked her roughly by her collar. Or when she, ah, shoved her tongue down her throat. A gesture that she had since apologized for. Twice, in fact! Ever since then, she hadn't treated her with that same roughness. She'd been having a bad day, ousted by her group... and thus Faline was content to keep the past in the past. They were moving forward now, were they not? Even now, Cyrra said that she intended to make up for those instances with her promise. So it was for the best that she push the unpleasant experiences from her mind and focus on the newer memories they forged now.

To be truthful, Faline had never known what it was to feel wanted before. Not by anyone. That someone might take an insult to their mother as a personal offense was, admittedly, a rather foreign concept for her. According to granny, not even her mother had been fond enough of the feeling of a newborn in her arms to keep her. ('Too much trouble,' Granny once sighed, 'to keep track of a cursed child such as yourself. Your parents wanted nothing to do with you. And now I am stuck with you.') And so she had never felt this feeling before, not even in the form of motherly love. Was it wrong of her, that she would not feel inspired to speak on her mother's behalf if someone were to insult her? Was it wrong of her, that auntie's death did so little to phase her? They were related to her by name and name alone, but otherwise... they were faceless strangers. Strangers who did not care to have a role in Faline's life.

Did Cyrra understand what she was saying, when she said that she enjoyed the feeling of a specifically Faline-shaped human in her arms? Did she realize that she was the first to ever say anything like that to her before? (Goodness. Was that what it was like? To feel wanted, that was. Like a drop of warmth starting in her heart that spread, spread, spread and wrapped her up like the coziest blanket in the middle of winter?) The jarring unfamiliarity of the acknowledgment and acceptance stunned Faline to silence and deepened the shade of red in her face. Her skin tingled beneath the assassin's touch in a way it hadn't before, now that she knew the context of Cyrra's warmest thoughts behind it. It was too good to be true. Far too good to be true. Wasn't it?

"Ah. I see. B-because I am a source of heat. Yes?" Faline asked with a lopsided little smile, like the ninny she was. There was something in her that wasn't ready to accept that someone might think of her so... so highly. Let alone someone like Cyrra. "Are you cold? I can make you a jacket... Oh." The stars had begun falling around them, then, distracting her. Right. The chicken prince's request! She almost forgot. They'd been enlisted to catch some of them, weren't they? (Oops. She quite lost herself there, in Cyrra's words and tender gaze.) She lifted her hand from the assassin's shoulder and rose to her tip-toes, reaching out to catch one in her palm. Strangely enough, it melted at her touch like a snowflake. "How curious." How were they to bottle them up if they could not be held? Naturally, with her attention occupied, she did not notice the other woman's presence until she heard her voice, addressing Cyrra. What... what was going on?

Ah. Too good to be true indeed, because Cyrra forgot entirely about Faline as she let go of her to approach the stranger. The stranger who only continued to say words that crept under her skin and caressed it with the most violent of chills. Who was this? And why were they captivating Cyrra's attention in such a way?

"Cyrra, wait." Faline began, her voice small in comparison to the shattering floor beneath their feet. With a little gasp, she unthinkingly jumped after Cyrra when the branches lifted her up. "Cyrra!"

Of course, not even those horrid branches wished to hold onto her. For instead of reaching out for her with the same vehement longing with which they reached for Cyrra, they unfeelingly let Faline plummet below it all along with the water and the falling stars. The distance forming between herself and Cyrra was closing at the same rate between that eyeless stranger and Cyrra. Sadness crept back up within her. Because yet again, the universe found a way to provide her with the reminder that she was meant to be alone. That was how it had always been. She had no roots, no attachments. No stability. She was falling, her destination as uncertain as a petal on the wind.

Tears blurred Faline's vision when... she noticed something fluttering nearby. The feather that the chicken had offered her before. It must have slipped from her dress pocket. (Of course she imagined her ball gown with pockets. They are very practical!) Anyway, it was... glowing? Sniffling, her expression morphed to one of determination as she caught it in her hands, clutching it tightly to her chest. Please. Bok, bok. Adorable chickens, lend me your strength!

That's when it happened. Large, feathery white wings sprouted from Faline's back! "Wow!" They whooshed brilliantly as they flapped among the stars. Her amazement only lasted a second, though, when she realized she was still sinking. Just, um, at a slower rate. It was an immense struggle to fly with them as she chaotically zigzagged this way and that, looking very much like she was getting into a fistfight with the wind. Ah. Of course! She had grown chicken wings. And chickens, while they could indeed fly, could not fly very well because their muscles were much too heavy for it. (Indeed. Chickens could not fly-- not because they were incompetent-- but because they were very buff. Let that fact be known.) Floundering around, she eventually found herself close to the ivory pillar holding the stranger's body up. Faline hugged tightly to it when she was within range, sliding down and digging her heels against it to finally halt her endless fall.

"Cyrra!" Faline had fallen much too far to be heard, it seemed. So she flapped her wings, inching herself up a few feet before hugging the pillar again to catch her breath. She continued this cycle of flying and clinging, slowly but surely closing the distance... and then, when her arms shook from the effort and her brow beaded sweat, it occurred to her that bending time might be a far more efficient way to handle this. Clicking the metallic butterfly on her locket, causing the wings to flap and whir, the pillar began to shine with a silvery glow beneath her fingertips. This glow rapidly spread up, up, up the pillar towards Cyrra and the stranger and swathed the starry skies around them in a blinding light.

 

[Syntra]

The light indeed did engulf them. In a way, it made Cyrra feel like a torch-- everything about this was burning, burning, burning, the fire, Ran’s words, the truth behind them. All of it, really. I’m so sorry, she wanted to say, but fuck, her mouth wouldn’t open! And even if it did, she couldn’t fucking find her tongue. “There, there,” Ran caressed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Cyrra. It’s all good now. If I couldn’t forgive you, then how could I look at myself in the mirror? Oh, wait! I fucking can’t do that, because the bastards took my eyes. Nevermind, then.” Her hands fell on her neck and they pressed down on it, with a gusto that had been simmering under the surface for fucking years, and--

--and suddenly, the assassin could only see darkness. Death, then? Had the gods allowed her to pass through the gate? Please, she thought, trembling, with hot tears streaming down her cheeks. Please, please, please. The taste of salt on her lips was familiar, akin to her favorite childhood meal. Except, tastes changed, you know? And so, just like that meal, it registered as off, downright vomit inducing. Cyrra wanted nothing more than to fucking barf-- to lean against the railing and throw up, all of it, till there was nothing left in… in her, in general. Or anyone else. Actually, not being a fucking person would have been pretty swell right now. Instead of that, though? When the assassin opened her eyes once again, she found herself… back in the crypts, it seemed. The same crypts that had shaped her understanding of the world for so, so long, with all the gentleness of a dagger pressed against your fucking heart.

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. The hour hands swung back and forth, back and forth, back and forth-- the rhythm was fucking maddening, and the assassin had to cover her ears. (“You know what you did, Cyrra. It’s fucking useless.”)

“She’s weird, isn’t she?” a child dressed in tatters turned to Faline, who, by the way, had also been snatched by the light. “The new girl.” By that, she plainly meant Cyrra-- Cyrra, who was small, scarless, and sitting in the corner. A child herself, even if the vacant stare in her eyes betrayed that she’d seen shit no child should ever see. “She won’t talk at all. Sister Fressie says that birds who don’t sing are useless, too! And Sister Fressie always knows best. I mean, when I asked her, she was able to predict what we’d have for dinner for three competitive days. Three competitive days!”

“We always have porridge, Tilly,” an older girl rolled her eyes. “So, not that impressive. That, and it’s ‘consecutive.’ Now, stop caring about other initiates and focus on your own results. Speaking of,” she looked Faline up and down, and her lips straightened into a thin, disapproving line. “Faline Kairos! I have been notified that your performance has been subpar lately. The sister reports that, since you were assigned to the cleaning duty, strange stains began to crop up on the Holy Eyran’s statue. How can you explain this negligence?” Uh oh, someone was in trouble!

Cyrra, meanwhile, stayed in her corner, looking a little like a kitten that had been kicked. Something about her just… lacked the inherent Cyrra-ness? It wouldn’t have been difficult to believe that it wasn’t the assassin herself but her corpse, kept warm through some forbidden magic. (A cheap, sad imitation of the woman who could stab you with her stare alone. A puppet whose strings had been cut, really. What had happened? Had a parasite infiltrated her brain, and only now found out that it didn’t actually know how to operate a human body properly?)

“Leave her be, Ran,” a voice cut through the air, sharp like the touch of winter. “You know damn well she’s not actually going to appreciate this.”

