Exsanguination

Faerie tales from beyond the veil to the streets of RhyDin

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JewellRavenlock
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Post by JewellRavenlock »

March 2015 RSC
Little Elfhame; Old Market District
RhyDin


“And that’s what I meant by being just a step or two away from her because apparently my kids still being alive is the only thing keeping me from going off the deep end, so really maybe I am just on the edge. I mean, for all I know maybe the kids really aren’t alive and the only thing stopping me from losing my head and killing everyone I know out of spite is this thin, fool’s hope that I can get my children back one day.
Conversation between Jewell Ravenlock and Dr. Helen Bronner; February 2014


The woods south of RhyDin were not a particularly cheerful place at the start of March. Winter had robbed the trees of their leaves—save for a few that stubbornly clung to their branches, scratching and rattling in the wind—and left a crust covered mix of snow and slush on the ground to capture the feet of unwary travelers and make them stumble. Light rain sent curls of mist and fog to wrap around slick tree trunks, giving everything a sodden look under a dreary grey sky. Yet Jewell didn’t notice any of it, traipsing carelessly as if on a pleasant summer stroll to pick wildflowers.

The further she wandered from Faerie, the further she wandered into a reality of her own making. As her path transitioned from the dreary woods to slushy cobblestone streets, she filled her head with adventures in the dueling venues, exploits in Little Elfhame, what she was going to wear tomorrow, the way Kal’s eyes looked at night, Tara’s laughter, the new scarf Taneth had given her that made the water come alive again even if only for a moment, what pizza tasted like, how adorable Mason and Eva were, the trophy her team was going to win next year in IFL, how funny Jules had been when she was falling down drunk a few weeks ago, how fabulous Koy was going to make her look at Fashion Week... On and on and on! She made plans for this evening (maybe a bout of dueling or a trip to The Line) and for the rest of this week, next week, every week! As long as she filled her head with happy thoughts, there was no room for the obtrusive truth. There was no room for dead children, years of searching spent in vain, or the political manipulations that had entrapped her. There was neither room for the dirty deeds done to punish those who had wronged her nor for the punishment she had received in return to fit her crimes.

It was harder to play pretend when reality elbowed and shoved its way in little by little. The second she stepped inside the cavernous house in Little Elfhame—much too large for the two people that intended to live in it from now on—she was in trouble. Her bare feet sounded too loud on the tile floor, echoing in the emptiness. The door slammed shut behind her, pulled by a gust of cold air. There were no tiny little feet subsequently marching inside, following her into their new home to replace the one that had burned down. The vestibule closet stood half empty, hangers swinging as the breeze stirred them against each other. There were no little coats and jackets to put away as planned.

“Not good,” she shook her head numbly, forcing herself to go to the kitchen. She suddenly felt rather nauseous, her stomach tied in knots. A cup of peppermint tea would relieve that. Right. It would warm her up too. Good plan. A much better idea than going out tonight! She would just cuddle up on the couch with tea and a book; she could see her friends tomorrow.

Except when she opened the cabinet to get a mug, a line of newly purchased ones in different colors greeted her. Ishmerai had cautioned that it was a bad idea, but she just couldn’t resist. Blue for her and Amanda. Dark red for Moradin. Purple for Devyn and maroon for Kerrick. Turquoise for Eva Jade. Grey for Raven and black for Oz. The ceramic-ware rattled as she slammed the cabinet door shut. She curled her hands over the edge of the counter, trying to stop the trembling that suddenly afflicted them and taking deep breaths to make her head stop spinning.

Clearly she had been wrong. A bath would be much better than a cup of tea. She loved baths! She could even put some of those lavender bath salts in. A bath was just the thing. It would drive out the chill that had seeped right into her bones during her walk from the portal site. But if she was so chilled, why were her hands and feet now sweating? The soles of her feet felt so hot against the cold tile floor, and her fingers couldn’t find purchase on the countertop. “Bath,” she said out loud, reminding herself of what she wanted to do, forcing it to the stay at the forefront of her mind and block out everything else.

It did little good. Her heart was pounding, breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps as she started up the stairs. Panic and anxiety overwhelmed her as she stumbled up the last two. When she got to the top, she glanced to the stairs that ascended to the third floor. “Not that way,” she whispered to herself. That way was a floor of bedrooms set aside for children that no longer existed. Rooms painted with the help of Lain to suit each of their personalities and just waiting to be filled with books, toys, and clothes. Jewell had a plan. Once the children were back, she was going to take them shopping one-by-one. Each of them would have a whole day alone with her. They would go shopping, go out to lunch, and do whatever else they wanted. It was going to be perfect.

She turned her back on the entrance to the third floor, finding that she needed to keep her hand against the wall to help keep herself upright as she walked down the hall. Then she stopped again, rooted to doorway of her bedroom. Grey eyes were drawn to the closed door next to her closet that lead off into a little side room. It contained the portraits of her children, a reminder that they were still with her in some way. She could go in there and talk to them, pretend that they weren’t so very far away really. They were just out of reach for now, but one day they would be back. She was going to get them back. Until then, they were just sleeping. They weren’t gone. They weren’t dead. They were just dreaming. And she was going to get them back.

There was a scream stuck in her throat, choking her, as pain tightened her chest. “This isn’t real,” she thought to herself, her head swimming. Her body was trembling, but no longer from the cold, as she lurched towards that damn door. She was going to open it up and the portraits were going to be there, lining the walls, just as they had stood in the gallery in the Ta-Neer manor house for the last two hundred years. They were going to be there, waiting for her. Yes, they were still waiting for her to set them free.

Her fingers felt numb as she forced them around the doorknob and twisted it, throwing open the door. A brief sense of elation and relief filled her before the mage lights kicked on and dimly illuminated the room.

It was empty.

