Mysterious Lights - Riverside Inn

[Anya de la Rose]

((3/4/21 update: The Inn is closed! I created this to coincide with the mysterious lights winter setting. Now that RhyDin is heating up, the lights are going out. Based on the interest, I plan to bring the Inn back on New Year's Eve for more fun. In the meantime, please feel free to post and backdate to winter if you need to get those words out. Thanks for the writing!))

((Based on the Mysterious Lights setting: viewtopic.php?f=154&t=33742 The bar exists for characters to talk to friends and family that have moved on, gain closure or send messages. Please feel free to use it!))

Empty buildings, and those that only looked abandoned, lie along every street in RhyDin. In Dragon's Gate, nestled against the wall with Old Market was a building that may have once been a home, had almost surely been a flop house for some time and now huddled in the shadows of a city that had left it behind.  The wattle and daub walls had suffered from neglect. The river facing wall in particular allowed cold air to seep through cracks and gaps.  Wind whistled through missing panes of glass in the small windows.  The door hung crooked on its remaining hinges, permanently propped open.  The looming shadow of the wall and its increasingly large neighbors had allowed lichen to bloom on its walls, speeding its decay with incessent spread.

On the last night of the year, the river wind hissed up the street, pushing the previous night's snow in to low drifts.  It reached in through the open door and stirred threadbare curtains in the windows. Candle nubs on battered sills and tables sparked and caught. The echo of the wind as it spun up the chimney and stairs left behind the sound of laughter, conversation, and tinkling glasses.  For the first time in decades, the little building drew looks from the streets.  The open door, now swung wide, welcomed passing residents in to a warm, well lit common room. Tables were packed with patrons that couldn't be seen clearly until guests drew closer.

A bearded man, dressed in rust colored sailor's garb manned the bar. A long wooden pole rested against the wall behind him.  Any new arrival was greeted with a smile and a wave to an available seat at an empty table. Other guests were quick to join the newcomers.

[Anya de la Rose]

It was a long walk from the bookstore to the Red Dragon through Old Market. Anya took it anyway. She enjoyed walking the city during holidays. The lights on in houses and crowds on the streets reminded her that she was somewhere alive again.  The heavy jacket and cup of coffee in her hand provided her with all the warmth she would need to make the trip.

By the time she reached Dragon's Gate, her boots were covered in sludge and ice. Her coffee was running low. The warm glow of the newly opened Inn drew her off of her intended path. No harm in a pit stop when she wasn't on any particular timeline. She stopped outside the door to stomp her feet and knock off most of the road grit. Then she shouldered in to the common room. She nodded to the bartender when he waved her over to an empty table.  "Thanks. A glass of red, please," she called to the man.  Her jacket was thrown over the back of a chair before she took a seat.

Her wine was delivered and payment exchanged at the same time that a man took the seat across from her.  At first she assumed it was one of her new friends who had also been drawn in by the promise of thawing off at this halfway point to their common haunts.

"Hi," Anya started. A bright smile accompanied the greeting as she turned to see who else had shown.  In an instant, it was wiped away.  Her glass froze halfway to her lips as she stared incredulously across the table.  The man sitting there looked about her age.  Where her own blonde hair tended towards a dark strawberry, his was shot through with almost white highlights. Her blue eyes verged on grey while his were a piercing sapphire even in the low light of the bar.  For a long time, they looked at each other over the single candle in the center of their table.

"Oh," she whispered it.  "You're not here."  He didn't answer.  Her eyes scanned his face, looking for signs of age.  "It was that long?  Before... this?"

She closed her eyes. His unwavering stare burned in to her even when she couldn't see him. "Terry?" she asked, and opened her eyes to see him pointing to the bar where another blonde man in a long red duster sat laughing loudly with a black haired, violet eyed woman.

Finally moving, she took a sip of her wine and a measured breath.  "And Cade?" The shake of his head came as a relief.

She pushed away from the table and stood.  For a moment she looked like she would apologize until the glint of a ring on his finger flashed in her eyes. "That's not...  Could she..." her eyes flicked up to his again and down when he nodded.  "How many?"

"Three," he finally spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper itself. Anya squeezed her eyes shut and ducked her chin. In one fluid movement, she swiped her wine glass off the table and finished the drink, washing away the lump in her throat.  "I'm sorry," the man across from her whispered.  She returned her glass back on the table. Next to it, she placed a ring, a rose gold band inlaid with a row of diamond chips.  She didn't look at him again before turning on her heels and walking back out of the bar.

[Sylista Ravenwood]

Sylista had just finished feeding but death was drawn to death and the undead woman could not help herself. She felt pulled toward those mysterious lights on the night of Swords All Ranks Tournament - after leaving her lover to lay his head beside another face for the night.

Ever curious and impulsive, the Runelord of Rhy’din stepped inside and immediately felt a tightness in her chest. The room was filled with faces she had only seen or spoken to in dreams - friends and family from Rofehavan! Without even having to ask, a man with golden hair, green eyes, and a crooked smile brought her a glass of dark red wine. After all this time and all of their talks, Caelum Van Dominus looked at her as though she was the only woman in the world. He did not speak, he did not need to, he simply wrapped a phantom arm around her shoulders and led her to the center of the room.

Sipping that pinot noir, Sylista looked around the unfamiliar common room, taking in the faces of those she had lost over the time she was in Rhy’din and she realized she was surrounded by so much love and laughter, though not a clear sound could be made out (likely due to her relationship with the veil). Any chatter in the room sounded as though she was listening to it filtered through a tub of water. It was garbled but it was enough. She felt safe.

She knew, deep in her heart, that this night was goodbye for many of these people from her homeland. She could not hold on to these people forever and they needed their peace. One by one, hugs or kisses were shared where appropriate, and the phantom versions of her past faded away.

Caelum
Vael’rys
Dorn
Taslios
Ease
Drimard
Raymond
Felix
Paxton

Eventually, she was left standing alone, her glass nearly empty, leaving her a chance to notice a man sitting in a dark and quiet corner. He had a cigarette held between two fingers and a glass of whiskey on the table. He sat with a woman she did not recognize and yet knew exactly who she was. It was her adopted dad and his late wife! They did not look away from each other to peer in her direction, something that caused the tightness to shift to a heavy lump. It was not yet their time to say goodbye - it was just a moment to see he was happy. Like everything else experienced in this mysterious building, it was enough.

She turned to leave, planning to go home, only to notice another figure seated by the door. This one felt heavy and darker. Again, she immediately knew not who but what it was that was watching her. The empty wine glass was placed on the bar and Sylista skirted around the figure, rushing out the door followed by dark laughter.

The messages tonight were loud and clear.

She needed time to think.

[Kira Adia]

Kira walked past the Riverside Inn many times on her way to and from the New Market District. Every time, she wondered what lay inside, but almost immediately, something in the back of her mind pulled her away. You will find nothing there for you. Time and again her curiosity went unsatisfied.

She had been gone a while, healing from her mistakes. She was set on leaving, on looking for help. It would have been pointless. She would have simply been running away again.

But her kids had been threatened. Her shop had been attacked. And now, while they were gone, waiting for things to become safer, Kira was back to do a bit of hunting of her own. Once again, she found herself passing by wall between the districts.

As she passed the strange structure, she felt the familiar call and response of previous nights. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw movement in the doorway. She paused and looked in. The interior was well lit, but something about the light made it hard to see what lay within. Her desire for company (and her ever present desire for tea) won out this evening. She stepped through the entrance.

Two sights caught her so strongly as to stop her as soon as she passed the threshold. First was the sheer comfort of the place. It was well lit, the fire was that perfect mixture of warm and radiant, and the bartender was welcoming, if strangely distant. Outside the Red Dragon, she wasn't sure she'd found anywhere that felt so homely. In sharp contrast, the other thing she noticed was that no other person in this common room belonged here.

Right next to the entrance, raising a tankard her direction, was her uncle, an unfailingly jovial man with fiery hair like her own, but wiry and perpetually untamed. She had loved seeing him when he was at the homestead; his stories and fairy tales never failed to make her laugh. His daughter, her cousin, sat next to him, the very same who would practice singing with her every afternoon after the tutor left them. The old man himself was in a corner behind them, lost in some old book, much as always when he was not lecturing or leading some lively debate.

Each table seemed occupied much the same. Cousins and other relations, members of the household from other Houses who were pledged to their service, the old head groundskeeper, idly scratching at the head of his old hound sitting obediently at his side. All around her were voices. She couldn't hear what was being said, it was like listening through heavy fabric. It didn't matter. She knew they were all greeting her and reassuring her.