“How do you know?” someone, presumably Ran, protested. “Have you ever tried to do something nice for her? No? Then shut up, you big meanie. She’s new here, of course it’s going to take her a while to open up. There, Cyrra!” she offered the girl a big, shining smile, and when she knelt in front of her, she revealed… uh, a piece of gingerbread? That caused Cyrra’s eyes to widen.

“I… that’s for me?”

“Well, do you see any other Cyrra here? ‘Cause I don’t. So, yes, if you’re called Cyrra, I believe I just offered it to you.”

“Yes, but--”

“No butts. That’s my cardinal rule. See, suspicious stuff comes out of there and I don’t really want to be involved in that. It’s horrible enough that I need to deal with my own stuff.”

And, strangely enough? Cyrra cracked up at that, the spark returning to her eyes. (It was like the sun dispersing the clouds, or that feeling you got when you’d been looking for your keys for hours and only now realized that they’d been in) “You’re terrible. You’re terrible, and I kind of like you.”

The reality then shattered, like a clay of pot dropped on the hard, hard ground, and Faline was left to pick up the pieces… quite literally, as it turned out. “Hurry up!” the girl from before commanded, looking more and more dissatisfied by the minute. “I swear, they keep bringing us the worst people. I always think that we’ve surely hit the rock bottom this time, but no! The gods haven’t quite antagonized me enough yet. Ah, what have I done to deserve this? Have I perhaps sinned too much in the past life?” That she very well may have been a sinner now was something that hadn’t occurred to her, and, if she was the type she seemed to be, the concept would remain beyond her grasp forever. Still, when Faline picked up the largest shard? The thing cut her finger, causing warm blood to drip, drip, drip on the floor. (Beautiful, really. Beautiful and shiny, more than blood had any right to be. And, ah, what was it that she could see in the pool’s reflection? Cyrra! Cyrra and Ran, both of them significantly older.)

The girls were sneaking in the shadows of a large cathedral, their fingers intertwined. (On the dark background, they blended with the surroundings, but a good, trained eye could spot some sort of movement.)

“Cyrra,” Ran whispered into the silence. “Are you sure? You know that we shouldn’t be sneaking out this late in night.”

“Hmm… technically, we shouldn’t. I’m not too fucking pressed, though, considering that everyone does what they want. What’s the big deal, anyway? I’ve exceeded my quota today.”

“Right, your quota.” Was it just Faline, or did Ran sound… well, less than happy? More than a little bitter, actually? Cyrra seemed to pick up on it as well, though, because the easy smile on her lips turned into a scowl.

“You know what, Ran? Fuck off. It’s not my fault that I’m better than you, and if you take issue with that, I recommend you to try harder. Envy doesn’t become you, love.”

“Better than…!” Ran yanked her hand away, as if the touch had burned her, and turned towards her friend. (The air between them was sizzling with energy. And, no, not the good kind.) “That’s not the problem at all, and you fucking know it. Don’t be so disingenuous, Cyrra. You think I haven’t noticed how it’s been affecting you?” …stupid, observant Ran. The girl would do much better to pay attention to her own business, but nooo, it was always ‘Cyrra this, Cyrra that’! And, fuck, was she sick of it.

“Affecting me? Maybe look in the damn mirror, Ran. Alright, you know what, I don’t have the time for this. Let’s just go back to--” --their room, presumably, except that that was the moment Ran took a step back. Craaaack! Something else shattered, and it wasn’t the reality this time. …or was it? Because both young women were looking at the shards with genuine terror, as if they’d just glimpsed the face of death. Their own death, too. That something was oozing a liquid, something warm and sticky, and--

“As you can see,” on old, bearded man spoke to Faline, his blind eyes glazed over, “the two broke the sacred relic. Because of them, the sacred Julian weeps. Never again will he reunite with his beloved Chalallys, for they are both sentenced to emptiness now. Your holiness, what do you propose for their punishment?”

 

[ellarose]

"...Weird. Ah, I'm afraid I do not understand. She is clearly a normal human child? Certainly not as weird as a tree in an alligator's maw, or perhaps a castle room filled with guillotines that slash through a thousand of your clones." Faline supplied reasonably, dazed and quite exhausted from her attempt to scale the pillar. She held the side of her head, finding that the new scenery itself was quite blurry. New scenery? Hm. She could not quite pay attention to the rest of what the girls around her were saying, for it was... strange. Viscerally so. She never met these girls before. Why were they treating her like they knew her already? Like she was included in whichever group they belonged to? Faline had never belonged anywhere before in her life. That rather took her out of the whole thing... up until another girl chose to use her full name. Well, that was a choice indeed. Clearly none of this was real.

How can you explain this negligence? Faline merely tilted her head at the unfamiliar person who addressed her, unfazed. "...Oh. I've no obligations." She said simply, as if it was obvious. "For you are not real. Nor is the statue or the stains upon them. Do not fret. Your very existence will be erased in a matter of seconds and it will not matter anymore." As the older girl was left to grapple with a short-lived existential crisis, Faline wandered away from the group to observe her surroundings. Outside a bubbled area, the scenery became quite unfocused and blurry. The telltale sign of a memory. Not her own, of course, but perhaps Cyrra's. How curious, that the past was attempting to absorb her inside it like a sponge! But Faline was Faline, and it was quite impossible for her to become immersed in it herself when she hadn't explored much of the world outside of the cottage. Anything that differed from her little world was indeed quite jarring. So while the occupants of the history seemed to recognize her... well, she obviously did not recognize them.

When Faline noticed a glimmering in her peripheral vision, she approached and discovered a star lying on the ground by the toe of her shoe. Ah! She reached down for it and when her fingers closed around the star, the memory that was not her own was burned upon her retinas as it all shattered away into something brand new.

A childhood memory, hm? That was nice, Faline supposed. It was heartwarming to see the stranger make such a small, sad version of Cyrra smile. Aside from the monsters, her own childhood friends had consisted of a bucket and some old cans with a crooked, smiling faces drawn on their surfaces. Faline had given them funny voices in attempt to make herself smile when she had no human companions to provide her with reasons to smile. (With varying success.) What would it have been like, if she'd had a human companion of her own? Unfortunately, she would never know... as nothing could be done to change her past. (She would know-- for she could travel in time. And she had tried.) Or maybe there was someone, once, who-- she flinched, her head throbbing painfully. Dark spots clouded her vision viciously. And then the new scene promptly cleared it all away.

"My, my, my. You do complain a lot for someone who will cease to exist in a matter of seconds." Faline shook her head sympathetically for the bossy figment as she peered down at the shards. And no, she did not care to pick them up. It was not her responsibility to clean a space that did not exist. Because it did not exist, it would not change anything about a past that had already transpired. (And a past that had transpired without her presence, no less. Faline Kairos might as well have been air in such a place.) Naturally, the only 'shard' that she bothered to reach for was actually the star in the memory. The edge was indeed sharp like a shard, though, and caused her to bleed. She watched it dribble down indifferently, slipping the star into her pocket along with the first one she had grabbed. That was two stars for the chicken prince.

Cyrra and her childhood friend, Ran, began to argue about a subject that Faline did not understand. But she was not truly meant to understand it, for she was not present and it only existed in the past. They broke something unspecified and she noticed the glimmer of another star shining brightly in a separate drop of her blood. Distractedly, she reached within it and plucked it out, slipping it into her pocket. Three stars.

"...Hm. Why ask for my opinion when it means nothing?" Faline considered slowly. What would happen would happen, regardless of anything she had to say about it. So why give her the illusion of choice in matters which she was wholly uninvolved? She did not care for this Julian or his tears, for she did not know him personally. And if he was allegedly 'sacred', why did he rely upon such a fragile relic in the first place? And who was responsible for leaving it in a position where it could be knocked over if it was that fragile? She would suggest no punishment for this reason. It was clearly an accident, based upon the memory. The past was the past, however, and would remain in the past. If the accident was punished in Cyrra's memories, it would be punished regardless of what she thought about it. Not even a lady of Kairos blood could change that.

Faline Kairos did not matter in a place such as this. She had no control over Cyrra's past and she understood that with the firmness of a woman who often traveled by threads of time. All she possessed was the ability to affect her future from their present. And that was quite enough for her. The past was meant to stay behind them for a reason, was it not?

"You need not answer that, I suppose. You are not real, either." And to confirm that he was not? Faline gently tapped the old man's forehead. A sharp pinprick of light beamed where she touched him and spread, spread, spread over his body. He cried out as it devoured him whole and disintegrated him into nothing but billows of silvery dust. She nonchalantly waved it away and brushed her hands off on her skirt before collecting the star his body left behind. Four stars.