“No no no no no.” She shook her head, backing away from the empty room. The reality of it was too much. It was all too much. Hearing from her cousin’s lips the final confirmation that they were dead had not been as real as the blank walls staring back at her, accusingly empty.

“You failed,” the blank walls said.

“You didn’t save us.”

“You were supposed to bring us home.”

“Failure.”

“Useless.”

“Worthless.”

“Guilty guilty guilty!”

It was just too much. Jewell moved for her vanity, practically falling over her own two feet now. They felt like lead, and the feeling was creeping up through her limbs to settle inside her. Soon she would turn to lead. A cold, lifeless hunk of metal. It was already building in her chest, making breathing difficult. She leaned heavily against the vanity, scattering a hair comb and bracelets to the floor in her suddenly desperate search. She needed to make it stop: the constricting of her heart, the twisting in her stomach, the noise in her head. Clumsy fingers finally landed on what she sought, a small true silver knife mixed in amongst the necklaces knotted together in a giant heap.

Ishmerai had been right to be concerned. Jewell couldn’t be trusted on her own. Over and over in her head, she heard Muirenn’s words: “She had them killed. She had them killed. SHE HAD THE KILLED!” The grief was overwhelming, driving her into an hysterical panic without even the slightest hope to cling to now. In an act of self-preservation learned years ago, she slammed her left arm flat onto the surface of the vanity and drew the knife across the top of it.

Jewell paused to enjoy the slight sting before she did it again, letting droplets of red, sweet smelling blood fall to the floor as she pulled the knife away.

It took a third run of that blade against her injured arm before the endorphins flooded her system, bringing with them a sense of relief as she watched the blood trickle down from her fingers and paint a pretty strand of pearls sitting atop the vanity. The sweet release of tears remained elusive for now, so she would bleed instead. Two more triple-sliced cuts and the panicky, shallow breathing subsided, bringing down her heart rate as she focused on the physical pain burning her arm instead of the emotional pain tearing her to pieces inside. Jewell Ravenlock knew what to do with physical pain. A fourth series of cuts and she slowly settled to the floor, comforted.
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JewellRavenlock
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Post by JewellRavenlock »

March 2015 RSC
The Misty Forest; Taneth’s Little Cottage
RhyDin


Jewell was happily settled on the crisp green grass of a clearing in the Misty Forest. Although winter still had its fingers gripped around RhyDin, the sun was shining here and the blue haired Faerie was humming as she knotted together a crown of flowers. The little sprites that hovered in the air around her, darting hither and thither, kept dropping fresh flowers into her lap to be added to the work of art she was making. “Why thank you! Oh that is a particularly lovely one,” she agreed, lifting up a forget-me-not and sniffing it. “Yes, these are one of my favorites.”

She hummed a few more notes of a song, holding up the crown for inspection before continuing her work. “I’m very sorry I did not see you all last night. I ran into Kalamere. He is so very handsome you know.” The gathering of sprites she was speaking to didn’t know, but they listened eagerly all the same, shouting out questions to her. “Yes yes. He is very tall and extremely good looking. Can you believe I avoided visiting him for several weeks now? I was afraid he didn’t fancy me anymore.” They all made sympathetic noises as she spun her story, and quite a story it was. The real reason she had stayed away from The Line (save for a quick visit to place her Madness bets which happened to coincide with a time she believed Kal would be absent) was because she was terrified the handsome half-elf would ask her how her trip to Faerie had gone. She should have known better. Kal was safe company because he never pushed.

She braided another two flowers together, laughing at one of the questions posed to her. “Oh we do more than kiss! But I do like his kisses ever so much. They might be my favorite out of all the kisses I’ve ever had,” she confided in her new friends. They all gasped and tittered with laughter. Favorite kisses were very serious! Although she had a very important duel this evening, and had not gotten much (if any) sleep last night, Jewell continued to whittle away her hours in the Misty Forest. In the last two weeks, it had easily become her favorite place to hide away.

“It really is so kind of Taneth to let me stay here while my house is being painted,” she chatted with one of the little sprites that had settled on her shoulder, tired of gathering flowers. Jewell had decided that Taneth’s Little Cottage was the safest place to stay because Taneth was very good at playing pretend. She even rivalled Tara! The Empress had considered and tried several other residences (her own home avoided at all costs), but many of her friends didn’t seem to understand the rules of the game she was playing. They kept breaking them, leaving Jewell fearful that somehow, one of them would know. And no one could know! As soon as someone knew, she was sure they would force that knowing upon her. They would make her accept it. Believe it. Embrace it.

And she just wasn’t ready for the game to end.

In the Misty Forest, no one cared that she wrapped herself in glamour and played pretend. The whole clearing was saturated with her magic now, mixing with the flowers and trees and the very air as she cocooned herself in layer upon layer of illusion, creating her own little safe haven to protect herself from the world and from the truth. In these enchanted woods, there was no need for knives and cruel cuts to her flesh to make herself forget. In the Misty Forest, reality was what she made it.

In the Misty Forest, there were no dead children.
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March 2015 RSC
Diggy’s Diner; Dragon’s Gate District
RhyDin


“Aemi,” the nasally teen boy working the counter at Diggy’s Diner shrilled at his co-worker, “you can’t go to the WestEnd tonight! Didn’t you hear about the recent murders there?”

The electric, fluorescent lights of the small eatery flickered once then twice as a wave of magic rolled over the area, momentarily disrupting the technology. Jewell didn’t notice. At the word “murder” her whole body went rigid, eyes locked onto the smooth, brown liquid in her mug.

The young man continued, oblivious to the effect he was having on the customer at the counter. “One girl was even bled to death. Every last drop sucked out of her by some monster!”

Jewell did not hear any more of the conversation. She stood up abruptly, upsetting some of her hot chocolate onto the counter, and choked out one question to the young people: “Bathroom?” The young man looked at The Empress with annoyance, and with a roll of his eyes, he pointed at the far end of the counter; a little sign hung on the wall with the word “restroom” and an arrow.