She missed them all so much. Tears formed at her eyes. This was her family. Everyone she knew at home, every one of them dead in the purge that had left her both exiled and alone. As she passed each one, she said goodbye. She gave her love. She said all the things she wished she could have said. This was her last chance to make this right.

At a final table near the bar was the reason for all of this. Mother. The regal woman, black haired, proud and stern, who had schemed and plotted until they were all dead. Kira wanted to hate the woman, but when she saw how she could not meet Kira’s eyes, how the woman's severe expression masked a deep shame in eyes of violet, all Kira could do was whisper, “You did this.” She would say no more.

At the bar sat the very man she wanted least to see here. Barely taller than her, the man had his back to her, his hood was thrown back and his long dark hair fell down his back. He was nursing a bottle, some ale or stout she guessed. As she approached, she could not look at him. She could not look at that face that had been so peaceful and accepting in the end. She said her goodbyes to over two dozen people tonight, loved ones she thought she would never have the chance to see again. Kira prepared herself for this final challenge, this final stab at the heart that would let her live her life.

The Huntress sat down at the stool next to him. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. A single question from a voice she could understand clearly pieced the muffled sounds of the room.

“You see them too?”

[Haru Jeong]

His life had been spent passing the inn, an empty building nestled away, door closed to the public, unwelcoming enough even vagabonds wouldn’t seek refuge within.

Haru wasn’t sure what called his eyes to the open door, maybe it was a familiar voice, maybe a song, maybe a laugh, the sounds within familiar, pulling at his heart, they didn’t belong here, they had passed on, they deserved their peace. His feet turned with no active decision made on his own, a greeting to the man within, before his breath caught in his throat, the place wasn’t busy, only a handful of seats filled, among them a couple, a man and woman, of Korean descent, laughing and smiling at each other, love in their eyes. A tear rolled down the young mans face before he could think, before he could stop it, the shadows dancing with the flames on his horns, red eyes meeting the matching set of his mother’s.

Her eyes caught his, gesturing to one of the open seats across from them, “Come sit, join us for a meal, it’s been to long.” Her voice like music, her hand stretching across to rest on his as he slid into a seat, they spoke first on small talk, the family that he had built around himself, before saying what he needed to hear, “You chose right you know… giving it up,” The fight about his work, making him choose between the feelings he didn’t understand and the life he’d always known, “The life was killing you, you could have gone even further from the boy we knew…” her eyes were sad, a hand coming across the table, resting on his cheek, “I know you did what you had to in order to live, but you can rest, fall in love, be who you want to become, you have the chance to do right Haru,” a small smile graced her lips, “That feeling you’re feeling, listen to it, she is choosing you, even though it’s faster than is normal, it doesn’t make what you’re feeling less valid, choose to take a chance, open your heart completely, you need her.”

The words registered, the boy first taken by the hand on his, tears flowing freely, for a second feeling once more like the five year old kid who had lost his family before he could start school, waking up from a bad dream, his parents by blood sitting in front of him. He shook his head at them, listening to the words, “She left me with every tool to do it, the location, my weapons, but instead she trusted me, that’s why I’m here, she gave me the chance to betray her again, to break another promise, Mom…” the name whispered slightly, voice cracking, “I considered it, I didn’t tell her but I considered doing it anyway and lying, how could I after making that promise to her, this was supposed to be different.”

His father reaches across the table, his face shape matching his sons, melted chocolate eyes meeting Haru’s carmine ones, “You chose not to do it, is that not different? You made the choice to be better, does that not make you better?”

A crack, the boy hearing those words, even now barely believing them, but he had chosen a different path, a different path from the one he had embraced for so long, he wasn’t a tool, or the monster he had been forced into becoming, he had wanted this change for so long, and now he had it. His eyes moved between the duo, first to his mother, realizing the answer to a point she had made, “I don’t want to be with her because I need her mom… I know I don’t need her to survive, I want her, I want to choose her, so if she doesn’t want to choose me I can be ok with that and watch her be happy.” His gaze rests on his father, “Maybe it does… I…” for a moment the boy seems uncertain, “I hope I can hold true to it…” his mind wandered for a second, how long had he been here? Was she worried he broke his promise?

Those hands pull away as a clock chimes, his mother speaking as though she was reading his mind, “Don’t worry. She’s still waiting for you. She hasn’t gone. Go home and go to Earth. That’s where it always begins, after all. But she’s impatient, and tired of making you wait, so go to her now.” The words were cryptic, nonsense to those who couldn’t see it, “We’ll see you next time.”

The lights of the inn faded, until it was just a boy, crying alone at a table, the final goodbyes spoken as he got up, eyes travelling back just once, before his feet carried him home, she was waiting after all.

((OOC NOTE : Special thanks to Wylinna Newhaven for helping me edit this))

[Morgan LaLuna]

Morgan was pulled far into his coat. It was one of those rare winter days where it was just warm enough that it wasn’t snowing… it was raining. Freezing drops fell from the sky and turned the fluffy stuff everywhere into a grey slush that would have threatened to get into his shoes and freeze his toes off, had he not been wearing the heavy boots he had taken to donning to keep himself stable on a ship that was constantly in some sort of motion. It was why he’d chosen them. They were weighted enough to keep his feet beneath him. He grumbled and tried to cover the bag of food he’d recently bought, trying to get it home before the paper sack got soaked and lost all of its contents. As he sped down the street, he decided maybe he’d look for a place to stand a while out of the rain. Inside or out, he needed a dry spot. And that’s when he spotted the almost inviting building with the candles in the window, the door ajar and looking so very inviting…

He hurried into the building, and stomped his boots just outside the door, making his way in and looking about. He wasn’t surprised that the place was nearly empty, really. It was a disgusting and miserable sort of day. The bartender waved for him to take a seat, and he looked around, shrugging and sitting down at the nearest chair, putting his damp bag on the table. The smell was very inviting… Surely Mart would understand if he just had… a bite or two, right? After all, the acrobat had bought enough for four people! He started rustling through, plucking a pair of chopsticks in that red slide-off packaging paper and putting them between his teeth as he looked through for a certain container. The sound of the chair across from him scraped the floor, and he looked up in confusion… and froze.

There in front of him was a waifish woman with over processed blonde hair pulled up high on her head into a messy bun, wearing a scoop-neck navy blue sweater that hung from her thin frame and revealed one bony shoulder and black leggings beneath, tucked into a pair of heeled ankle boots. She’d always been casually fashionable at her best. Slowly, Morgan pulled the chopsticks from his mouth, and set them down. “Beks?” He tried, voice soft and cracking. Surely, it couldn’t be. He was there when she’d… His doubt, however small, however, was quashed completely when she smiled and leaned forward, crossing her arms in front of her on the table. She spoke.

“Morie, you look like you’re seeing a ghost.”

“Beks… I…” He balked. “I am. You’re dead.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

They sat staring at each other for a moment, and he finally was unable to help himself… He reached forward and touched the back of her arm. It was not particularly warm, she never had been, but she was… solid. She was there. He felt her. Immediately, the chair beneath him clattered, for he pushed up and forward to embrace the woman, holding her as tight as he might have in her life… if not tighter. She gave that laugh of hers, like a fae in the woods, and wrapped her own arms around him loosely. “I’d say I can’t breathe…” She started, but did not seem to care to finish, for the young man in her arms was trembling so very much. “Oh, baby… It’s okay. I’m here.” They both seemed to know that that state of being wasn’t going to be for very long, and so when she pushed at him gently, prying herself out of his arms, he did not resist as he wanted to. He was doing his best to remember how she smelled, and had buried his face into her sweater. When he finally leaned away, his face was streaked with tears greyed by the ever present eyeliner that always seemed drawn just below the waterline on bottom lids.

“Beks, I’m so sorry. I tried… I wanted to.”

“Naaaah. It was my fault. I knew better, didn’t I? It is what it is. It’s all over now…” Her long fingers brushed hair from his face, and a thumb rubbed over his cheek to wipe a tear away. “Looks like we both made it out, hmm? Look at you. You were always such a pretty boy. And now…” Another airy laugh. “Now, you’re a very pretty man. Still short, though.” She pulled the captain into her lap, legs draped over her own, and started to play with his hair, as she’d always done. The young man often pulled away from those attempting to mess with his head in such a manner, especially since his hair had started being so very lovingly done by the Moon Elf, but he did not so much as flinch as she deftly tugged it from the bun to start running her fingers through it. A ritual only they participated in.