 

[Syntra]

Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick fucking tock. Cyrra's head was pounding, each beat of her heart delivering a fresh dosage of pain, but nothing, fucking nothing, could compare to the nausea gripping her stomach. It couldn't have happened, right? Couldn't, couldn't, couldn't! Must have been a bad fucking dream. (No, Ran wouldn't have been this careless. Not her Ran. Ran, the goody two shoes Ran, wouldn't have violated the curfew, much less sneaked into the forbidden section of the cathedral. A snowstorm in the middle of summer would have been less suspicious! Unless... unless she'd convinced her? Memories, fragmented into a million shards, emerged in her mind, like a corpse floating to the surface. Oh. Oh, shit. I totally did fucking talk her into it!) Cyrra crawled to her feet, feeling both disoriented and oddly disconnected from everything. From herself, even. Darkness, cold, hard ground, torches flickering in the distance. Bars, too. Let me guess, the fucking catacombs? That she was alive at all was a small miracle, but the assassin wasn't about to erupt in joy. "Ran?" she whispered, a hint of desperation tainting her voice. "Ran, are you here?" Because if so... if so, then Cyrra had no idea what to tell her. 'Hey, sorry for fucking up your entire life on a whim! You still love me, right?' Something told her that wasn't going to cut it. Damn, damn, damn!

"Ran isn't here, Cyrra Eiréal," Father's voice echoed throughout the hall. "Worry not, though. You are going to see her very, very, very soon.

Immediately, Cyrra was on her knees. She couldn't see the man, but his eyes could pierce through the darkness, couldn't they? He had to see that she was sorry-- that she understood the extent of her fuck up, and was going to repent. "Father. Father, from the depths of my soul, I want to say that I'm sorry. It was my fault. Yesterday, it was Ran's birthday, and I... I just wanted her to have some fun."

"Fun breaking holy relics, you mean?" The assassin could feel him lifting her eyebrow, even if her eyes failed to provide the visual. "What a queer idea of entertainment you have."

"No! I... there's no excuse, I know. We were careless. I just wished to tell you that Ran is blameless in this. If you have to punish someone, let it be me."

"Hmm? We all have to carry the burden of our sins, child. It was Ran's sin that she followed you, the false prophet, and for that, she will pay. You will pay in your own way." Cyrra shivered, and no, she didn't fucking know whether it was the cold or... well, everything else. This wasn't going to be your usual slap on the wrist, was it? (Julian. Julian, the saint who had wept his eyes out. He'd cried and cried and cried, till he had no tears left-- and, when that had happened? It was blood he'd begun to shed. Blood, from which the foundations of the Temple had sprung. Together, they'd sentenced him to doom, to a desperation deeper than the pits of hell, and now they were going to drink from the same fucking cup.)

"Although... I suppose I shall see soon enough. The depth of your conviction, I mean. The ways of fate are unpredictable, don't you think? Cyrra Eiréal."

To their credit, they did give her some time to sober up. Yes, sober up-- the assassin remembered now, more or less, what had happened afterwards. (The concentrated panic, threatening to crush her lungs. The impulse to run. The act of running itself, and the poisoned dart in her back. The fun thing about poisons, though? They didn't have to kill. Sometimes, they only whispered to your heart to slow down, and boom, it fucking did. Like a dog eager to please its goddamn master. ...Cyrra wished it had been different. She'd wanted to fight, to scream, to do anything, anything but what she'd done!)

But, you know, sometimes, fate did offer you a small mercy-- a mercy wrapped in a shroud of cruelty, but a mercy nonetheless. When they dressed her in armor, darker than the blackest of nights, Cyrra thought that that was what she was getting. "Am I to fight for my life, then?" she asked one of the maids. The girl just... averted her gaze, though. What the hell was up with that?!

The sands of the arena were white, much like the pearl pillars that held the construction together, when Cyrra entered, the crowd erupted in cheers.

"Cyrra, Cyrra, Cyrra!"

"Spill her blood!"

"Cleanse yourself in tears, heathens!"

Despite the fact that the audience seemed to be on her side, though? Cyrra's heart sank when she saw her opponent, standing on the other side of the arena. No. No, no, no, fuck no! There stood Ran, clad in the exact same set of armor. Ran, her love. Ran, her fate. Ran, whom she'd fucking sentenced to--

"Good people of the capital!" the commentator shouted, and, as if his voice was a spell, the stadium slipped into tense silence. (Had Cyrra paid attention, she could have noticed Faline sitting in the front row, too. Needless to say, the girl was so low on her ladder of priorities that it hadn't even occurred to her to look.) "Today, you shall witness a fight there hasn't been fought in centuries. Not a duel to death, but something far greater. Something far more important. The one who wins shall receive the right to decide!" Not... not to death? The right to decide? Foolish as it may have been, hope bloomed reluctantly in the assassin's heart. Could this be like training, then? A fancy fucking swordfighting lesson? Alright. Alright, that wasn't so bad! Maybe they could, uh, repent via raising money for Julian's cause? Money talked, Cyrra knew, and not even Father was immune to their sweet fucking song. (...in hindsight, it was stupid. Not quite as stupid as her entire existence, but, you know, stupid enough.)

The fight itself was a blur. Steel clashed against steel, and it was so, so hot, and... and she avoided Ran's glare, the entire time. (The only cold thing in this hellhole of an arena. Could it freeze her in place? It'll be good. Why can't you see it will be good? I wouldn't hurt you. I just want to... want to... What, exactly? That wasn't a question she knew the answer to. It also wasn't an answer that she wanted to know, come to think of it. Ignorance really was a bliss, eh? Gods, guide my hand. Guide my hand, and silence the doubts.)

Eventually, Ran fell to her knees, and the crowd went wild. There was a jolt of triumph, that, and the immense relief as well, but when she met Ran's stare? The fucking panic was awakened once again, ringing all of her alarm bells. Hadn't she done well? Did it even matter who had won? They wouldn't hurt each other, so this made no sense. "Ran, why are you...?" Except, before they could exchange more words, they were being led back into their cell.

"Good job, Cyrra Eiréal." Father came in person this time, and the assassin didn't fail to bow. "You fought well today. I did expect this outcome, but I am pleased to see that you didn't falter. I have to say, you've more than earned your reward."

"The right to decide?" she blurted out. "In that case, I want you to release Ran."

Something in his smile reminded her of a shark in that moment, and no, the assassin didn't fucking like it. "Oh, it appears that you've misunderstood, child. You'll get to pick between option A and option B. It's not that simple, you see? Chalallys has been lost to darkness, and poor Julian is heartbroken. He has a need of new bride. A new relic, to bind him to his noble purpose. Surely, you agree that he cannot stay adrift? And to atone for your sins, one of you needs to serve as his chain. Will you do it, I wonder? There's your chance to save your precious Ran, Cyrra Eiréal."

"His... his chain?" The words felt sticky in her mouth, much like honey, but not nearly as sweet. (Every single one of them was a boulder tied to her neck.) "Will I die?" That wouldn't be so bad. After all, death was a gate-- they all fucking had to pass through it, one way or another. She would accept the responsibility. She would, she would, she would!

"No. You'll live forever, Cyrra," Father explained, not unkindly. "For you'll have to be the light in the darkness. The holy torch must never go out."

"..."

(Blood rushed into her head, obscuring all thoughts. Cyrra could hear laughter, maybe hers, maybe Ran's, and slowly, it was dissolving into cacophony. What were words? What was anything?)

"Well? What is your answer?"

(Well, what was?

'Everything', she wanted to say.

'Nothing.'

'Take your fucking reward and shove it where the sun doesn't fucking shine.'

But, see, the cursed clock was ticking, and there were two paths, and she had to take one, had to, had to! Otherwise, the bastard would pick for her.)

"...not me. Don't do it to me."

The memory then cracked, a spider's web pattern appearing all over Faline's vision, and--

 

[ellarose]

Faline only knew the past to continually shudder and splinter to pieces when it was painful. That was what the razored tips of the shards implied. That it was sharp, liable to cut. Much like the knife that Cyrra wielded. And so she chose not to watch in the arena when it was clear what was to conspire. She may not have had the experience like this to know the connotations herself, but the crowd described everything quite well enough for her. ('Humans,' Natos told her once, 'are often the real monsters, Faline. They lie to others, they lie to themselves. They would be frightened to stare into a mirror of truth, for confronting their own reflections would be far too much for their fragile minds to bear. You needn't strive to live among them.') The location and cheers implied that this fight was orchestrated for entertainment. Faline knew better. This was the punishment the old man spoke of. The past itself was tinted with the cold hues of every sinking emotion that Cyrra must have been feeling in those moments. (As well as the occasional flash of red that stuck out like a blood stain on pure white snow, of alarm.) No one else could see it. Of course they did not. The brainless mass of illusionary figures that created this crowd was not real. But they were real once... and they did not-- or chose not-- to see the suffering they were inflicting. Devouring the misfortune of others, of Cyrra, as if it were a delectable bowl of vegetable soup. But Cyrra was Cyrra and not vegetable soup.