She nodded gratefully to the young man, who simply turned back to his pretty co-worker even as Jewell stumbled and almost fell over a nearby stool in her attempt to reach the restroom, shoving the offending furniture out of her way. Now both of the workers were staring at her, but she didn’t notice anymore. Her heartbeat was a roar in her ears, blocking out all else. Jewell reached the narrow restroom door and slammed it shut behind her, leaning forward on the chipped and dirty porcelain sink, and breathing heavily. Half the light above the sink was blown out and the other flickered badly, casting shadows across her face as she looked up from the calcium and grime covered sink drain and into the mirror.

A spider web of fractures made her reflection look distorted and ghastly. Fractured. Broken.

Jewell was still deeply mired in the depths of denial, but reality kept intruding upon the glamoured illusion she had cast. Reality kept making her remember.

The young man in the diner spoke of murder and blood.

And Jewell remembered death.

Issy told her, “I'm so proud of you,” before kissing her cheek.

And she remembered acutely how she had failed.

Tara spoke to her quietly, “Okay maybe yer brainpan isn't inhabitated by some alien but you know, I know when yer not yerself an' yer not yerself tonight.”

And she remembered how and why she had lost herself.

There was a fire in Old Market.

And she remembered the first fire and all that it had cost her.

When she tried to happily chatter about Fashion Week, reality had been there in the form of Tara crying to her, “The last time I went to Koy's Fashion Week event, where she honored you, I wore a blue dress in honor of you an' you WERE DEAD!”

And she remembered why she had died and the children who had been stolen from their beds that night.

Even when she should have been at the height of happiness with the opening of I’Yulna at the Fashion Week kickoff event, Matt was there holding little Thia’s hand and carrying baby Malachite.

And she remembered the little arms that used to grasp around her neck and sloppy, baby kisses on her cheek.

Then Mason called her out so clearly: “Bullshit, Jewell. You don't have to tell us but give us the respect not to lie.” Cute guy Jon pin-pointed the problem easily as well with his sweet smile, "Hey, if you don't want to talk about it, I can act like I'm not interested in it. We'll both be lying then." And Tara had yelled and grumbled at her, “YER A LIAR!”

And she remembered the seven very good reasons why she had to lie to everyone else and herself.

The children were dead. The children were dead. The children were dead!

“No no no!” Jewell curled her fingers into the hair at her temple, pressing them painfully into her skull. She needed to squeeze the memories out, to keep them away, to keep them from hurting her because mother of nature, they all hurt so bad!
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March 2015 RSC
Little Elfhame; Old Market District
RhyDin


“Being numb is nay a way to live. 'Tis nay living 'tall, Jewell.” Eless leaned back in her chair with a quite sigh and a half-smile. “Eventually the pain and the truth doth surface. 'Tis better to face it on thy terms than on anyone else's.”

The Empress wondered briefly what Eless would think of the terms on which Jewell chose to face the truth, but the thought was cut short when her opponent’s fist connected with her face. Stars exploded right before her eyes and her ears rung as she stumbled back in the high heel booties she had worn to a Fashion Week event earlier in the day. She was up against the ropes now, throwing her arms up and grimacing as the man she had been pitted against in the rings followed her relentlessly, driving his fist into her forearms. “Ungh,” she grunted, the fresh cuts along her arms from this afternoon screaming at the impact.

She let him punch her one more time, a body-curling blow to her stomach that she sadistically enjoyed. “Had enough, little one?” Nichi, tonight’s undefeated champion, taunted her. All the training in the Outback demanded of her: Get up, fight back, do something! Ever so slowly, she straightened her protesting torso and lowered her arms to stare at him, her one eye already half-closed with swelling. Gathering some saliva in her mouth, Jewell spit the blood-tainted mix at his feet and raised her fists in a gesture clearly meant to say: “Let’s go again.”

His fist on a collision course with her temple was the last thing Jewell saw.

About an hour later, The Empress swayed a bit on her feet as she tried to get her front door open, those heeled booties serving as a hindrance to balance in her highly inebriated and possibly concussed state. Nichi’s finishing move had done her in for the night; she thought someone may have told her after she regained consciousness that he called the move, “The Finisher.” How lame was that? She laughed at the thought, a bit giddy, as she struggled with her keys.

She didn’t really regret losing the fight to Nichi or all the money she had on her at the time. The second she had finished her afternoon tea with Eless, where she had finally ended her little game and admitted to her friend everything that had happened in Faerie, she had gone straight to the nearest dive bar to get shit faced. From there, it was on to the fight club. It was the only way she could think of to prepare herself for entering her house in Little Elfhame again. It was a funny, self-destructive ceremony, but there was no way she could face the empty walls without their portraits and the empty bedrooms without their occupants completely sound and sober.

The flippy-floppy feeling in her stomach did make her regret the post-fight tequila shot though, and maybe the half a dozen beers from before the fight that had made taking on Nichi seem like a good idea in the first place. She punched the front door with busted, cracked knuckles, “Come on!” but it took a few more moments of fighting with her key before it finally swung open, pushing a pile of mail along with it. She’d deal with that tomorrow. Maybe. For now, she stepped onto and over the letters remaining in her path, swinging the door shut behind her with a loud bang. Inhaling deeply, she called out, “I’m home!”

There was only silence to greet her.
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March 2015 RSC
The Continental; Dockside District
RhyDin


Jewell’s palm slammed into the man’s temple as his lips sought hers. He stumbled back a step, cursing at her. “I told you,” she followed him without hesitation, a snapkick to his stomach driving him back against the opposite wall of the alley, the situation suddenly reversed from moments ago, “leave me alone!”