“Tell me what you’ve been up to, mm?” She said softly. And Morgan… Did just that. His trials, tribulations, heartbreak and triumph… All of it came unfiltered and unbidden, unloading to a set of ears that had always listened so well in life, and did their part even now in death. Never judgemental. Only interrupting with the appropriate noises and giggles and shakes of her head as necessitated by the subject matter. Just like always. Morgan had eventually poured it all out, and gave a long sigh, going silent and staring down at his lap. “So. You got your cottage. Told you.” She finally said, pulling his hair back up and into a bun, though now the braids and twists in his hair were far different. Chaotic, and almost childish, like a little girl had decided to play in his hair. “I wish I could meet him. He sounds like exactly the person my lil pookie deserves.” Her nose wrinkled at the sheer force of her smile.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever deserve him… But I’ll do anything to make it that way.” he said finally, wiping at his nose.

“So. Pirate, mage, worshipper… You done stepped into a storybook! Like those fantasy novels we used to find, right?” The ones she used to read to him in dramatic voices when the power had been cut because they couldn’t afford it that week.

“And now I’m talking to a ghost.”

“Life’s funny…”

“Yeah.”

A long silence drifted between them. Everything had been said. Almost everything. Morgan had been holding her thin hand between his, just taking her in, and finally said what he’d meant to say for so very long. “I love you, Beks. I miss you. I wish I woulda listened to you. We shoulda run away, like you said.”

“Eh. Bullshit. It’s better this way, isn’t it? You’d’a never ended up here if we did, right?”

She was right. Beks was almost always right. The two chattered for a little while longer, all the while neither noticed the small woman sat in a corner booth sipping gently from a cup of coffee. Her dark hair hung loose around her moon-shaped face, her almondine angled eyes sparkled as she watched… But not once did she approach. Not even when Rebekah and Morgan stood and said their goodbyes. It had stopped raining, and Morgan had to get home before the food was too cold to enjoy. Strange, that it was still hot and steaming after what seemed like hours. As he left, waving and moving into the cold evening, the blonde turned to the small Korean woman with a smile. “You should be proud of him, you know.” The other set her cup down, and nodded gently.

“I am. He is everything I told him he would be, when he and his brother were just a little swaddle in a crib. And more.” She stood, and the two women approached each other, Rebekah settling a hand on the much smaller woman’s shoulder. “You raised my son, when I couldn’t…”

“Oh, Kyong. Shut up. I told you I’d always take care of you and yours, didn’t I?” There was that ethereal laugh… And the two were simply… gone.

[Mart]

It was earlier in the day when Mart had decided to make his trip into Dragon’s Gate, but the skies had already darkened and a heavy snow had begun to fall. Lucky, he noted, that it wasn’t later, when the sun would turn it all to stinging rain so high up in the sky.

Even so, he hadn’t been ready for quite so much of the stuff! It wasn’t until he spotted an Inn he hadn’t seen before, with warmth and light and the sounds of people enjoying themselves and the company of one another, that he decided perhaps he’d take himself a break and get a mug of something steamy.

Ascending the little staircase and stepping into the place, he noted the crowds and made himself another little note that he should come back and bring Morgan and his friends. Such a place as this would be one to share, of course! As he approached the bar and saw the ‘tender, a little wave of nostalgia passed through him. He could smell boar steaks and the kind of seasoned, roasted fish you could only get on the Sword Coast, and the faintest hint of honey.

“Mulled cider, I think!” He remarked to the ‘tender, smile fading only in the slightest. “With a dollop of honey, if you please.” The old man smiled and gave the Moon Elf his drink before taking the offered coin. Mart turned to look for an open table when he heard a voice that he simply shouldn’t have heard.

“Hey, kid! You didn’t forget about us, did you? Get over here!” It was gruff, and almost a little whiny in the way an older man’s could sound as he stopped worrying over things like what others thought of his tone. As Mart turned towards the table he saw him first, of course. A great white shock of hair swept back behind a decorative floral headband his granddaughter had made him, with a beard twice as long as his hair. A face a little too youthful for how many wrinkles it had, and armor of gold; it would look garish on anyone else, but he made it seem distinguished—almost regal.

Timothy Auldenflame, Paladin of Tyr, had been dead for nearly sixteen-hundred years now; he and the rest of the first adventuring party Mart had ever been part of that sat around the table just before him. But far from dust, they were eating boar steaks and roasted fish; drinking honeywine and mulled cider. They were laughing and jesting, just as they had every time a contract was closed.

At his sides and around the table were Coren and Duran: Dwarvish brothers dressed in Kozakurian fashion, ninjatō strapped to their backs in mirrored style, just like everything else they were wearing. There was Gertrude: an impossibly strong and strikingly beautiful half-Orc in soft green and black monk’s robes and painted bindings. Her long, black hair was braided tightly and bound at the end to a heavy jade ring. Finally, there was Murcival, a cheery, chubby Halfling wearing only simple friar’s robes. His feet dangled just over the edge of his seat and his tankard was, by a wide margin, the largest at the table.

Mart’s face felt hot, and the air felt so very thin around him. He felt as though he’d dropped his mug, but things were getting so very dark so quickly. “No..” He crumpled to the ground as his friends’ chairs shoved out and the sounds of boots and bare feet rushed towards him, but he was unconscious by the time he’d hit the ground.

Flashes of sound and light passed behind the Moon Elf’s eyes. The heat of flame, the cry of a great Dragon, and the last words he could remember that brave old man speaking: "Just go, kid! We’ll meet up at the Inn when it’s over but, just get that thing back to the Duke!”

When he woke, Gertie was holding him in her arms while the rest of the party had crowded around them. Through hot tears, he could still make them out so well. It was as if not even a day had passed since he’d seen them.

“But you.. You are all gone. I am so sorry, my friends.. I..”

“You got the job done, kid. That’s what I told you to do.” Tim cut him off, before Duran spoke up.

“We all knew the risks,” and Coren finished hit thought, “when we agreed to steal from a Dragon.” Gertie ran a rough hand through Mart’s hair, nearly covering his whole head in the process.

“You were the only one who could’ve gotten out.” She smiled, but Murcival pinched the Moon Elf on the arm while he was distracted. As he recoiled, the Halfling laughed.

“I still say you could’a tucked me under an arm, but we were sure we’d be gettin’ out right behind ya. Sorry we never made dinner, buddy.” His mischievous smile was, for a moment, apologetic. Tim cut in again, crouching down so that he and Mart were face to face.

“How about we do lunch instead? You can tell us all about what you’ve been up to.” He always complained that his face wrinkled horribly when he smiled, but he was doing it regardless. Mart took a sharp, sniffling breath before he covered his face with a sleeve and nodded, unable to speak lest he start to cry in earnest.

He’d have to thank Ithil for such a blessing when he made it home. And he’d have to tell Morgan all about some of his oldest friends.

[Death Knell]

((Trigger warning for (light) sexual content, physical abuse, alcoholism, trauma, violence.))

After climbing the mountain and killing the pronghorn wyrm at the edge of the prairies south of the Wilds, Ettyn needed a strong drink, and she found one at the newly won Cardinal Inn. A bottle of rum black as night, black as her eyes, that burned like fire to even smell. She needed a good lay, too, a double shot of pleasure to chase the pain of the wyrm tearing into her flesh and a thousand wounds before it, and Nell and Fitzwilliam gave her the best she'd had in a long time.

She'd met skilled lovers in RhyDin, maybe more skilled than these two generously provided whores, but the wyrm had brought her closer to oblivion -- however fleeting -- than she'd been in years. The creature could have killed her and pulled the flesh from her bones up on that mountain, and she would have had days of merciful blackness, or longer. She found smaller moments of it in the rum, and the moments of rapture.

But it was after they were done that Nell and Fitzwilliam drove her from her own bed. They were good not just with their bodies, but in their manner in a way that the slayer could never afford. They lingered, not to rest but to talk. They held her and each other, sprawled their limbs, tickled and teased, laughed, drank, snacked, and shared secrets. Just little ones, intimacy in the quiet and the dim candlelight of her room at the Cardinal Inn. They had been paid well for their time, for today and tonight and six days and nights after, and they spent it cultivating an intimacy with their hearts and minds when the flesh was too exhausted.

It was a rare event. It was supposed to be a special week, an entire week in one person's company. It was supposed to be intimate in all of those ways; but they did not know Ettyn Gedda.

No one living did.

"That one?"

"Ghoul."

"And here, by your ear...?"

"Vargouille. A fucking swarm."

"Down your belly?"

"Chimera. Wasn't trying to drop my trousers."

"Fitz, I found a funny one! Here on your wrist?"

The game had started out so much fun. They took turns picking a scar and asking about it, and if she answered them? They kissed it, and kept going. Despite the cold discomfort she'd felt at their coziness, she was warming back up to them again -- at least to the idea of fooling around again tonight.

The heat dropped when they found the line where her aunt had driven a knife through her wrist. Her toothy grin vanished, lips drawn up over her teeth again as her blighted eyes fell to the old wound. Her oldest scar.