...Hm. Why did this not surprise Faline, though? Human nature was still very much a mystery that she was trying to solve. So why wasn't this scene a gut-punch to her? Perhaps because it was compassion she had more to learn about? Hadn't her friends had warned her countless times about the lows that humankind could sink to? And hadn't she learned since she was small, how indifferent the outside world was to her existence? She could carry so much pain within her and no one would know a thing of it. No one would help her carry it. (Did she not blend so very well within this crowd? None but Endymion might think to look for her if she disappeared within it. She had parents who hadn't cared to know anything about her life. An auntie who never wished to visit, or to meet her if her decision to surrender the Kairos magic proved anything at all.) Long ago, the disconnection from it all had turned her insides to steel. Her stomach never twisted when she came upon granny's corpse, nor auntie's. She knew not what it meant to care enough about someone to also care about losing them. There was so much at stake for Cyrra in this memory because she had something-- someone-- she cared about. Something to fight for. Something to lose. What must that have felt like? Cyrra was suffering and she was indeed sorry for that. But did Faline understand? No. There were intensive depths to what she was seeing and much like the ocean, she did not yet understand them at all. Trying to do so would be much like trying to stay afloat when she knew not how to swim.

It did not occur to Cyrra to look Faline's way. She hadn't expected her to. She was air here, like always. She was nothing. Accepting that she was powerless and time would take this moment to the inevitable conclusion, she turned away and focused instead on searching for the star that was inevitably hiding somewhere. As she checked beneath arena seats, she casually disintegrated some of the particularly noisy participants of the bloodthirsty crowd with her touch as she searched. (A twinge of joy might have surfaced in her chest whenever those she destroyed began to scream with terror instead of that truly despicable cheer.) Eventually, she found what she was looking for beneath one of the seats. The star. Five.

Faline supposed no one else could see the vicious tornado whipping around them in the final segment. It was just her? Yes, it seemed so. Time whispered warnings into her ears as the scene progressed. It hated this man and it hated him vehemently. For time must take everyone eventually. Even those of Kairos blood knew this to be true. The had a relationship with time, indeed, but they were not immortal. This man proclaimed he was capable of doing what even time could not-- promising forever. Forever did not exist.

Though it would not have mattered, Faline would have informed the man that his holy flame would one day go out and disintegrate him for the insult-- and for hurting Cyrra that way-- if not for the fact that the past shattered before she could do so.

Then they were standing in the pouring rain outside of the cottage. A smaller Faline continually ran towards the forest... but once she hit a certain distance, a loud 'craaaaack' like lightning sounded, slashing her with magic and forcibly pushing her backward into the mud. Her dress was soaked through, torn and bloodied. (It was the same dress that she had been wearing before she bought her new one. The same dress she always had and mended over and over and over again.) She had obviously been at this for a while and was about to get up to try again regardless. Beside the present Faline, who knew very well how this was going to end, granny sat dry in her rocking chair beneath the shelter of the porch and cackled. (Ah. It was the only time she would ever hear her laugh.) Granny's dress was dripping in those painted roses. There were dead chickens and ducks scattered all over the yard.

Granny only ever seemed happy when Faline was the saddest she'd ever been. If she ever needed a reminder of why the arena did not perturb her so, that was it.

"...I know you are not real. But I wish to tell you that Hector danced over your grave. I allowed him take care of his business there as well." Faline informed the past version of granny. She touched the woman's forehead and watched unblinkingly as she began to flake away into nothing, scattering her to dust like all the other figments. "I apologize for that." (She did not feel sorry, though.)

"The rain is not real, Cyrra. We will not get wet. Come along." Faline sighed. She walked through the yard and picked through poor Hector's corpse for the final star. Six. This star swallowed the rainy scene in a bright flash of light and dropped them back into the present. They stood on a remaining piece of the cracked platform, which levitated down with the flow of the water and stars to the ballroom full of chickens.

"...Ah. I believe we have completed the request." Faline noted softly. For in the sixth star's place, she now held a jar filled with the stars she had collected. "Here you are, your majesty."

 

[Syntra]

She'd seen. She'd fucking seen.

Cyrra realized that, and the realization was accompanied by a dull sort of ache-- not a fresh wound, but one that had been festering for days, weeks, years. Centuries, even. (Shit, shit, shit! It hurt enough that the Ran thing... that it had happened, at all. That she remembered, instead of the memories sinking into the unconsciousness where they rightfully belonged. The human mind was a poor fucking archive, you see? Details got distorted, sequences twisted, and before you knew it, the consequence fucking turned into the cause. It was therefore better, more holy, not to dwell on it. To let the gods judge you, instead of playing the blame game with all those would haves and could haves. The tiiiny problem with this narrative, though? That Faline had witnessed it! The whelp had seen it play out, with all the context she could have desired, and... and she'd come to a conclusion, most assuredly. The brain just worked like that. You feed it something? Bam, there you fucking go, a judgment! A shiny, fresh judgment, formed within seconds. Instant damnation, tasting of blood and hellfire. 'Wow, what a bad person you are. I can't believe I ever called you beautiful!' 'Couldn't you have helped her?' 'Between the two of us, it should have been you.' She'd say something like that, and that was a problem, because... because Cyrra still needed to fool her. Right! The deception. The deception, which was the only reason she hadn't fed her to the fucking darkness. Her, being afraid of seeming less than in her eyes? Pfft! The wolf didn't fucking care what the doe thought of it.)

The assassin barely looked at Faline's own memoryscape, being too preoccupied panicking over... over something, she guessed. (Over her plans being in shambles. Over Ran being sacrificed for fucking nothing, because it was a safe bet that Father would not appreciate another failure. Over being confronted with the reality of just how useless she was-- like a warm coat in the middle of a summer, half-eaten by moths. Heh. Half-eaten. As if anything would want to eat her, the bitch tasting of disappointment. No, Cyrra had no shortage of things to panic over! A whole damn confectionery, with worms writhing right under all those shiny wrappers. A good fucking metaphor, for just about the entirety of her life.)

Before the assassin could slide deeper into that mental trap, though? Before it could break her limbs, and hang her on the wall as a trophy? The present took over once again, as it always did. (Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, her palms sweating. Had it happened? Had it not happened? Usually, the assassin was quick to reach for words, but those were eluding her now, as if even they recoiled in disgust. 'So you're a fucking fraud, huh? Thought so. You did seem like the type.')

"What? Ah, the... the request. Yes, I see," Cyrra put a stray strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly unsure of what to do with her own hands.

(The chickens erupted in applause, and that somehow fucking made it worse. She could see it transposed against her mind's eye, the arena, the bloodthirsty stares, everything, and it was so, so, so much! ...too much. Way too much, to the point she had to grab onto Faline's hand for support. Cyrra just... kind of needed to feel that she was there, y'know? That both of them were, and hadn't fallen into yet another fucked up memory. That no monster would crawl from one of the numerous holes she'd sealed, using her own blood. One, two, three, she counted. One, two, three. That was the way to calm one's thoughts, right? ...no, it wasn't fucking working. It wasn't plunging her deeper into despair, though, and the assassin figured she could have gone for a far more terrible deal here.)

"Bok, bok," the prince flapped his magnificent wings, jumping off his bone throne. "You are far too humble, ladies. Thank you, thank you for ridding us of the star menace! I am not quite sure whether we would have handled the situation without you. I mean, aren't stars scary? They are like eggs, but ones who were abandoned by their mothers. Disconcerting, if you ask me. They must have done something terrible to earn their ancestors' ire!" ...Cyrra wasn't exactly following that fucking line of logic, but she should have given up on that a long, long, long time ago. Making sense was so last century, right?

"Regardless! Once again, we are grateful for your service. So very thankful, in fact, that we've decided to invite yet another guest. Everyone loves meeting their family, right?" And, with that, Faline's auntie crawled out of the water-- or rather, her savaged corpse. Whoopsie. (Her lips were blue and bloodless, her pale cheeks rotting. Clearly, nothingness had claimed her weeks ago. Despite that, though? The woman was smiling, as if she'd heard a joke nobody else was privy to.)