He held his hands up, attempting to pacify her now that she had proved to have a little bit too much fight in her; those were not the kind of women he usually preyed upon when he visited The Continental, one of RhyDin’s countless dive bars. “Look, I’m sorry, I was just…”

Her fist connected with his mouth, her knuckles cutting open on his teeth as his head snapped back. Anger—so quick to come to her these days—easily diffused the effects of the alcohol flooding her system. The wrong word, gesture, look, and she could feel the fury bubbling up near the surface, demanding to be let out. She had been trying so hard to contain it, burning it off in the fight club rings when necessary, but she let it out now on this man.

Each blow was well-practiced, well-delivered, well-intended to cause the most crippling pain. Ishmerai’s voice whispered the name of each pressure point to hit: the ulnar and radial nerves; then the peroneal and femoral nerves; and don’t forget the jugular notch and brachial. She attacked each, her fists, elbows, and knees all at her disposal, a ferocity she didn’t normally display in the rings of the Outback the driving force behind each attack. These points could serve as the centers of healing, but with the right amount of violent application of force, they could leave a grown man whimpering on the cobblestone ground of some dirty alley in RhyDin.

Even when he was down, attempting to hold his arms up to try and protect his face, the Faerie was relentless. The heavy beat of the house music coming from the nearby club blocked out his pathetic pleas. In a morbid reverse of what he had probably wished for earlier, The Empress straddled him as she drove her fists, red with a mix of their blood, into his face over and over and over again.

Only when his neck snapped back, causing his head to bounce off the brick wall in a way that skulls were not meant to bounce, did she halt the onslaught. Her chest heaved with each breath as she got to her feet and stumbled away from his now prone body. A euphoric, hysterical peal of laughter escaped her lips at seeing him that way, at seeing the destructive, delightful work of her hands. Oh how good it felt to purge herself of even an ounce of anger!

The sudden high did not last long, her laughter tapering off into a stream of profanity: “ Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit .”

This is what she had been afraid of all along. Since she had stepped back into RhyDin, the precipice of despair had continually widened to her right, but to the left was a chasm of anger. How much more tempting that way seemed as it called her name in a sweet cadence! But who else would suffer if she chose that path? The Empress certainly didn’t care about the man lying dead to the world at her feet, but what about her friends? The little family she had left? Would they be sacrifices to her grief fueled her rage? It wasn’t worth the risk. She would have to be more careful from now on.

Right now though, she had to deal with this mess. “Come on, focus,” she commanded herself. It took a few deep, steadying breaths before she could get to work. Bending over, she grabbed the man’s wallet from his pocket. She removed all the money from it before tossing the cheap, faux-leather accessory further down the alley. She hastily wiped the blood off her hands and onto her dress; that was easy enough to glamour after all. Then it was time to go find the nearest member of The Watch; it seemed like a robber was on the loose in the area and she was quite shaken up over what they had done to some poor man in the alley behind The Continental!

After that, she thought it might be time for another drink.
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April 2015 RSC
Little Elfhame; Old Market District
RhyDin


Water droplets gathered at the hem of her dress, and every involuntary shiver sent them dripping dripping dripping to the floor. “I told them,” Jewell stated, her forehead pressed against the glass door that lead out to the patio. The driving rain—no warm, spring showers despite the flowers that were trying to bloom in her garden—had driven her back inside sometime after midnight. Once, it would have felt like a protective embrace, the loving touch of her mother element. Those days were long gone, just like everything else.

Her left arm hung like dead weight at her side, feeling like lead when she lifted it up slowly to take a sip from a bottle of whiskey (distilled beyond the veil, of course). Lately, it was easier to drink at home. At home she didn’t have to pretend. At home, she could let her glamour fall and be as miserable as she felt. At home, there was no one to harm but herself. The passing lights of boats and barges navigating their way down the river filtered over her skin, illuminating a ghastly canvas of bruises, cuts, scrapes, and abrasions.

The pain, the alcohol… they were just temporary patches. Every time she needed a little bit more to convince herself to take a step back from the edge. “It will feel like going through the motions for a long time. Maybe easier to feel nothing than to feel anything at all. Or like you're standing next to some great chasm, and you can forget it's there for a second, but then you teeter at the edge and you remember how hard you have to work all the time to keep from falling,” Eva had reassured her, but Jewell wondered what happened if she just couldn't work anymore? What happened when she wanted to fall?

Maybe she was already falling. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, didn’t feel like moving. She was content to let herself waste away, obsessing over the trail of death she was leaving in her wake. First there was that little baby who didn’t even stand a chance. And how many times had Alex died? Then there was Skyler left dead on her doorstep. Trent lost on the streets of New York. Stephen as good as dead, his mind twisted and ruined. Her seven precious little souls lost beyond the veil: Amanda Ravenlock, Brian Moradin Ravenlock, Eva Jade Collista Ravenlock, Oz Collista Ravenlock, Raven Collista Ravenlock, Kerrick Alexander Ravenlock, and Devyn Jewell Ravenlock.

And now there was Taneth. Taneth with her golden sunshine hair, sweet smiles, and calming presence that soothed her pain. Taneth, the safe haven she had retreated to when she had returned from Faerie. How had she repaid her friend for such kindness? Death had visited Taneth too. It was dodging Jewell’s steps at every turn, taking her apart bit by bit. Shifting to press her shoulder up against the glass, she slid slowly to the floor, curling her knees to her chest. “It’s only a few steps behind me now,” she whispered to the empty house, filled with the ghosts she had created. “I just wish it would hurry up.”
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April 2015
Adam’s Fight Club; Dockside District
RhyDin


Tonight, Jewell was fighting at Adam’s in Dockside. Some nights she won and walked away with prize money, which usually ended up in the lap of the first homeless person she passed, but not tonight. The chain links of the ring fence bit into her back as her opponent wailed on her arms. They were up protecting her face from any further damage (two black eyes was probably enough), and with each blow, she could feel the cuts hidden beneath her glamour break open, the blood running freely off her elbows.