"Ettyn-- what's that one?"

Fitzwilliam had picked his head up from her lap to smile curiously at Nell and look at the scar, then up at the slayer. His expression fell, sensing they'd overstepped, and he tapped Nell on the arm.

She let go of her wrist.

The slayer didn't make eye contact with either of them, but she could sense how they were looking at her. Like someone broken, and now they were wary of catching their skin on the shards.

"Past two?"

"Not yet--"

"I'm going out."

* * * * *

The depths of winter meant closing time came earlier to many pubs, as the dark and busy hours started all the sooner. Ettyn thudded her way through the icy streets close to the northern river bank in -- well, she thought she was still in Old Market. Or had she passed the wall? She looked over her shoulder and saw the crumbling archway of the patchwork, brick-and-stone, timber-and-daub wall that separated the two districts. Just beyond it, back in Old Market, was a swinging sign, creaking in the cold wind, and a barman standing in an open door as he extinguished the lamps.

Ettyn started in his direction, boots catching and slipping on the icy cobblestones. She caught herself with an arm and threw out her hand and called out, "Hey! Hey, you-- I have coin--!"

The barman looked up, but he didn't stop, not for a noisy, dangerous-looking drunk at two in the morning. He pulled the door shut and locked it, and Ettyn slammed her fists into the ground three times, hard enough to break skin.

She saw her viscous black blood dripping onto the frozen cobblestones, gleaming in the glow of light spilling from a door and windows across the way.

She raised her head, squinting her dark eyes through a misty snow cloud blown up by a frigid wind that moaned and howled its way through the Old Market portcullis behind her. The mist cleared, revealing an inn she had never seen before. That part didn't bother her. It was open, and it was a place to drink that wasn't close to anyone trying to get close to her.

She pushed back to her feet and plodded her way across the street, pushing roughly through the door.

The bearded man standing behind the bar, dressed in sailor's garb that had once been black but had faded to a rusty brown from the color seeping out of it, grunted acknowledgment and rasped a quiet question at her. She couldn't quite hear it, but she didn't need to. Bartenders only asked one question that mattered.

"Ale," she answered, sparing not even a glance for the pair of patrons further down the lonely bar as she heaved her tired body onto a bar stool. She dug out a pair of coins, but his claw-like fingers splayed out in a stopping gesture.

"You're already paid up, miss," he said in a ragged whisper.

"Yeah. How's that," she said, somewhere between amusement and suspicion -- settled somewhat by the full mug of ale being set down in front of her.

He looked at her jet black eyes pointedly and bared his dull yellow teeth at her, like tarnished gold. "You're not for me... more's the pity." He wheezed out a laugh and trudged down the bar, snapping up a graying towel with a wet slop.

"He knows what you chose, little bug."

The voice came from a woman with short dark hair flecked with gray, weathered tan skin, and sharp brown eyes that caused the slayer to freeze. The mug of ale did not even reach her lips -- perfectly good ale. "The fuck are you doing here," she snarled. Her thumb ran along the top of the handle as her fingers tensed, as she wondered how hard it would be to bash her head in with it.

Her aunt chuckled and made a lazy gesture to the bartender. "He brought us."

Ettyn didn't look at the bartender again, but at the us. Just past her aunt was a woman with dark hair, like her aunt's, but long and wavy. Her skin was sickly pale, pink at the extremities, and her watery gray eyes were red-rimmed. She lifted a wooden cup of heady port that smelled like cherry tobacco, her sleeve falling back with the gesture, revealing the shiny burn scars from years of smithing that stood out starkly against her sickly pallor.

"You're dead," the slayer growled, and lobbed the mug down the bar to try to dispel the illusion. The ale splashed across her aunt, and the mug thumped against her mother's chest and made her wheeze. Neither of them wavered or dissipated, only grinning wider at the show of defiance they'd come to expect of her. Ettyn stood and pointed. "I watched you die... And you--" She whirled to jab her finger at her aunt.

"Years ago," her aunt confirmed, and untucked her shirt from her breeches, lifting up the hem and elbowing her cloak back. There was a ragged, rotting hole in her gut. She cracked the same kind of grin that the slayer had unconsciously learned over the years, one of many habits. "The bulette horn gutted me, but it was the frost-rot that killed me."

"What the fuck is this," she demanded of the bartender, who only grinned as he accepted the empty mug back from her mother's pale and shaky hands, wiping it out with the filthy rag that reeked of mold. "What sorcery -- and why."

"We've been on your mind," her aunt said, twisting in her stool to smile up at the slayer. "Top us off with some grog, there's a good man," she rasped, and as instructed, the bartender filled up her mug with vile rum -- cut with bad water to lessen the ill effects of both. "Why is that, little bug?"

"They asked about you tonight," Ettyn growled, taking a step back from her aunt as she covered her wrist reflexively. Her eyes sought out her mother, not with any hope of protection but a wary curiosity, and found her nodding along with her aunt and smiling approvingly. Smiling at the outcome of Ettyn Gedda.

"What's there to tell, bug?"

"Oh, she hated that even when I was alive," her mother cut in, chiding her aunt with a flap of her trembling hand. "She's big, call her Bu--"

"Neither of you get to use that name," Ettyn snarled. "Not when you lost it for me."

Her aunt snorted derisively. "You made your choice," she echoed. "You broke your name. You broke yourself."

Ettyn seized her by the collar, pivoting and throwing her against the bar as she roared in her face, "YOU BROKE ME! I was already broken when I slew the unicorn!"

Her mother stood next, feebly, but still had spirit enough for mocking laughter. "What did we do, but teach you what you needed. Weapons and armor, tracking, hunting--"

"--killing," her aunt reminded her, eyebrows raised, grin wide in spite of her niece near strangling her against the bar.

"Death and drink. I was a child," she growled at her mother, "when you turned me to drink, to numb your pain." She hadn't forgotten her aunt, moving her fingers around her throat and shaking her against the bar. "I was a child when you invited my father into our home, and I had to kill him...!"

"And kill him you did. Look at you," her aunt managed to rasp as she choked. "S... slayer..." The words died on her lips as bones cracked under Ettyn's grasp.

"We are so proud of you--" her mother began, but she stopped too when the slayer turned and drove the spike of her hatchet into the base of her throat. Red blood, far redder than Ettyn's would ever be again, spilled from her mouth as her lips worked wordlessly and wetly.

She jerked the hatchet free, and her mother dropped to the floor in a bloody heap, while her aunt slumped against the bar, broken neck lolling... and both continued to laugh, mockingly. Slay as she did, she could never be rid of them, and never mend. Jet black eyes lifted to the bartender, and she pointed the axe at them: "Stop them."

The bartender smiled, continuing to scrub stubborn stains from a mug with a filthy rag, only adding ever more marks.

"STOP THEM!" she roared, and heaved the axe at his smiling face.

* * * * *

A door slammed, and Ettyn was stumbling through a snow bank one block east of the Old Market Gate. It was the same gate, but the street was different now. There was no inn, nor any of her mother's blood on her hands -- only her own viscous and blighted blood that seeped from her broken skin, and still stained the cobblestones nearby.

She whirled around to take in her surroundings with a wild stare, but her paranoia was overcome by the weariness and ache that had been setting in for years now. She stumbled back, falling onto her butt to sit on the edge of the snow bank, and covered her black eyes with one hand.

It had been years since the last time she had felt the cold but stinging tears against her skin.

"Fuck."

[Dax]

Anniversary.

Such a word depended entirely on the context one used it in. On one hand it could be a celebration or a commemoration of a special and significant date. A wedding, going sober, ending a war…all worthy causes of celebration and cheer. But there was a somber side as well…a reminder of loss, another year passed in the absence of friend or family. It cut both ways based on that ever-important context.

It was the solemn interpretation which put Dax Kincaid at the Riverside Inn that evening, the tattoo artist against the bar and already several shots deep judging by the empty glasses scattered about. “Keep em coming, yeah?” Dax coughed back the burn of the cheap liquor into a hand before he would place a stack of coins on the bar, payment for drinks and the ones that can’t pay their way. He had seen the lights of the inn and found their glow inviting…an out of the way spot to chase ghosts and drown sorrows. A nod of thanks for the bearded bartender when he delivered the shot. For a second Dax would swear he looked familiar…like he had brushed by him a time or two at one point or another.

“May we love peace enough to fight for it…” Dax quietly muttered the toast and tapped his shot glass against three full ones that he had lined up in front of him. Perfectly spaced and arranged with military parade precision, Dax had them left untouched. They were not meant for him. “And die for it.” Tapping his shot glass on the bar once and then lifting to throw it back an in attempt to honor his buddies and blitz his way through the painful, regretful memories.