"Ah, Faline, my Faline!" she sang, with cheer that sounded as fake as a shopkeeper's enthusiasm for their wares. "You've grown up to be a lovely young lady. I have to say, I'm proud of being your family. The whole murder thing complicated our reunion, but I'm glad to have met you nonetheless. Except, won't you reconsider the company you keep? The assassin," Elaine spat the word out, "is bad news. Death walks in her footsteps, not her own shadow. Beware of the sword. Do you think she won't accept it, Faline? Because, oh, she will. She will! It's written in her fate, just like loneliness is in yours."

Cyrra watched the scene unfold, unable to move, unable to... do anything, really. It was a bad fucking dream. A bad fucking dream, and her head was spinning! She should have denied it, should have called the witch a bitter old hag, but instead-- "Do you trust me?" she asked, her throat feeling suspiciously tight. (Nope, not struggling with anything. Never Cyrra. Haha, how could she? Assassins knew not only how to sever lives, but also how to sever connections. She would be fine.) "After what you've fucking seen, I mean. After Ran. Tell me what you thought of it."

 

[ellarose]

Huh? Faline pried her attention away from the crowd when a hand suddenly closed around her own, peering down at their intwined hands and then back up at Cyrra. She did seem rather distraught, did she not? Even though those scenes were not real, they had foundations in a past that was painful for her companion and she could at least acknowledge that. Rather than say anything at all about it, though, she merely held onto her hand. What did it mean? It seemed after a few moments that she wasn't using her grip to draw her close and hurl an accusation in her face, the way she might have before. Instead, she held onto her? And it seemed she was doing so simply to hold onto her and nothing more than that. When that was apparent, Faline reciprocated as she curled her own fingers in the spaces between Cyrra's (fascinatingly, it seemed that human hands could truly fit together like puzzle pieces) and gave a light squeeze. It was nice.

Perhaps it was a good thing that they were holding hands for this, too. Faline's spirits sank quite low as the chicken prince gave his anecdote about the stars. She gazed glumly upon the jar full of them that she still held in her free hand. Abandoned by their mothers? (Did that mean that Faline was a scary star who had earned the ire of her ancestors somehow? Just for existing? Was she herself disconcerting because she was unwanted?) Granny always told her that people would be frightened of her. Would the same be true for these chickens, who existed on a higher level of consciousness than the chickens she knew?

Abandoned, abandoned, abandoned. The word rang through Faline's mind like an ominous, tolling bell as her auntie's corpse pulled herself from the water. Seeing her, hearing her voice... why did it twist her up inside? Everyone was supposed to love meeting their family, according to the chicken prince. But she did not necessarily love this. 'My Faline', she said, but was she really her Faline? Auntie said she was proud of her. The word was a hollow thing, though, passing right through her as if she were water. (Where were you? Some part of her wished to break down. Perhaps because the memory was still fresh. Testing the boundary over and over and over again-- Where were you when I needed you?) Gazing past all of the things that made her auntie a corpse, blue lips and rotting face, she searched for the most charming part of her arrival. That had always been one of her favorite games. Whenever she felt particularly sad, she tried to find the thing that she liked the very most about her environment and situation. And then she fixated upon it until the rest faded away into meagre background noise.

"...My. You've been swimming in the afterlife, auntie? How delightful! Do you like to swim?" Faline chose to comment upon that instead. She would rather talk about the water than talk about herself. The self that everyone in her family had chosen to leave behind. Her inquisitive expression gradually dimmed, however, as auntie ignored her question and began to criticize Cyrra instead. (Well, perhaps that was fair enough. Cyrra had killed auntie, after all. Although she did not know the reason why yet.) Had auntie chosen to have a presence in her life, perhaps she would have been able to teach her how to swim. Maybe then she would have been allowed more of a say in who she did and did not forge connections with. Made up of her experiences, though, she had no such presence to sway her opinion in this matter. Faline was Faline... and Faline often followed the whims of her own mind and heart.

Faline looked between auntie and Cyrra when the woman at her side spoke up. 'Do you trust me?' Goodness. She was unused to being asked her opinion as it was-- to be asked questions by two people at once was a touch overwhelming for her. Especially since Cyrra did not seem at all her usual self. And now she wanted to know what she thought?

"Cyrra... you are the person you are right now because you went through those things. Your past is over now. It would have remained the same whether I knew about it or not. We are in the present now. And I quite enjoy spending time with the present Cyrra. Your hardships do not change that. I was sad to see you so sad, I suppose." Faline felt self conscious, then. "Unless... perhaps I ought to be worried about what you thought of mine? After seeing... how unwanted I was. And granny, laughing at what a ninny I was." She shuffled on her feet and tugged anxiously on her braid. "Testing the boundary over and over again."

"Faline, focus! I am swimming with the fishes thanks to her." Auntie pressed scathingly. Ah. Swimming with the fishes.

"...That sounds quite fun. Are the fishes cute? I bet they are." Faline considered, tilting her head and bringing her forefinger to her chin. "It is my dream to swim in the ocean with the fishes one day." Auntie would not know that, though, because she hadn't had a presence in her life. Cyrra, on the other hand did. In fact, she had cared enough to ask her why. "Cyrra promised that she would teach me how to swim. You see, she since apologized for the things she did and said. Natos told me that trust must be earned... and she offered me three wishes to prove her loyalty. And she has not called me whelp once since then! I appreciate the effort very much. As I said, I know that I am a ninny and it might be very tempting sometimes, but she still..."

"It-- it is an expression, Faline! Think of it this way. Why does she insist upon taking you to the capital? Perhaps she ought to take you to the sea instead!" Auntie insisted, impatiently rolling her head along with what was left of her eyes. "Wasn't that where you were going before your two paths crossed?"

"Oh. Well, I suppose that we are going to the capital now because I am afraid of the water. I must learn how to swim before I can see the sea... I must first be worthy." Faline nodded sensibly.

"There are no bodies of water in the capital." Auntie tutted with a pitying sigh. The kind of sigh that said that Faline was just not getting her point and possibly never would, either. "How will you learn to swim there? You are not unworthy. There is no better place to learn to swim in the sea than the sea itself." The corpse turned her attention to Cyrra, challenging her. "Cyrra Eiréal. My niece is correct that trust must be earned. If you intend to prove yourself with your wishes, your loyalty, and your actions... then take her to the sea before you take her to the capital. Can you do that?"

 

[Syntra]

The past wasn't like old fucking shoes. More than that, it was a shadow-- it always walked a few steps behind you, quickening its pace whenever you did. Running away from it? Yeah, you might as well try and escape from your own fucking heartbeat! The connection may have been invisible, but it was also made of the same substance that tethered the stars to the sky. Fucking unbreakable, in other words. (Faline, who knew how links worked, would never trust her after that. There was just no fucking way! The bridge to freedom was crumbling, crumbling, crumbling, the emptiness from below was calling her name, and... yeah, that was why panic gripped her chest. No other reason! Cyrra treasured the girl's opinion about as much as she agonized over what grass thought of her. Which, spoiler alert, she fucking didn't! Faline could stay in her silly fantasy world, her eyes forever closed, her mind forever sealed. She just had to... uh, work. The Father approval machine couldn't fucking fall apart! Not now. Not when the assassin was so close, so close to finally--)

Cyrra blinked. She did so once, twice, and then she cast a quick glance at Faline, expecting a trap to snap itself shut. There had to be one, okay?! When shit seemed too good to be true, it never fucking was-- right beneath the sweet, honeyed words, steel was lurking, hungry for her flesh. (She'd learned to see it, as well as the knives in the darkness. The Ran fiasco? Never happening again, because Cyrra knew to check for the poison dripping from empty promises now. And, shit, Faline was no different! ...except that maybe, just maybe, she actually was. Not out of some mythical goodness of her heart, mind you, but due to the lack of ability. You didn't praise a bunny for not murdering the fuck out of your chickens, now did you? And somehow, Cyrra felt, there were parallels between the two situations. ...still, still her stupid fucking heart fluttered, strangely light in her chest. Why? Was it that pathetic, as to latch onto the first fucking hint of someone not judging her? No, Cyrra didn't want to know the answer to that. Not now, not ever. There was a reason why the gods had locked the hearts in human chests, and it was so that you couldn't check it out! Sometimes, looking into the mirror was hard enough already.)