But she still wanted her opponent to hit her harder. She wanted him to hit her so hard, she couldn’t hear the words in her head anymore: “You still care about us, and they'll still go after us.” Eva was right. Two hundred years in Faerie couldn’t make her stop caring, and no matter what she did, all the people she loved were still vulnerable. Tears of frustration stung her bruised and bleeding face as she curled sideways under the onslaught of a particularly strong attack, readying herself for the knock-out. It would be so welcome. So blissfully quiet.

It never came.

Lowering her arms, Jewell sighed. “Oh shit .”

Ishmerai stood in the ring opposite her. Her original opponent was laid out at his feet. “This fight is over,” he growled.

The pit master pushed through the booing crowd, throwing open the gate but daring to go no further. He was not a brave man, and the fae knight looked very angry. “Hey! We’ve got rules around here for fights. No intervening!”

The knight didn’t seem to hear the man. He grabbed his sulking lady roughly by the upper arm, ignoring her cry of pain, and dragged her out of the ring. He paused at the gate, tossing a wad of money at the man’s feet. “For your troubles.”

The crowd parted for the glowering knight and lady. Ishmerai tuned out Jewell’s protest and pleas until they were outside of the club. Then he pushed her away from him. She caught herself on the slimy, brick wall of the club, falling into an uncomfortable lean; it was the only thing keeping her on her feet. Picking at a loose string on her dress sleeve, avoiding his gaze, Jewell greeted her knight for the first time in two months, “You know they’re never gonna let me fight here again now.” It didn’t really matter: she had created a circuit of the fight clubs in RhyDin. She would find another.

He pointed a finger accusingly at her. “You were supposed to go to Lady Rynieyn’s, Mira! Or to Eva and Mason’s. Lady Isuelt’s! Or even Lord Ar’Din’s. Somewhere.”

She looked away from him, rolling up her sleeve to examine her arm. “You bruised me,” she observed stoically. It was actually impossible to tell.

“Mira,” he growled.

Jewell sighed, letting her sleeve fall back down. “I tried, all right? I went to Taneth’s for a while but…” she squeezed her eyes shut tight, breathing in sharply through her nose.

“But what?” He was not interested in her excuses tonight.

She opened her eyes to glare at him. His impatience threw a wall up between them. He didn’t deserve to know about Taneth. “But it just got too difficult, okay?”

He stared at her, hard. “Show me what you have done to yourself.” She looked up, down, to the side, anywhere but at him. “Jewell, drop your glamour and show me!”

“No!” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You had a job to do. Did you do it?”

Ishmerai sighed, “It is not that simple. There are still tasks that I need to see to.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here, Ishmerai? Hmm? Your lady gave you a job to do, so get your ass back to Faerie and do it!”

He took a deep breath. “It is not that simple. I have been following every lead, but you have not made it easy since they all result in dead ends.”

“Oh, so now this is all my fault?”

“That is not what I said!”

“How about you stop blaming me and just do your fucking job. Do your job, Merai! Find my children.”

“Your children are dead, Jewell! They are DEAD.” She shrunk back away from him at that, but he did not relent. “There is no finding them. Not now. Not ever! I am trying to do my job by coming back here to make sure you do not end up dead as well.”

She simply stared at him a moment, blankly, before turning away and trying to slip past him. It wasn’t difficult; she had become so thin she was almost a ghost herself at this point. “I’m going home.”

“Mira..” he instantly regretted yelling at her.

“Go home, Ishmerai,” she called wearily over her shoulder at him. “Go back to Faerie. Your lady is already gone.”
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April 2015 RSC
Little Elfhame; Old Market District
RhyDin


Ishmerai carefully waded through the mess that was the living room. He walked around the pile of spent matches and the singed carpet, thinking what a great idea it had been to ward the house so thoroughly against fire. He wondered how angry Jewell was that she had been unable to burn it all down. He nudged empty bottles of alcohol out of his way, stepping over her discarded shoes, accessories, and blood-stained dresses.

Between the two couches (bereft of their cushions and covered with the entirety of the Faerie’s wardrobe) was his lady’s newly appointed living quarters. Having stolen cushions and blankets from different parts of the house, she had formed a fortress (much like a child would) on the floor to serve as her bed, her mop of blue hair currently sticking out the one side. Within easy reach were half-full bottles of alcohol. He crouched carefully next to her head, setting aside the items for bribery he had brought with him. “Mira, wake up.” He shook her shoulder gently, still unsure about the extent of her injuries. How she managed to use such extensive glamour in this city of iron and with her body so weak, he couldn’t imagine.

“Mrmrmm,” she grumbled, opening her eyes and wincing as if the midafternoon sun was painful (it was since she was that hungover). When her red-rimmed, grey eyes focused in on her knight, she scowled and threw her arm over her face. “What are you still doing here?” She hadn’t seen the knight since she had left him outside Adam’s the other night. “I thought you left. I told you to go.”

“I heard about your friend Taneth.” Her body went rigid, and the lack of verbal response was telling. “I am sorry, Mira. I know you cared for her.”

She let her arm fall away only when she knew she could maintain her icy stare at her knight. “Yeah well, shit happens. But that doesn’t answer why you’re still here.”

“Jewell, what happened to that young woman is not your fault.” She rolled her eyes upwards, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead of at the fae. “Jewell…”

“What?” She snapped at him, finally sitting up even though every muscle in her body screamed at her, begging her not to move ever ever ever again. “What, Ishmerai? Is this why you’re here? To sit on the floor and tell me, ‘Don’t worry, Mira. Everything is going to be okay!’ Because guess what? It’s not! It’s not okay. My children are dead. Taneth is dead. At the rate I’m going, the body count I’ll be leaving behind me is going to be so high…” she couldn’t finish, her words sticking in her throat. She was asphyxiating, choking on the words, on death. Her breaths came in rapid, shallow gasps that weren’t capable of filling her lungs. Jewell shoved her hand into the pocket of her dress, wrapping her fingers around the razor blade hidden there until the sharp edge bit into her skin. It wasn’t enough.