“Drinking alone, Devil Dog?” The booming voice sounded behind Dax a moment before its owner gave the man a hard clap on the back.

“Or you just start without us?” A second voice asked while a pair of hands reached to claim two of the shot glasses, one passed off to the third figure standing behind Dax.

“The fuck?” Dax growled, the former warfighter twisting around with clenched fists and ready to swing on whoever had the gall to interrupt his own personal memorial to fallen friends. “Those aren’t for you motherfu…”

“Easy Prophet.” The man who had first spoken stepped to arrest Dax’s spin and meet that hostility with a wide grin. “We’re just fuckin with you.”

Dax blinked in that moment, the pause enough space to recognize the voice and the face that grinned back at him, “JDAM?” Dax’s tone a crossbreed of shock, surprise, and disbelief yet he defaulted to the man’s nickname just as JDAM had done with Dax.

“Whatsamatter, Prophet?” The second figure asked with a chuckle. “Didn’t see us coming?” The shot was tipped back with a satisfied sigh before looking to the third figure. “I told you he wouldn’t see it. Pay up, Magellan.” Tapping his empty glass against the third man who rolled his eyes, threw back his shot and then groused as he fished out his money.

“Gambler here’s the one who didn’t believe in you, Prophet.” Magellan added as he casually tossed his shot glass Dax’s way. “Incomin.”

Dax twisted to catch the tossed shot glass, the vessel bobbing between his hands for a moment before he secured it, expression still utterly confused.

“How..I mean…you guys…I saw you…the car bomb…” Dax seeming to start half a dozen sentences at once as he stuttered his way through the incongruity of seeing three of his closest friends from the military and the Agency standing here in front of him…years after he had helped fold the flag of a grateful nation over their caskets. “Are you guys still alive? All this fuckin time…”

There was a shared look between the three, JDAM, Gambler and Magellan, a knowing grin between them as well as the bearded tender lined up another round of shots for the quartet.

“You sure it ain’t you?” JDAM asked while handing Dax a shot. He was a stout soldier, broad of shoulder and possessed of farm-built brawn. “That came to us?”

Dax paled at the implication in JDAM’s words and he looked to Magellan and Gambler for confirmation as his hand, on autopilot, reached up and took hold of the offered shot. “That how it is?”

“That’s cold, JDAM.” Magellan grinned. “Mo’fucker always taking that dark humor over the line. No, Dax…we are…you ain’t…but JDAM’s still a dick on our side…so I guess some things never change, eh?”

“Habitual line stepper.” Gambler agreed with a grin. “You ain’t dreamin either man…this place…” Gambler shrugged lean shoulders and gestured about. “One of them things and you looked in low spirits. We can’t have our boy, Prophet, all melancholy and shit.”

“Oh fuck you.” Dax grunted and grinned. There were unwept tears that glistened the former Marine’s eyes, Dax still at a loss for what was going on…how it was going on…but a growing part of him did not care. He had his friends back. “You always were an asshole JDAM…like when you called down that strike right on our fuckin heads.”

“Hey…” JDAM began all serious before wrapping his arm around Dax’s neck in a brotherly headlock. “That was an accident and it happened only twice. Good to see you again Prophet…damn good to see you.”

The joke and the fraternal gesture was all that was needed to transport the four souls back into the world of camaraderie and brotherhood. Men who had shared such experiences, who had fought and bled and died alongside one another forged an eternal bond that was foreign to all others. Words could not describe it any more than pretenders could impersonate it. Such a bond came from the crucible of combat when the highest of highs and the lowest of lows could no longer be hidden…only embraced and accepted without judgment.

The alcohol flowed, and the stories were told and retold again between the four. The shared experiences of danger, adrenaline, risk and victory all embraced and chopped up as if they were back in the barracks living in bare racks with plywood walls, the time Magellan face planted the end of a HALO jump and the rest of them had to follow his skid marks through the dirt to find him, hanging out in a Motel 6 waiting for a U-Haul so JDAM could get his stuff after a divorce thanks to a nonstop ops tempo…and how they were all secretly happy he’d ditched her, and of course the trio made sure to interrogate Dax as to why he’s yet to get with that ballerina. There was an easy flow between them, that allowed for them all to crack on one another and celebrate one another in equal measure. It was something Dax had not realized he had missed since he had separated and found a certain tranquility in tattoos.

Dax was quick with the stories of what he’d been up to, how and why he got out, what he’d been doing since with the tattoos…aware that his buddies seemed as interested in his present as he was about their shared past and reliving those stories. But, inexorably, the conversation would come round to a fateful date towards the end of January.

“I never got to tell you guys I’m sorry.” Dax said after a long moment of quiet and a contemplative stare into a beer. “I knew it didn’t feel right…I knew…”

“Bullshit, Proph.” Gambler answered, keeping to their nicknames out of OPSEC habit. “That was our mission. You’d just taken over Stiletto…”

“Being a good TL to those guys…” Magellan added and clinked his glass with Dax’s.

“Yeah…but I still knew…”

“Price of doin business Dax.” JDAM’s use of Dax’s name cut through the fog of regret and self-flagellation. “Not a man here blames you…and you wouldn’t blame us if things had been different. But they couldn’t be different man…all this…it’s part of a bigger plan that you can’t see…” JDAM added and sighed as he glanced at his watch. “You just gotta trust us man. Think of it this way…we’re just doing a recon on this side for ya.”

“What?” Dax asked. “You guys gotta go or something? There a clock runnin somewhere?” Dax doing well to keep a forlorn look off his face and, instead, looking at each face and expecting some sort of answer. JDAM’s words stuck with him…he knew he would not hold them responsible if shit had gone sideways on him instead…but it did not lessen the hurt in that moment.

“More regs on this side than you’d believe, Prophet.” Gambler explained as he bumped his fist to Dax’s shoulder. “But it ain’t us that’s gotta go.”

“It’s you.” Magellan added and finished his drink, his other arm pulling in Dax for a hug.

“Nothing personal, Prophet.” JDAM added with a little nod to the bar tender.

“You gotta go live.”

[Rhiannon Brock]

Rhiannon had grown used to the winter’s chill, but she’d been born a summer child. The warm rays of an August sunrise welcomed her into life. If she had a personal motto, adapt and overcome would have suited her well.

Over time, she’d learned to shield herself from the spirits that often played hide and seek with her. Her elder counterpart never seemed troubled by them. Her niece, Maggie, however, had embraced and welcomed the spirits of children that came to her. She often wondered what gifts would manifest in the children she and Eregor shared. Would one of them see those beings or had that been reserved for those that had housed an ancient spirit? Even more, she wondered about gifts they would choose on their thirteenth birthdays.

Snow crunched under her boots as she walked. A whispered voice caught her attention, Applesauce is always in fashion, little one. Rhiannon’s head whipped around. She found herself staring at a building she’d passed many times on her travels. It looked new instead of a rundown mess. The voice spoke again; a ghostly memory from her toddler years, but she knew it well and followed it inside the building.

She ordered a heated cider and found a quiet place to sit. Was there such a thing as quiet in any inn or tavern? “I know you’re here, Da. Might as well make yourself known.”

“You’ve grown,” the tall dark haired man said as he looked her over.

“Been over twenty years. Did you think I would remain a child forever?”

Two pairs of sapphire blue eyes met as Rhi sipped her drink.

“How is your mother?”

“If you really wanted that answer, you would have gone to her. Plenty of brothers, sisters, and other relatives to help arrange a meeting.” Rhi’s tone held bitterness.

“Of which you are one, our youngest child.” Damon’s voice remained calm. All too calm, it was much like her mother’s voice in the moment before she reached for a weapon.

“You tried to use me, Da. My counterpart stepped in. That selfless act, it changed things.” She looked over the man that shared blood with her but little else. He’d left when she was two. “Spare me the duty lecture. It was Mom that stayed the course. It was her that raised us after you left.”

“Rhiannon, it’s not that simple. The gods had ordained my path.” His eyes narrowed.

“About that, we dug up some old books. It answered a few questions. I don’t know if you were guilty or not. Knowing that fact might soften things, but it won’t change them. I can’t go back to being the baby in the high chair splattering you with applesauce. I’m grown. I made my own way. It includes a few of your former duties.”

A wry smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Which means, I succeeded.”

“On the contrary.” Rhi’s smile, a rarely seen one, was as cold as an arctic wind. “You lost everything. You have grandchildren you will never meet.” She held up a hand as he tried to interrupt. “Oh, yes, I know, the gods allow you to watch from afar, but that’s not the same as being there to give the affection, tell the stories, and so many other things that you put beneath your duty.”