"I suppose," the assassin sighed. "But, I don't know. It's not that fucking simple. Imagine liking a picture, okay? Except that a half of it is shrouded in darkness, and when it's finally revealed, you see that the hidden part is ugly. Do you still like it? That's what I'm worried about." Sooo, was her brain on her or Faline's side?! Because it was not in her best interest to point this shit out! Diversion fucking tactics, that's what I need here. And, thankfully enough, the whelp gave her a damn good reason to ramble. "Uh, no?" Cyrra raised her eyebrow, surprising even herself with how sincere she sounded. (The interpretation that she was, in fact, being sincere did cross her mind, but the assassin proceeded to chuck it into the oblivion. Her, actually honest? Pfft! No, no, no, her acting skills simply must have evolved beyond comprehension.) "I don't see why what others thought of you should bother me. In my experience, a lot of people that aren't me tend to be fucking idiots. It doesn’t at all matter that they’re too stupid to see your worth." Indeed, that much was true. In a way, though? Cyrra found herself thanking all those faceless strangers-- had they not treated the girl that way, she might not have been such easy prey. Like a lamb for the slaughterhouse, she thought, with a strange sadness. Probably because it made her too easy to hunt? Definitely not due to silly things like empathy, which Cyrra definitely did not suffer from. Nuh uh. The gods had made her to kill, so kill she fucking would! Faline and her pretty eyes couldn’t change that, the same way a wish couldn’t transform reality into… well, into something kinder. Something that didn’t cut.

Stupid fucking corpses, the assassin thought when Elaine made her claim. Back, in times much simpler than these, the dead had had the decency to stay out of the mortals’ affairs, but nooo, not anymore! What was next, cows holding mass fucking protests against being killed for meat? Because that shit wasn’t going to fly-- much like the tantrum she threw about the sea. “Sure, sure,” Cyrra rolled her eyes. “I promise.”

The woman gave her a long, hard stare, and for a second, it felt as if she was going to crush the assassin under its weight. The moment came and went, though. “Very well. I hope you realize what it is that you’ve just promised, Cyrra Eiréal. Vows have a power to them, you know? Violate it at your own peril.”

“Ah, how won-bok-derful!” the prince flapped his wings, cheerfully oblivious to the nature of the scene unfolding before his eyes. “Family reunions are the best, I swear. But, ah, we are running out of time, Faline! Delightful as it is, this dimension won’t hold together for much longer. No matter, though. The special guest will simply visit you when you need him the most. Hear my prophecy: By his feathers you shall know him, and his voice will lead you out of darkness. Practice your Chickenese, for that is the path to enlightenment.”

The chickens once again erupted in applause, and--

--and then they found themselves sitting back on the bench, with the moon high in the sky. Huh. So time had fucking passed!

Speaking of time passage, the rest of the night flowed like water in a river. They managed to find a nice inn, delightfully free of drunkards, and Cyrra closed her eyes the second she crawled under her blanket. Fuck all her worries, right? They’d find her once they became relevant, and the assassin would deal with them then.

…what she hadn’t expected, of course, was for them to get on her case right in the fucking morning.

“Uh, Cyrra?” Atropos materialized in her field of vision, inexplicably floating in the air. Okay, why not! Demons made it their priority to shit on as many gods’ laws as possible, so she guessed this wasn’t out of fucking character. Still, did they have to bother them now? It was a nice day, with the sun shining and the birds chirping, and the assassin found herself enjoying Faline’s compan… uh, complacency. Right. Heh. Nothing suspicious to see here! And that she seemed to welcome the other woman’s closeness on some level now was caused by the fact that it was getting cold, god fucking dammit.

“I don’t mean to intrude upon your idyllic journey, but have you maybe spoken to Endymion lately? Because I may have seen them being locked into a cage. I thought it was a joke, as they enjoy playing helpless and scaring people who are mean to street cats, but I haven’t been able to contact them since. All I get is…” their face turned incredulous, “…strange visions of waves. That, and a large ship with a medusa on its prow.”

 

[ellarose]

"Atropos!" Faline clasped her hands together underneath her chin, fascination shining in her eyes as bright as the rising sun when the familiar greeted them in the most entertaining fashion. "How magnificent! You're flying." Coincidentally, it also reminded her of a rather thrilling experience that she too had that no one had witnessed the night before. (This was nothing new for her, however. A good many of her life's accomplishments were seen and celebrated by none.) "Have you perhaps befriended a chicken? You see, I was able to fly yesterday as well! I grew chicken wings, so it was rather difficult to stay afloat for long... oh. It was a magical experience nonetheless! One I will never forget to be certain. I still have the feather I wished upon to receive those wings. Would you like to see it?"

Faline eagerly shuffled around to retrieve the new feather she kept alongside Hector's... only to pause when Atropos gave them the concerning news about Endymion. The feather and the joys of flight were dashed and forgotten altogether as thoughts of the cat took precedence over all else.

"Endymion can change shape quite easily. If they were locked in a cage, it would not be very difficult for them to escape it. Unless..." Faline wrapped her arms around herself, frowning softly as worry gripped her heart in a headlock. Could the cage have had some magic properties? "They have either gone by choice, which I do not think is the case as they quite dislike the concept of cages... or they are being taken someplace against their will by a magic they cannot fight. How horrible. We must find them at once!"

Attempting to reach out to her familiar with her own mind, Faline closed her eyes and nearly toppled over from the effort. She was overcome with the sensation that she was standing on unbalanced ground that bobbed and swayed. The rushing of water could be heard faintly in her ears as well. How curious. It seemed to match with Atropos's own attempts to reach out to Endymion, complete with waves and a ship. It could only mean one thing. "Surely this must mean that someone has catnapped Endymion and taken them to sea! Who in the world would do such a thing?" There were many terrible fates that could befall her favorite kitty by the sea-- she just knew it. For one, she was not sure whether or not Endymion knew how to swim.

"Poor, poor Endymion. They must feel so scared and alone." Faline fretted, her eyes shining with tears. Should she have paid more attention to them? Perhaps she could have done more to protect them! Then again, her familiar had always been independent. They had been off on their own endeavors while this transpired and therefore would not blame her. She pressed the backs of her hands to stem the flow of tears, bolstering herself. No. Crying would not help Endymion now. They had to act. And soon, too, before the ship sailed away. "It is clear we must go to sea to find them, then. The sea is very large, though, so... I suppose we should ask my friend Tulu. They know everything there is to know about the sea! And that way, we will not end up chasing wild geese." (Or rather they would not end up on a wild goose chase. If Endymion were there, they would have surely corrected her butchered phrasing.) "Although that does sound fun, does it not? Running with wild geese?"

Naturally, Faline's will to visit called up a door to the other realm. (Last time her visit to the other realm went quite strangely indeed. But this time her mind was determinedly fixed on Tulu-- so that was were it ought to take them. For while time was always on Faline's side, she could not remain quite so carefree when she knew that Endymion might have been in danger.)

"You wish to save Endymion too, right Cyrra?" Faline opened the door and waited for the assassin to walk through. "Come along, then! We must hurry before their catnapper sets sail. I am sure you will get along-- hehe-- swimmingly with Tulu as well!"

 

[Syntra]

Endymion, gone? Endymion, the eternal stick up her ass? Woo hoo, time to throw a fucking party! Indeed, Cyrra Eiréal felt about as sorry for the fiend as she would have for a cockroach on the sole of her shoe! Not so high and mighty anymore, eh? the assassin thought. I hope that your new owner spays you, motherfucker. That would have been the only appropriate punishment for the torture the cat had put her through-- all those smartass comments, and sarcastic quips, and the stares that told her that, no, the creature didn’t trust her. (With them gone, everything would be so much easier. What a gift from the gods! Humans were wired to find their place in the pack, you know? ‘Danger,’ the ancient instinct signaled, whenever they found themselves abandoned. ‘The world is vast, and you are small. Alone, you will be eaten. Wolves will even devour your bones, and nobody, nobody will ever find you.’ How convenient that she’d be there silence those doubts, right? Heh! Cyrra, the savior of fair maidens, was a fun twist on her usual formula, but she wasn’t fucking complaining.)

Except that, you know what the defining trait of cockroaches was? That not even the fucking apocalypse, with hellfire and the earth splitting in half, could get rid of them. Not truly. “I…” Ugh, fucking hell. How to refuse? ‘Hey, Faline, have you ever thought about getting a dog instead?’ ‘I don’t know, I’m pretty sure the fucker had lice.’ ‘When you love someone, you ought to let them go, whelp.’ Excuses, excuses, excuses! Excuses more transparent than fucking glass, and the assassin couldn’t afford to shatter the fragile trust between them. Time to give up, I guess. Goodbye, beautiful, Endymion-less world! (Unless, of course, she found a way to fail. Hmm, hmm. Nothing more tragic than doing your best, shedding both blood and tears, and the victory still slipping through your fingers!) “…of course,” Cyrra finally nodded. “Of course that I will help! Me and Endymion haven’t always seen from eye to eye, but I do know that they are important to you. They are your friend, and I couldn’t fucking bear to see you suffer. I will do anything to bring them back.”