Unsympathetic, Ishmerai frowned at her as he stood, brushing his pants off. The floor was filthy. “All I was going to say was get up.” He held up the bag of food that he had set on the floor, waving it around so the delicious scent of burritos filled the air. “Come on. We need to speak.”

“No.” Jewell shook her head, even though her stomach rumbled loudly. “No no no. I don’t want to speak with you. Just go away.” Why wouldn’t he just leave? She was very busy. She had things to do. Death was on its way.

Sighing, he dangled the other bribe in her field of vision: a bottle of tequila.

She scowled, the battle lost. “Did you bring limes?”
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April 2015 RSC
Little Elfhame; Old Market District
RhyDin

The tequila bottle was passed back and forth between them every now and then, empty burrito wrappers already discarded off to the side. Jewell had taken a particularly long pull of their drink of choice after seeing the look on Ishmerai’s face when she finally dropped her glamour and showed him what she had done to herself. He looked so sad. His anger she could handle but not that sadness. She had enough of that on her own.

“I think you know that pushing everyone away will not work this time, Mira. That it is already not working.” He spoke with her calmly now as they sat on the patio, backs pressed against the house and legs stretched out on the ground in front of them. It was easier to watch the boats pass by on the river than to look at her and see how he had failed her.

She huffed, “You sound just like Eva.”

He smiled faintly. “Your doctor friend is a wise woman. What did she say?” He held his hand out for the bottle of tequila, plucking a slice of lime from the plate sitting between them. It had been difficult to find anything salvageable in the kitchen since Jewell had destroyed everything, but the little plate full of limes had escaped somehow.

Jewell handed off the bottle as she leaned her head carefully back against the wall, tilting it upwards as she tried to think of the exact wording: “Something about needing to pull my friends and family closer to ‘make an unbreakable force’ of myself so I don’t fall again.”

“Very wise.”

“But it’s not wise, Ishmerai!” she snapped her head aside to look at him, black, blue, purple, and yellow skin making her look sickly at best. “Don’t you see?” Her anger was spent. All she had left was weary pleading. “I can’t put anyone in a position where they’ll get hurt, where someone will hurt them to hurt me. I just can’t. I already failed the children. I can’t do that to anyone else.”

“Jewell,” he waited to make sure he had her attention, “it does not work that way. It will never work that way. Simply pushing people away so they cannot be used against you does not work. You tried it before, correct?” He waited but she refused to even give a nod of agreement. Time for a different tactic: “Why did you go to Faerie by yourself originally?”

“To get my children back,” she replied bitterly.

“Yes. But why did you go alone? Why did you not seek help? Why did you not gather your friends for support? Why did you leave Stephen behind when he offered to come with you?”

She took a deep breath in and out through her nose before answering reluctantly. “Because I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Right. You pushed everyone away. You let them all believe you were dead. All for what? To protect them?” She nodded. “Did it work?”

“No,” her brow furrowed deeply, “because they still used them against me and hurt them anyway.”

“Exactly!” He sat up, bottle of tequila forgotten at his side. “You must see it, Mira! It is time for a different strategy. You cannot make yourself indifferent towards your loved ones, so they can always be used against you. Why not draw your friends closer to you instead? Let them support you. Let them help you. Let me help you.”

Her fingers curled in frustration. “But I feel so vulnerable! They make me vulnerable. You make me vulnerable!”

“You are vulnerable, Jewell. You are probably as vulnerable now as you will ever be. Do not make it worse than it has to be by pushing everyone away.”
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April 2015 RSC
Dr. Helen Bronner’s Office; New Haven District
RhyDin


“So that’s why you’re back,” Dr. Helen Bronner stated. Her heart felt heavy. Traumatic experiences were not unusual in RhyDin, but this was too much.

Jewell took a deep breath. “That’s why I’m back.”

“And how do you feel that you are coping?” Dr. Bronner asked kindly.

She laughed humorlessly, running a hand through her mess of blue hair. Her hands tended to shake these days if she didn’t keep them moving. Just keep moving and everything would be okay, right? But she had to stop running sometime. “I think the real question is am I coping?”

“You feel like you may be avoiding dealing with it?”

“May?” Jewell snorted. “I’m avoiding dealing with it, Doc. As much as I possibly can, day and night. It’s just too...” she grasped for how to describe the situation she found herself in, “big. Too much.”

“And how is that working for you?” Helen paused. “Really. None of that sugar-coated nonsense for me, Ms. Empress.”

That earned a smile but not much of one as Jewell fell back into the couch cushions, managing not to wince in pain. How was this whole facade working for her? She had dropped it a little. Stopped pushing people away so much. That seemed like something. But there was still that feeling of drowning. Of falling apart. Of just falling. There were still the cuts on her arms. The bruises decorating her skin. The bottles of liquor to help ease her to sleep each night. The fights to dull the pain. She shrugged a little, “Not so hot, I guess. At least I’m talking to my friends again.”

“You had stopped?” Jewell just nodded a little. “Why? Was it too painful?”

“Well,” her brow furrowed, “I guess it was part that. The sympathy in their eyes. Their tears. It made it so real. Like this wasn’t just some horrible fantasy I had imagined. This wasn’t something I could just wake up from because they saw it too.” Jewell knotted her fingers together, fidgeting. Just keep moving. Don’t stop. “But it was more than that. I wanted to push everyone away. I wanted to push them so far away because…” she could feel her chest restricting, that panicky feeling welling up inside. She took a few deep breaths in through her nose before she was able to continue, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes roughly. “I wanted to save them. Protect them.”