“You hate me that much to keep them away?”

Rhi knew he was trying to play the sympathy card. “I don’t hate you. I’m apathetic. If my children want to meet you, they will, but I won’t force them into it.”

“I have …”

“No, you don’t, I’m not letting you go there. When I was little, very little, it should have been you holding my hand when I struggled to get back up.That was Mom. Should have been you helping me train and balance what I’d inherited from you and Mom. No, that was Mom and Braven Goldflame.”

“Rhi… I know everything she did. I’ve been watching.”

“Watching was all you ever did, Da.” Her temper rose. “There were several men in Mom’s path after you left, but the one that deserves to be called Dad or Papa … that’s Tass. He was there for everything from the scraped knees through walking me down the aisle to meet my husband and he greeted our children when they were born. My counterpart, she also has three children.”

“Yes, I know, they’re half human.” He scowled.

“Oh, Da,” her tone was scornful, “you have no idea how special those kids are. Terpsichore blessed the middle child; dancing is her art and gift. The youngest, the boy, he’s a wiz at anything math related.”

“The third?” His voice had gone flat, it was clear he’d lost interest.

“The third one built bridges that you apparently destroyed when you were married to a daughter of Poseidon.”

“You know about that?” His dark brows furrowed.

We do. We know. We saw. You failed all of us. Three voices spoke at once from corners of time and space. Their tone was clearly accusing.

“Those old books. They told us much.” Rhiannon quietly walked away. Damon Brock’s spirit had admitted to something he might not have in life. His daughter was finally able to make peace with it.

[Kira Adia]

Kira stood outside the entrance to the Riverside Inn once again. Luna was, hopefully, still asleep, and with luck, Kira would be able to jump back into the same moment she left. This trip would be short enough, and she felt she had unfinished business in the inn.

It was not as bright and welcoming as the last time she was here. There were no bright lights, no welcoming fire. There was no pleasant chatter of conversation or smell of warm food and pleasant drink. As the huntress stood at the door in the cold and dark night, the only thing coming from within was the light of a few wall sconces and a single candle at a table directly ahead. The friendly old bar tender seemed to be going about the process of closing up shop for the day, well before the hour other taverns would be making their last calls.

But then again, Kira had already made her visit. The single other visitor to the in had stayed well past the end of her allotted time. It did not matter. Both women knew this score must be settled.

Kira pushed her way into the inn. The bar tender nodded gravely in her direction, as though relieved she had finally arrived. She gave a nod back as she slowly crossed the room to the single table. The woman sitting at the other end of the table was tall. Her hair was dark and long, wavy like that of her child. It should have fallen in graceful ripples down the length of her back, or tied up in a simple formal bun as her status would have warranted. Instead, it fell as a back waterfall, only more gracefully than that of her daughter by virtue of length and weight. Her skin was fair as though it resisted the very thought of sunlight in its surface. In the lights of the family common room, it had appeared beautiful and regal. In this dark and simple scenery, it only made her seem more ghostly and hollow.

The one thing the years had not changed one small bit was her eyes. There was a gentle glow to them, such that the deep violet hue would be immediately recognizable to those who knew her daughter.

Those eyes would not meet the girl who crossed the floor to join her table now. They stared regally, distantly, just to Kira’s side. The nobility had long passed from this woman, but she still carried the weight of a thousand years of Adia blood.

Kira sat across from the woman at the single empty chair. Her eyes had not left her mother. She regarded the woman closely, with no sympathy and no affection. Instead, Kira's gaze flashed with contempt and resentment.

Tonight would be the night she would make peace. She needed to put this woman to rest once and for all.

“It would be a lie to say it is a pleasure to see you again, Imiriden.” Kira's mother sat with her hands on her lap, legs crossed at the knees. The only motion she showed was the gentle rise and fall of her chest and shoulders as she breathed. “It has been, what? About four years since I last saw you. Or maybe five? I don't remember if you ever actually saw me at the Royal household. I went where the king went, but he rarely had me at court.”

There may have been a blink. The Lady Adia continued to look past Kira, impassive and stoic.

“Then again, why would the king bring his playthings out in public? I only held his favor for so long, you know. Within a season, I was just another girl for him when he desired a bit of variety. I consider myself lucky he kept me to himself. Some others were often... used as favors. For honored guests and special occasions. Maybe my favor lasted a bit longer than I give myself credit for.”

The rage within Kira only grew. This woman who did nothing could only sit. Was she even listening? Could she not even acknowledge the presence of her own daughter?

“Do you truly care so little? Was I ever nothing more than a tool? Did our family mean nothing?” As the silence stretched, her anger only grew. “Do you have nothing to say?”

“What could I even say, Iskira?” Imiriden continued to look past her daughter, even as she finally broke her silence. “What could I say that would set things right?”

The woman was interrupted by a pair of fists slamming into the top of the table. “Anything! Say you're sorry, say you never cared! Tell me I played the part you intended for me! Tell me I fucked up! Tell me anything, just say *something*.” Kira was half standing now, fingernails digging into palms.

Only now did violet eyes meet violet. Kira realized just then it had been at least a decade since she'd ever made eye contact with her own mother.

“You acted exactly as you believed you should have. You were the daughter I raised you to be. And for that, I was punished.”

“You? *We* suffered for what you did. *Your family was slaughtered.* Our allies were purged.” She fell into the chair. “He used me... for three years. I couldn't say no.” Kira closed her eyes, determined to hold back tears in front of her mother. “You weren't punished for your sins. We were. You never saw the worst of it.”

If she had looked, she would have seen the beginnings of tears in her mother’s eyes. The first cracks in that stone facade. By the time Kira did look, it had passed.

“I know you can do nothing to undo the choices you made. I know I am stuck with the burdens you left me. I don't know what I expected coming here again. Maybe I only wanted to have a chance to say these words, the last chance I'll ever have.”

Imiriden nodded to her daughter’s words. “Kira... I failed you as your mother. I made many mistakes. I know even if I had succeeded, I would have made more and worse. There is no situation in which I would have done right, by you, by our House, or the Kingdom.” She closed her eyes. “Your pain and suffering are something I cannot take away, but you will be stronger than I ever was. And if I can do nothing else as your mother, I can endure your wrath until you are satisfied, so that you no longer carry it.”

Kira felt tears come now. She could no longer hold them back. Her mother continued. “You have found love, and you will find more in time. Do not let your love become obsession. Do not let your desire become a chain. Obsession is what brought our downfall, both me and Jamusa.” She made a move to reach across the table, the hesitation in the motion showing an immense uncertainty. “It does not have to be yours. Hate me if you must. Love the woman you have found. But let neither control you. *You are better.* You are Mistress of House Adia now.”

Kira could not forgive her yet. “Mother... mom, I do hate you. I resent what you've done. But...” she again closed her eyes, though not to hold back the tears she could no longer control. “I will try to be better. And as long as I stand, so does our House.”

She reached across herself, but neither of the two women touched. Fingertips hovered close, they had met in the middle, but there would always be a gap they could not cross.

Imiriden opened her eyes, her tears flowing gently at her daughter’s halting sobs. In death, she found she was proud of the woman her daughter would become. She could accept her fate freely, knowing some good would come from her, even if that good came from elsewhere.

“Little Huntress,” Kira softened at the old affectation, “all of our family that passed have found peace. They lingered only long enough to say goodbye. But it is not my fate to join them. I lingered too long to wait for you and give you this chance for healing. The last action I will ever do. Maybe the one good thing I could do for you. It is time for me to go, to fade, as there is nothing left of me. I have given you all I have left. Kira, I love you.”

Kira opened her eyes, but she found the room empty. There were no candles, the tables and chairs falling apart. There was no bartender and the shelves lay bare save a few empty bottles, long emptied by squatters. She allowed herself a moment longer to finally grieve.

Some time later, Kira emerged from the dark common room into the chill night air of RhyDin. James stood leaning against the wall next to the door, as if waiting for her emergence. “I hope you found some peace tonight.”

Kira shook her head. “I don't know. Maybe I can start to properly grieve now. I don't know how much of what she said to take to heart.”

“Take all of it for what it is. The last words of a dead mother, making one last attempt to set things right.”

Kira leaned against the wall on the other side of the door, looking up at the stars, just as he now was. “Did you ever make peace with her?”

James gave a laugh that lacked humor. “I saw her here once, not long ago. She accepted that I was the one who killed her and that I had that right. She also accepted that I had left the family behind. She told me she hoped I could find peace one day.”

“You haven't already? You seem quite content in your life as The Exile. The boogeyman of the Royal Court.”