Anything, including going through one of those cursed fucking portals. Ugh! The gods will understand, Cyrra told to herself. They know that my intentions are honorable, and my heart pure. No fucking witch will soil it, unless I let her. Which, by the way, the assassin had no interest in. Abso-fucking-lutely not! So what if Faline didn’t eat children, and didn’t murder puppies for fun? Evil liked to shroud itself in innocence, much like tigers’ stripes were designed to blend in with the grass in which they hunted. Nah, cheap tricks like that wouldn’t fool her. “Let us go, then?”

In hindsight, maybe Cyrra should have thought harder about what that ‘Tulu’ entity was. She should have weighed the pros and the cons of following a plan that had hatched in Faline’s head of all places, and done the only reasonable thing one could do in that situation-- namely, run for the fucking hills. The thing about hindsight, though? You only gained it when it was already too late! And when a large, winged shadow rose from the crystalline waters, it sure as fuck was too late. For pretty much anything. (The assassin’s feet were frozen, her heart shrunk to the size of a button. The thing was fucking huge! Huge, with its skin the color of seaweed, and with far too many tentacles for anyone to be able to justify. Just, what? Cyrra couldn’t even wrap her mind around the sight, no matter how much it stretched, and… and she could feel cracks on the surface, thin like a spider’s web. The pressure was immense, a tsunami racing to bury her beneath--)

“Faline,” the creature thundered, somehow managing to blush. (What.) “My, I haven’t seen you for ages! What have you been doing, so far from the sea? I’m telling you, you are too pale. That’s what you get for staying cooped up in your house all the time-- you don’t get nearly enough sun. Tsk, tsk! You should take care of your body better, Faline. You humans are notoriously fragile, and I’d hate to see your bones break because you didn’t feed them enough. But, hmm, who is that?” Tulu turned one of its hideous eyes towards the assassin, and the pupil narrowed once it saw her. Uh oh. “Is that the human who threw you in that pond?”

“M-me?” Cyrra laughed, her voice a few octaves higher than usual. (Had she not been the great assassin herself, one might even accuse her of it being thick with panic. Except, that couldn’t be! No, must have been some strange play of the echo, bouncing off the cliffs in the distance.) “I would never! Must be some kind of misunderstanding, sir. Maybe, uh, my twin sister? People keep mistaking us for one another all the time, considering we look the same. My spitting fucking image.”

“Don’t lie to me, human.” One of Tulu’s tentacles shot forward, only to grab Cyrra by the ankle. The assassin tried to wiggle herself free, but, ah, shit, shit, shit! Before she could comprehend what was happening, she was hanging in the air, upside down and utterly helpless. “Everything that happens underwater is my domain, and so you cannot fool me. It was you. I’ve seen it, with all of my eyes. You know the rules, Faline, don’t you? For that crime, I need to punish her. Considering that it was you who suffered the most…” the creature’s voice softened, as if it was a teacher talking to its favorite pupil, “…I will let you choose what her fate will be. Just, please, don’t make me eat her! She looks like the sort that would make my stomach hurt.”

 

[ellarose]

Faline often thought that Tulu resembled the 'grandmother' figure in her storybooks featured more than granny did herself. Always fussing about the condition of her skin, whether or not she was sleeping or eating well enough. She had been very small when she first discovered them. When she mistakenly thought that one of their tentacles was a slide that she could play on one day, she climbed on without hesitation and proceeded to do just that before they lifted her high into the air and several eyes popped open to examine her. They stared at each other in silence for a long while before she eventually tilted her head and apologized for thinking that they were a slide. Tulu set her down, they talked, and that was that. Their bond eclipsed whatever it was she was meant to share with granny. Tulu, quite naturally, was also responsible for filling her head with all sorts of wonderful stories about the sea. Namely the colorful life that lived within the depths along with the sights upon every shore which the waves touched in greeting. The pictures those tales had painted kept her imagination fed for years and years to come. There were also many tales about the sailors who would gaze into Tulu's eyes (there were many of them and they were all very cute) and then give the creature their ships as gifts.

The narrative that those sailors abandoned their ships out of fear never once occurred to Faline. But if Endymion was on a ship at sea, she thought that Tulu was sure to know where it was.

"Tulu, hello! It has been too long." Faline greeted bashfully, tugging at her braid. "I intended to go to the sea right away after I found my auntie's corpse. And I was incredibly excited about the prospect, too! You can even ask Cyrra. But then..." Oh, bother. It was difficult to put it into words, wasn't it? Or it wasn't difficult, necessarily, but it would have been a very long story to tell. That story would have involved explaining the fact that auntie surrendering the magic to Cyrra, the tether between them, and all their adventures that led Faline to the conclusion that she was now afraid of drowning and unworthy of seeing the sea. Goodness, she hadn't even introduced Cyrra yet! "Oh, right. This is Cyrra. My, ah... traveling companion?" Defining it was awfully difficult, wasn't it? Cyrra had thrown her into a pond, yes, but she had also kissed her and put a flower in her hair and...

And Tulu knew about the pond. Now Cyrra was hanging upside down. This wasn't what immediately caught Faline's attention, though.

"A twin? Cyrra, you never told me that you had a twin!" Faline gasped, bringing her hands to her cheeks. Would that explain the discrepancies between the Cyrra who disliked her and the Cyrra who claimed to have an interest in her? Either way, they put on an incredibly convincing act even if that was the case. When did they change places and why? (What was her twin's name? Did she grow up in a doorless land as well?) However, the possibility of Cyrra having a twin while considering the last couple of days seemed less and less likely the more that she thought about it. When Tulu suggested it was a lie, it clicked into place. "...Oh, Cyrra! That woman in the reflection was not your twin. The other Cyrra made the pond, I suppose... but you are the one who threw me inside of it." How funny to refer to one's double as a twin! If that was the case, Faline had a great many of them. And they were all dead. (Dead doubles... she did not want to think about that right now.) That was when Tulu brought up the prospect of punishment.

"Cyrra is a bitter piece of cheesecake. I do not believe she would consider being eaten a punishment, either. She wanted to stay in the alligator's maw the other day." Faline informed the creature with a knowing nod. Deep down, she was not in the mood to issue any sort of punishments. She knew now that the assassin had been dealt some rather unfair ones in the past. "I am sorry, Cyrra. I will not have Tulu eat you."

Tulu breathed a sigh of relief.

"Tulu, you must've seen that Cyrra was the one who saved me as well. She is also planning to teach me how to swim so I can visit the sea someday!" Faline tried. "I am doing much better now, too. Or, well-- not really. But that's not because of Cyrra! Endymion is missing. And we need your help to find them. Atropos believes they must be at sea."

"Is that right?" Tulu lifted Cyrra high into the air, examining her with suspicious eyes. "If you are going to teach Faline, then how about we see what a good swimmer you are? Just to make sure you're up to the challenge." The creature turned and dangled Cyrra above the surface of the water. "Swim until you find the answers you seek." And with that? Tulu dropped her into the depths.

 

[Syntra]

Cyrra Eiréal knew, from the very depths of her heart, that the gods wouldn't turn their backs on her. Wouldn't, wouldn't, wouldn't! You didn't fucking bite the hand that fed you, and nobody in the entire damn Temple had fulfilled their duties with her brand of eagerness. (For their convenience, she'd starved. For their pleasure, she'd all but cut herself into bite-sized bits, before pouring salt into her wounds. 'Have a taste,' the assassin had begged them. 'Am I to your liking? I can make myself smaller, more useful, better. Just tell me it wasn't all for nothing.' Blah blah blah, dignity was its own reward, but she had also assumed that there would be something more... hmm, something more tangible. Shit like, for example, not being abandoned when a sea monster threatened to devour your soul!)

...good to know that the gods didn't give a single flying fuck, though. Real useful information right there. Eh, not like Cyrra had ever wanted to be saved! Suffering fucking built character, and so she was looking forward to whatever twisted punishment was awaiting her. What, you didn't like having your flesh cooked? The assassin was shaking with anticipation, 'cause every drop of blood she spilled here would buy her a different blessing! (Clinging to your physical shell, cursed with fragility, only proved that you didn't understand a damn thing. Just, learn to take a fucking hint? A potato had to be peeled before you cooked it, and this... this was kind of like that. Was and wasn't. Everything was like something, if you tried hard enough to connect the dots. Better not to think about that too much, huh? 'Cause you might find out that you'd drawn them in there in the first place.)

"Eh?" Cyrra shouted, fighting against the blood rushing into her head. (There were red splotches plaguing her vision, like some macabre ink, and let me tell you, not being able to see shit was not her favorite hobby. It didn't even get into the top fucking ten! ...also, speaking of the things that grinded her gears, were her ears deceiving her? Cyrra wished nothing more than for that to be true, and that alone proved to her that she was, in fact, not hallucinating. Great, just great.) "Fuck, Faline," she cursed. "Dig my fucking grave for me already, why don't you?! And when you choose an epitaph for me, do inscribe 'I fucking told you' on it."