“From who?”

“Me. My family. Everyone.”

Helen’s brow furrowed. “Why would pushing them away do that?”

Jewell shook her head ruefully. No one seemed to get it. “Because it’s me. I’m the reason people end up in trouble. I’m the reason people end up getting hurt. I’m the reason my children are dead.”

“Jewell…”

“No. I know that’s not entirely right. I know I didn’t kill them. I didn’t slit their throats. I didn’t cut their lives short. But you know what? I didn’t save them either. And isn’t that just as bad? Isn’t it?” Her voice rose, rusty and raspy from all the screams she had been holding back.

They stared at each other. The only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock and Jewell’s ragged breathing. “No. It isn’t. It isn’t as bad,” Dr. Bronner finally stated firmly. The statement let all the air out of her patient, and she watched Jewell just deflate back into the couch. They sat in silence again for a while before Helen ventured to ask, “So what changed, Jewell? What made you stop pushing them away?”

She sounded so defeated when she finally responded. “Ishmerai said.. he told me, ‘Jewell. All people die. All people get hurt. If they do get hurt, when they do eventually die for whatever reason, do you want to forever regret that you didn’t spend more time with them? That you didn’t tell them how much you loved them all?’ And the answer was simple: no. I want to hold on to as much of them as I can for however long I can until that end comes.”
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April 2015 RSC
The Rock; WestEnd
RhyDin


On a night when Harris stated with a yawn that “Death comes for everyone” and Jet talked about loving “the ones drowned in their own blood” best and Lirssa pecked an innocent kiss to her cheek that made her suddenly miss all the kisses she wouldn’t get from her own daughters, Jewell’s options were limited: either get smashed or get smashed in the face. To Ishmerai’s dismay and consternation, she went for the latter. Nothing quite cured heartache like an ear-ringing blow to the head. Or five.

“Mira,” he sighed out as he assisted her in leaving the club, an arm loosely around her waist to prevent her from falling as she pressed a bloody rag to her broken lip.

She swayed dangerously to one side before stumbling back the other way into Ishmerai. He was a rock, unmovable, so Jewell leaned against him. It was so much easier than supporting herself right now.

“Mira,” he tried again as he half carried her down the dark streets of the WestEnd. “I cannot keep watching you do this to yourself.”

“Yeah yeah,” she tried to wave his objection away, her gold bangles jangling as she struck at the air.

“No Mira. You misunderstand me.” She almost fell when he removed the safety of his arm from around her. He wouldn’t really let her fall. Instead, he watched carefully as she righted herself slowly, gold high heels wobbling on the cobblestones. “I will not continue to watch you do this to yourself.”

Jewell laughed, drunk on adrenaline. “What do you mean? What are you going to do? Just walk away and leave me here?”

“Yes.”

Stunned, she stared at him blankly. “What? No.” She shook her head. “No, you’re joking.”

“I am not. I have stood with you through many things, my lady, many many things. But I will not stand with you while you kill yourself.”

“I’m not trying to kill myself! And it’s not that bad!” she spouted out denials quickly as she tried to understand what he was saying to her. “I’m not.. it’s not..” she stopped as a wave of null-magic rolled over the area. It stripped the glamour from her, leaving her momentarily exposed before him in all her self-destructive glory. The bruises, the cuts. Just as quick as it had gone, the magic was back, bringing with it her affected perfection. But how could she stand there now and tell him it was not that bad? Tears formed in her eyes and her chest started to heave. “You can’t… you can’t leave me!” Such a reverse of days ago when she had ordered him back to Faerie.

“And you cannot ask me to stay and watch you do this to yourself time and again! I will not do it, Mira. I will not.”

“What,” she rubbed at her eyes angrily, furious at her own tears. At him! “What do you want from me? I’m trying!”

“You are not trying hard enough!” The knight clenched his fists. “Do you know what it is like? Do you understand what it feels like to stand here and watch you do this to yourself? To watch you in this much pain?” She stayed stonily silent at his accusations, his questions. “To watch you slowly kill yourself? If you want to die, Mira, do everyone who loves you a favor and just get it over with and let us move on. But do not agonize us like this!”

“Ishmerai…”
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May 2015 RSC
Shrine to the Mother; North of RhyDin City
RhyDin


Jewell fell before the little shrine, really nothing more than a face carved into a tree and a scattering of old, browning flowers from past visitors. “Why? Why didn’t you protect them? Why didn’t you save them?”

The Mother/Daughter Picnic being hosted in town this afternoon had driven her from the city, seeking sanctuary. All those little girls, tugging on their mothers’ hands, dragging them towards the Botanical Gardens, their little voices shouting out gleefully. They were so full of happiness. So full of joy. So full of life.

The cheerful goodbye from the young woman who had given her directions to the shrine had been the killing blow: “And have a Happy Mother’s Day this weekend!”

A Happy Mother’s Day indeed!

“Why didn’t you let me save them? I could have done it! I’m not so very powerless. I could have..”

No one was around to hear her sobs, not today. Not even Ishmerai.
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May 2015 RSC
Little Elfhame; Old Market District
RhyDin


The Empress hummed as she strolled down the streets of Little Elhame. Life wasn’t so very bad. The sun was shining. She had a steaming hot coffee in her hands (she had to actually keep switching hands because it was so hot) to chase off the early morning chill. Her neighborhood was abuzz with activity as everyone was still cleaning up after Friday night’s festivities. She had not only survived Beltane but enjoyed herself immensely. She had also survived her first Mother’s Day since losing the children (with only a slight meltdown at Lirssa’s kindness). She just had to take life one day at a time and everything would eventually be fine!