James thought for a long moment. “I went back to my Thendozal while I was looking for a way back here. There was a civil war after Mother died. The kingdom split, but the new kings were rebuilding. Things are getting better. I don't know how it will be in your home world in five hundred years. I hope it also gets better.”

She gave him a sidelong look. “And that answers my question how?”

He laughed again. “It's about as close to peace as I've been able to find. That and helping you get free. You will not have to live with the mistakes I did. It will have to be enough.”

Kira nodded to this and took a moment of her own to consider. “Mother’s words gave me little peace. But they will stick with me, I think. They give me some encouragement.”

“That's good. What do you plan to do now?”

Kira smiled to herself. “For now, I'll go back to Luna to continue our hunt and work some more on Syl’s journal. When I get back, I'll see if Mathian will allow me to visit her. I need to see her and know that I can hold my head high next to her. I need to know I am the woman I want to be again, and I want her to see that. After that? Who knows? Maybe write our family history. How about you?”

James had retrieved a cigarette from a pack in his pocket. With a snap of his fingers, the end flowed a warm orange. “First, there's a bottle of ale somewhere in the Red Dragon with my name on it. Maybe I'll visit this Lady Shadowsoul myself one day soon, as what about her has you so smitten.”

Kira cocked an eyebrow at him. “Those things will kill you, you know.”

James gave a hearty laugh, this one full of humor. “I've been doing this for three hundred years. My healing magic is more than up to the task, I assure you.”

Kira laughed with him. “I should head back. Luna won't even know I was gone, but I shouldn't stay too long regardless. There's healing to be found out there. Stay safe, James.”

He gave a nod, and she vanished in a flash of indigo. James stood straight and walked up to the main road, ready for that drink. He hummed to himself as he went, enjoying the chill wind of the winter.

[Amaris]

The early evening light was already starting to fade. Despite the solstice bringing back the light, it was still only a few moments more than the day before. As she moved down the streets, dancing through the crowds, she made stops here and there. A quick dinner of meat on a stick, a sweet chocolate treat, and water, because she’d had enough coffee and chocolate earlier, and she was trying to be responsible. She smiled as she thought of how responsible she was trying to act. No sugary-sweet drinks tonight.

The wind started to pick up. Shivers ran over her as she brought the gray cloak closer. She couldn’t figure out why the cold was cutting her so hard today. Usually she was a furnace in her own right, and cold didn’t usually bother her much. She trudged on, her head down a bit to keep the snow and wind from smacking her in the face. Even the scarf wasn’t doing much to keep the wind from chapping her lips and cheeks.

Continuing down the streets, her eyes finally lifted and she blinked. Where the heck was she? Nothing looked familiar, buildings looked old and dilapidated, curtains danced in and out of broken windows. She stopped to pull her backpack from one shoulder. She opened it up, looking for her phone. When she looked down to unzip her backpack, a light blue color was pulsing at her chest under her shirt…

That is weird, she thought.

She carefully pulled on the chain and took out the orb that Pharlen had given her a while back. The pretty orb was glowing a soft eerie blue. Her mothers lullaby started to play on the wind, only it wasn’t coming from the orb. Her eyes scanned the area... but suddenly the orb’s light left it and started to dance through the winding streets. It didn’t go very far until Amaris started to follow it. Will-o-wisps danced and guided her as she followed. The lights disappeared inside the door, and as Amaris stepped up the stairs the door slowly opened.

The warmth and light of the fire drew her further inside. She politely shut the door behind her. The faint sounds of a gathering had her glancing around at all the people within. As she approached a table, the murmurs hushed for a moment, then crescendoed as she passed. They looked so familiar. Was that what it was … red hair? They all had red hair, but she didn’t know a single one, though they all looked like each other, like siblings would look like each other. Strange.

The light had faded out on her necklace as she moved towards the bar. She decided that a hot tea might be a good thing to chase off her chill, whether it was the air or the strange feeling she got from the people around, she couldn’t say. The rust-colored sailor’s garb of the man at the bar caught her attention. It wasn't that it was odd; she’d seen plenty of strange people in her time so far. No, it was the kind smile he gave her.

”Hi… um, can I have a hot tea please? Um… hmmm, peppermint sounds good, if you have it.”


“Awful young to be out and about, and no less, at a bar. Why don’t you take a seat at that empty table and I’ll bring you that tea? It’s nice, warm and right by the fire. I think you’ll like it”*

Amaris looked where the man had indicated then back at him with a slow nod.


”Oh … okay thank you, um how much?”

He shook his head with a twinkle in his eye.

”Oh! On the house, I insist.”

She blinked but nodded, leaving some coins as a tip at least, before moving towards the table.
She tugged off her gloves one at a time, before sliding off her backpack and pushing it to the end of the bench. Once it was settled, she placed her gloves on top to let them dry nearer the fire. The cloak was next to be hung up, at the end of the table where a coat hook had been attached.

Amaris slid in and sat down, looking around. More chills as a soft breeze filtered in, but this time from the back. She turned and looked around, seeking the source of the breeze, only to suck in her breath and quickly turn back in her seat, almost as if she thought she could hide, maybe. What the hell was going on? She rubbed her eyes and turned again. Sure enough, her father came down the stairs, his strong wild eyes looking around, catching her for a moment before she vanished back behind the bench. A beautiful woman peered over his shoulder excitedly.

Rhionna ”She’s here! She’s here, isn’t she? I know I … know she’s here. Right?”


Wilder ”Yes, my love, she is, shhh… I don’t think she understands.”


Upon getting to her table, the woman slipped into the man's arms, standing in front of him, just a head shorter. Her bright amber eyes took in the image of Amaris: a pretty well rounded, muscular, soon-to-be-teenager. Slowly, Amaris’ eyes couldn’t stand looking at the wood grain of the table, and she looked up, gasping and gawking at them, voice raspy as she tried to speak, but it was just so soft.

”M...mom? D...dad?”

Her father peered down at her and nodded slowly.

”May we have a seat?”

”Um… yeah. What's going on? I thought you passed away… so, you are ghosts right?"

Another nod as he moved towards the opposite bench and led her mother to scoot in first, before coming in after her.

”We are on a pass for the New Year. Your new home is so magical. I used to dream of a place like this!”


Her mother gushed a little as they got comfortable. The man from the bar came out with a tea pot and three glasses, careful not to interrupt them. An added plate was set before them, filled with lovely chocolate chip cookies. Amaris looked at them, then to the barkeep as he set out the food and drink.

She turned a little green before croaking out,”Thank you.”

The barkeep nodded and hobbled away with a small smile.

“Wilder? Rayna, are you sick?”

The motherly concern had Amaris blinking and looking up, tears in her eyes.

Fear and confusion caused her to blurt out, ”Am I dead? Cause, I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my family!”

She started to cry, all-out sobbing, putting her hands over her face in an attempt to hide it.

For a spirit, one wouldn’t think Rhionna could get any paler, but she did.

”Oh! Oh, Rayna! Oh, my baby! No, of course you are not dead!”


”Then, you are here to punish me?”


She sniffled softly but still hid her face behind her hands.

”What on earth are you talking about? What happened was not your fault. We don’t blame you. No one blames you. I promise you we know you had no control over yourself. I just wish we could have protected you from that… that!”

Her face became red as she sought the words to give such an ugly hateful human like the detective.


”If we wanted revenge, it would be on the man that hurt our beautiful daughter.”

Suddenly Amaris felt warmth at either side. While she tried to compose herself, her mother slid to sit beside her, and her father moved to sit on the other side. Each wrapped their arms around her, holding her and letting her cry. After several minutes, the tea was poured and brought closer to Amaris, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Her father pulled out a handkerchief, offering it to wipe the tears, then letting her have it to blow her nose. Slowly, she put the handkerchief in her lap and looked at the tea with red puffy eyes, only to look back up at her mother.

”I...um, is it safe to drink? I mean, it won’t make me stay here forever like fae food and drink, will it?”

Yes, she was smart enough to be skeptical even in the presence of her parents, because spirits could be just as easily fooled. Her hair was petted lightly.

”I promise you will be safe and head back home when you are ready.”

Amaris accepted this on the basis that fae didn’t really lie. Adjusting the truth was one thing, but she couldn’t see any reason to distrust them. Reaching for the tea, she basked in their love and warmth as they sat beside her. She took a sip of the tea: peppermint her favorite.

”You said you’re here on a pass? What for?”

Her father and mother were just having a sip of their own tea when she asked. Her mother sputtered as her father lowered the cup, swallowed and smiled.


”To see you, of course. We can always watch over you and see how amazing you are growing up, but this was a chance to actually talk to you, see you, hold you. We’d have been crazy not to accept that.”