And a grave was awaiting her, though not one that she necessarily expected. The assassin was falling, falling, falling, right into the blue depths, and, yes, they swallowed her! Like a spoiled fucking brat might devour a piece of candy, without truly savoring it.

(Cold. Colder than the touch of death, even. Ice flowers were blooming on the bottom, pink and purple and red, and, for reasons unknown to herself, the assassin tried to reach them. When she did, though? Her fingers fucking froze, falling off one by one. Ah. Ah, alright! Something just outside of her field of vision laughed, and Cyrra couldn't help but join in. After all, wasn't her life a fucking joke? A joke with a punchline so esoteric that nobody, nobody ever stayed for long enough to actually get it. And the one who tried... heh! Well, she'd kind of become a joke herself. In hindsight, the assassin didn't blame all those who fucking knew what 'sense of self-preservation' was, despite all the attempts to beat that knowledge out of their heads.

"Hey. Hey, you worthless bitch. Don't forget to breathe, okay? You can live without fingers, but not without air." But of course! Ran always gave the best advice, didn't she? Wise beyond her years, they'd called her, and Cyrra... Cyrra had kind of believed it, before she'd gotten tangled up with her of all people. What had been the great idea, anyway? Terminal attraction to failure? 'Cause Cyrra could fail, fail, fail, till the cows went fucking home.

Nonetheless, the breathing thing did sound legit. She inhaled, hungrily, and, in response, water flooded her lungs. It stung, as if a scorpio had crawled into her chest! And if it had, it was declaring war on her now, the assassin just knew it.

Desperately, she kicked her legs, trying to... what? Reach the surface? Good fucking luck, seeing as a rusty chain was holding her in place. "Ran," she managed to say, bubbles rising from her mouth with each word. "Ran, why?"

"You have the nerve to ask? I should have let you rot in your own filth, you pathetic piece of shit. Without me, you're nothing. Nothing, you hear?!" ...which, solid point here. Cyrra knew when she'd lost an argument, and this one was over before it even began. Still, when a dark, cat-shaped shadow formed somewhere behind Ran's eyeless form? 'Endymion,' the assassin couldn't help but think. 'There they are.' The demon was bound to a wrecked ship, a ship upon which ghosts whirled in their merry dance, and everywhere their feet touched, death followed soon after. Following her instinct, the assassin swam closer--

"Cyrra. Cyrra, time to open your eyes.")

With a start, Cyrra did exactly that. At the risk of repeating herself, what the actual fuck?! The ground was moving beneath her feet, the air tasted of salt, and, perhaps most shockingly, a guy with a pointy fucking hat and a few missing teeth was grinning at her. Gross! Double fucking gross, 'cause he was doing so mere inches away from her face.

"Well, well, seems like you've had quite enough of your beauty sleep. Wakey, wakey! Time for you to earn your bread."

"Shit," the assassin coughed, kicking the man off of her with a practiced, fluid motion. "Who the fuck are you and what's your preferred method of death?!" No, Cyrra didn't have any idea what was going on, but she figured a good ol' death threat couldn't hurt. It was kind of like salt, you see? In that it paired nicely with every fucking meal!

"Oh, you're asking me?" If there was a hint of merriment in his face, it dissolved like mist in the morning. "You are the ones who invaded my ship, and lost my artifacts in the process. Isn't that so, Faline?" Because, duh, of course that Faline was somehow there as well! Figured, given the tether and everything. That, and her tendency to be present for every single fuck up in existence. "Tell your friend here how your time-space fuckery destroyed my precious collection."

Those were certainly words, but as far as making sense went, they didn't really satisfy Cyrra. "...what?"

"Long story short, you're working for me and my crew now! Yay, right? You've got the privilege of making yourself useful before I blow my fuse and kill you for what you did." The guy laughed, in a way that resembled a goddamn hyena. "I'm sure you can make it worth my while?"

 

[ellarose]

Faline was very busy examining the patterns of the wood on the walls of the little room they were stuffed in. She genuinely was-- not even pretending! It was one of her favorite pastimes in the cottage. Looking for little shapes in the grooves and patterns was much like searching for shapes in the clouds. One array of lines in particular swooshed in such a way that they reminded her of a bushy-tailed squirrel. (The ground bobbed and swayed beneath her feet. There was water, unending water waiting below them. The sea. It had waited all the time for her, ever so patiently. And now the sight she had wanted to so so badly for so long was underneath her, shielded from her sight by the walls of this tiny room. She hadn't seen it yet. But she would when she left it, wouldn't she? How bittersweet, how her heart wrested between longing to see it and a deep seated fear to stay rooted right where she was, to eliminate the risk of falling into the depths altogether.) 'It will be all right, Faline.' Tulu had assured her when a new door appeared. 'Trust the sea. It will guide you where you need to go.'

"Me?" Faline was jostled out of her thoughts by the dusty sailor who she startled with her unexplained entrance. Then he began hurling false accusations at her, as was the standard reception she was given wherever she went. If there was a problem, someone was sure to suspect her of causing it. (Perhaps when her spirit left her body after drinking the wine, she had caused trouble for the sailors instead of stealing pie? That was the only explanation she could come up with.) Destroyed his collection? Frustration climbed in her like simmering water in a pot and she marched to stand in front of Cyrra to face the man directly, placing her hands on her hips like an aggravated schoolteacher. "...You stole my cat! Poor Endymion does not like the water. How could you bind them to your ship, knowing that!?"

"Collection's kept in the captain's quarters. Captain's quarters are locked up tight... but the artifacts've been mysteriously disappearing all damned month!" The sailor spat, yanking roughly on Faline's braid the way he had when he found her in the captain's quarters. She grabbed at her scalp to lessen the sting and glared uncharacteristic daggers at the man. Catnappers deserved no mercy from her. "So what am I supposed to think when I find you in wandering 'round the captain's quarters, missy? I caught ya red handed. Only a time witch could pass through a locked door without explanation." The sailor smiled nastily, showing off teeth which he'd obviously never been inclined to care for. "That cursed black cat was bait for the time witch. Worked like a charm, didn't it? Didn't expect to catch two of you, though."

The sailor sniffed and shoved Faline so hard that she stumbled back into Cyrra.

"Stay cooped up in here for all I care." The sailor scoffed. Faline brushed herself off defiantly, allowing her mind to settle around the word 'cooped'. It reminded her of chickens. She reached in the pocket she'd sewn in her new dress and brushed at Hector's feather with her thumb for comfort. "Real work begins for you two when we dock. We're setting sail soon. Step foot out of this room and be prepared to earn your keep. You two got any special skills? Looks to me like you'll find a way to make yourself useful." The sailor regarded Cyrra before his gaze panned skeptically to Faline. "Little bird like you, though... best watch where you step. We don't got the most prestigious crew, if you know what I mean. Watch that mouth of yours before it gets you into trouble."

Faline tilted her head, running her fingers gently over her braid. Some of the strands had come loose. She did not know what he meant. "I know how to cook." Although she was not particularly inclined to go along with this, she was also determined to prove that she had skills of her own. "And sew. And..."

The sailor waved her off and began to make his leave. "Sure, sure. Show us later, Faline." He threw a dark look of warning over his shoulder. "...We dock in three days time. You two are gonna find the lost artifacts for us. Try to escape and we'll throw you overboard."

Faline gulped. They would be swimming with the fishes indeed. The heavy door slammed shut with a loud, dusty 'clunk'.

"Tulu told me to trust the sea. But I do not know if I want to trust that man. He did not even tell you his preferred means of death! Very rude." Faline mentioned airily, releasing the breath she'd been holding onto as her legs gave out from under her. She was trembling from the confrontation, chewing worriedly at her lower lip as she untied her braid and allowed her long hair to spill around her shoulders. She simply had to braid it again, because the man had gripped it and several strands had come loose. (She used to be very meticulous about this as a girl, tying her hair when she returned to the cottage after working outside so that granny would not make any scathing comments.) She tried to focus on this task instead of the fact that the ground was wobbling around unsteadily beneath her. The walls croaked and groaned. The sea was all around them. A somewhat hysteric laugh spilled from her. Her heart was pounding. It was in her throat. "We're at sea, aren't we? After all this time, I'm..." She blinked quickly, trying not to lose herself to panic. "I must admit I did not expect to meet it like this. I imagined seeing it on the shore... I intended to wave to it. Introduce myself properly." Then she blinked harder. "Cyrra, I did not steal any of those artifacts. You believe me, right?"