Suddenly, she paused not far from the house. As part of her arrangement with Ishmerai, she had taken up running again. Since she couldn’t sleep much anymore, it seemed like a good idea. It got the endorphins pumping through her veins, cleared her head, and kept some of the crazy at bay. However, the lingering effects from her run drained away, replaced by knots in her stomach and a tight feeling in her chest as she stared at one of the posters on the wall of Nephila’s seamstress shop: seven smiling children.

She strayed closer to the poster, tilting her sunglasses down to read it.
Are you a child who can sing and dance? Do you have a child who can sing and dance? Would you like to make the hills come alive with The Sound of Music?

The Shanachie needs you!


Her mouth was quickly filling with saliva, a companion to that sick feeling in her empty stomach. She wasn’t sure when she had dropped her coffee, but the cup was crushed underfoot as she stepped even closer to the wall, so close that the picture began to blur. It was easy to see different children then. Her children. Seven children gone, their throats all slit. Seven children smiling, staring at her.

With a cry of frustration, Jewell tore at the poster, pulling it down off the wall. She ripped it in two before balling the pieces up and throwing it to the ground in the puddle that was once her coffee.

One step forward and two steps back.

((Just a note: I LOVE the Shanachie theater and all of their amazing, interactive, events))
Last edited by JewellRavenlock on Tue May 12, 2015 5:56 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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May 2015 RSC
Dr. Helen Bronner’s Office; New Haven District
RhyDin


“It’s just not working,” Jewell shouted at the doctor as she paced the room, highly agitated. Her muscles stood out rigid, tense.

Helen tried to be the calm voice of reason, “You just keep doing what you’ve been doing, Jewell. Keep going through the motions. Pretend you’re happy. Laugh. Smile. Do what you do best. One day, you’ll be surprised because you’ll find that you actually mean it when you smile and laugh, that you actually enjoy life again.”

“But I have been going through the motions!” She stomped her foot. “No one is better at it than me! I smile. I laugh. I flirt. I go to work. I go out for a drink. I fight in the rings,” she gestured wildly but futilely, grasping for something. “No matter what I do. I feel like it’s eating me alive.” She paused to take a few deep breaths, her shoulders sagging. “It isn’t so bad when I’m busy. Like during Beltane. Beltane was amazing, and at times I thought to myself, ‘Hey, maybe I will be okay after all!’ Or when I go to the duels or to work. But the moment I stop? The moment when everything around me stops? It all comes crashing back down on me. And I just keep trying to pretend that everything is okay, but it’s not. And.. and it just keeps feeling so empty underneath it all. So fake. And it also just feels so wrong! Why should I get to live? Why should I get to go on and enjoy my life when they don’t get to? Why should I get to smile and laugh and be happy? Why?”

“It is wrong. It is so very very wrong. This is not how life is supposed to be. You are supposed to grow.. well, not old I guess. But you are supposed to be able to watch your children grow up. To enjoy them. Be with them. See them turn into promising adults. But this is the hand you have been dealt, Jewell. I know you love to fix things, to control things, but this is just out of your control. You have no other choice but to just deal with it. Find some way to deal with it.”

“Well that’s just bullshit ,” she spit out bitterly.

“Jewell, maybe the reason nothing you’re trying, nothing anyone has suggested, is working is because you haven’t let yourself really grieve yet. First you hid from it for weeks, months. Now you’re just trying to move on from it without ever dealing with it, without ever accepting it.” The blue haired woman turned her head sharply away from her. This was not what she wanted to hear. Dr. Bronner called her name again to get her attention, “Jewell, before you can move on, you need to let yourself grieve first.”
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May 2015 RSC
Little Elfhame; Old Market District
RhyDin


Jewell sat on the roof of what would one day be The Empress, the hottest boutique hotel in RhyDin. Or maybe she would name it The House of Summer. She wasn’t really sure yet. It didn’t really matter.

She poured another glass of whatever it was she was drinking, turning the bottle over in her hands to see exactly what it was. Whiskey. Distilled beyond the veil and sold at Beyond the Veil. Only the best for The Empress, especially when Ishmerai wasn’t watching. Actually, Jewell wasn’t sure that he wasn’t watching. She didn’t care. He was still being a royal pain in her ass and not speaking to her. Whatever!

Setting her glass aside, she leaned back on her elbows and gazed star-wards. It was better than the piles of books and scrolls she had been looking at all day. Since her conversation with Kal last week, she had moved from library to library across the city, a woman on a mission: Could she find Sapphire? The answer seemed to be a definite maybe. With that decided, the question became, “How?” But the longer she searched for the answer, the more she realized that finding Sapphire was probably not the solution it originally seemed to be.

It wasn’t that seeing Sapphire again wouldn’t be fantastic. It might even give her some of the closure she needed, as Kal had suggested. The problem was that what she really wanted was her children. Jewell knew she couldn’t get them back--that was far far beyond even her greatest abilities--but she would settle for clear memories of them. It had been so long. So sooo long. Little by little, she had let time chip away at the memories she had once held dear. What did Amanda look like when she was plotting something? What was Moradin’s favorite book? How did Devyn like her eggs cooked? What did Kerrick’s smile look like? Did Eva Jade laugh like Cher?

She couldn’t remember. Every day she had spent in Faerie, she had lost a little bit more of them. Now they were truly gone, and the little bits and pieces she had managed to hold on to were spilling through her fingers. The air wooshed out of her in a sigh as she let her head fall back to gently rest against the rough, dirty roof. Her eyes were just about to flutter close when a bright light cut its way across the sky. She pushed herself back up onto her elbows, tracing its path. Then, because she couldn’t resist, she closed her eyes to make a single wish.

She couldn’t get her children back, but what was the harm in asking? “Bring my children back to me. Bring my girl back to me.”

Jewell opened her eyes. Nothing.

“Hah!” She shook her head, grabbed up her glass of whiskey, and drained it in a single breath. “Figures.”

The first dream came to her that night.
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