”Your dad is right! We’re excited to hear all your stories. Tell us more about your family and what you like to do. Please, tell me they put you in school. I want you to be well rounded and educated.”

Amaris looked up and snatched a cookie, taking a nibble before diving in: telling them with great gusto the ups and downs, joys and sorrows, fears and happiness she’d had. She told them about the cage and the bag and her great escape, about the roaming and living in the arena until her Pops - who, she explained, was Benny the Butcher - took her under his wing. He taught her how to use a blade, a special knife he had. He taught her discipline and respect for the blade. He’d been so proud of her that he had one forged for her. She told them how she started to duel and draw and how she gathered family, Benny first, then meeting Mist and Roni, who protected her and sometimes spoiled the heck out of her, trying to show her how she wasn’t at fault even though she blamed herself for not having that control to protect them. Then, meeting Rachael and learning her teachings of honor, skill, and respect, meeting her uncles, both Crispin and Dillon, they were sweet guys, looking out for her and even caring about her even when trying to keep people from seeing it… that was her impression of them, of course. She talked about her aunties, more about Rachael and Reiko, and told them about her brothers and sisters: Maggie, Desdanova, and Haru.
She told them about the day that everyone came together to save her from the detective’s henchmen, how she had been so scared, but they all came together to help her. She realized then how much of a family she had gathered and how they loved her.

She told them about her drawings and dance classes and her love of music, and finally, she got animated when she told them about her dueling and how she loved all the skills she had learned and developed, how she kicked arse and took names. She showed off her scar and such. This was given most colorfully, and while her mother bit her lip, almost as if holding back a laugh, her father laughed outright.

”My daughter has the mouth of a sailor and doesn’t back down! I love it!”


Her mother gave him a stink eye but encouraged Amaris to continue. Amaris shrugged a little.

”I mean I have a … what would you call someone that kinda likes you but is too young … I think some say puppy love, others say crush? I don’t know? He’s an okay kid, but I can’t seem to get him to talk to me about anything other than how tough I am or how beautiful I am or how amazing I am. I don’t know much about him. When I told him, let's be friends and get to know each other, it seemed to upset him, so I don’t know, I still say we’re friends but he asked me to wait for him, whatever that means?”

Her parents laughed softly, nodding.

”Well, time will show you what options you have, when the time's right.”

Her father sipped his tea and tilted his head.

”You have become an amazing young lady, diversified and beautiful. I'm so proud of you, my little wild one. I know there is a lot more to come for you and it might be bad, it might be good, but remember, you have loved ones always there for you. These are things that will happen in your life. Though, struggle makes you who you are, just like happiness does, don’t let it defeat you when things go bad. I don’t think I need to tell you that, since what you have been through has made you so incredible, but remember, keep fighting and keep your head up.”*

Amaris was snagging a cookie when her father made that proclamation. She looked up, swallowing hard, a lump forming in her throat.


”Yes, your father and I are so proud of the hurdles you have crossed to become such a beautiful young lady. Your pops, dad and sissy, the whole of your family you gathered around you, have helped you forge such an amazing path. Just… you are about to be a teenager and you’ll be going through independent phases - or maybe not since Mist has given you the freedom you needed - but don’t forget that they all love you, even if you become embarrassed to be seen around them, like most teens get with their folks. I know I went through that phase, but remember to give them some of your time. We all love you so much.”*

Amaris looked up at them, one to the other.

”You’re getting ready to leave already, aren’t you?”

She whimpered a little.

”Please, not yet.”

They looked at each other then down to Amaris, her father kissing her head and sliding out of the booth, offering her his hand.

”A while more, but remember there are others worried about you out there.”


Amaris thought she would send a message and went to reach for her phone, only remembering that it was in her backpack. She soon forgot to fish it out, as her father guided her through the people around them, her mother following along. She was introduced and hugged by almost every one of her ancestors. She barely knew them. She met her grandparents and aunts and uncles from both sides, so many it took a few hours, By the time they had finished she was yawning and leaning against her mother.

Her mother and father looked down at their drowsing daughter, and flickers of sad smiles showed on their faces. Her mother picked her up and held her as best she could. She was a tall teenager, after all. Her father disappeared for a moment and came back with a huge, warm quilt and her backpack, as her mother put her gently down by the fireplace. The inn’s people came and gathered around her. The barkeep ambled over, offering a hand to take Amaris’ phone from her father. Everyone squished together and a picture was taken, a sleepy smile on Amaris’ face as she was surrounded by all her ancestors and family of blood.

”I love you mommy. I love you daddy”

After the picture was saved to her phone her father slipped the phone into her backpack. He wrapped the blanket more snugly around her before moving to tend to the fire. He made it stronger, stoking it back to life. Slowly her family left, until it was only her parents, the barkeep, and the sleeping Amaris left in the dilapidated, abandoned inn. The tea had vanished and everything was back to its sad state, but Amaris was exhausted. The spirits might have used some of her energy to stay longer - like she had asked - but it had taken its toll, and she slept heavily. Her parents stood watch for as long as they could, well past the barkeep’s vanishing and well past the lights fading, until they, too, faded away like a beautiful dream. Small snow drifts blew in through the windows, making the curtains dance. Amaris buried herself deeper into the quilt as little snow drifts started to form around her.

[Roni]

"AAAMMMAAAARRRIIISSS." Roni's voice cut through the darkness of the evening that had just begun to settle, most likely for the hundredth or so time. It's hard to tell, her voice sounded hoarse. Repeatedly, for the past week, Mist and her both have gone out, searching high and low. Roni's probably visited any remotely possible creep she knew that either may have had her, or know where she was. And still nothing. It was so much nothing, that it was beginning to gnaw a pit of worry in her heart that when she did locate her sister, things weren't going to be pretty.

Even still, she clung to some desperate hope like Mist, that Amaris was fine, wherever she may be.

The faerie's not even sure where she's at any more. She's forgoing all normal places, branching out, exploring and just simply wandering herself lost. What better way to find those so hopelessly lost, than to become more hopelessly lost than she already was? The place she's found currently is well worn, and mostly abandoned. Mostly, because there are still so many Rhy'din inhabitants that would gleefully call these dilapidated buildings and crumbling streets home. There's homes, and what possibly looks to be businesses, and just...like the rest of Rhy'din. Just dead. A Ghost town.


"AMAAAA-rrrrIIsss." This time her voice cracked, and she finally stopped at a small fountain that was full of frozen rainwater. She was absolutely lost, and cold. It's been awhile since the cold bothered her much, especially as square into the winter courts as she was. It's brushed off as being out for so long.

Roni hoped quietly that at some point this search would be over and her sister would be safe home. Lost in her thoughts... it takes a moment for her to realize that her phone's chiming a ringtone she's not heard in a hot minute. Jeremy. There's only a moment's hesitation before she's pulling the thing out of her pocket, turned so the screen was visible.

Surprise bled across her features when she finds the screen dark.... and pulls into a frown when instead a few feet away appears a small blue glowing orb.

Will-o'-the-wisp. Faerie light. Ghost lantern.

The various names for them came to mind, along with tidbits of lore and facts she had collected. Somewhere along the processing, she decided that following may be a good idea. There's probably at least three people she knows that would be facepalming at her decision to follow the magic faerie lights, but it was simply something she felt, not thought about. It moved, and she followed, keeping pace.


"AAMMAARRRIIISSS!" Her voice rang out, echoing and sounding a touch... off. Or was that just the way the abandoned buildings absorbed sound? Either way, she still scrambled after the glowing orb. The erratic path it led was followed all the way down to another run down building and to the porch.... before it simply blinked out of existence and left her alone.

The shattered wooden door that would lead her inside of the building let a soft blue light shine through like the wisp she’d followed. There was a soft warmth and golden light that enticed her inside.

There was only a beat of hesitation when she spotted the blue glow come from inside the doorway, that only gave way to a warm golden glow as she stepped through, and inside...

Inside, she saw the worn down hearth with a man tending the fire... a very familiar man. By the fire, curled up, was a pretty lavender and black quilt. Beside that quilt was Amaris’ backpack.
Jeremy looked up and smiled slowly, standing up, placing his finger to his lips, and waving her over.

Her steps faltered when she spotted the familiar figure, and her heart fluttered in her throat.

"Jeremy -" Her voice cracked, still hoarse and exhausted. That's all she got before falling quiet with his motion. Then finally her attention fell to the backpack and curled up quilt. It was Amaris' backpack.

"Amaris? She's here, right? Tell me she's here." Her words were vehement, but quiet as she stepped her way towards him. She hasn't realized yet that there was most likely a form under that quilt. Her brain is trying to process.

He smiled and moved to kneel beside the quilt, carefully moving it a little to reveal Amaris’ red hair.

“She had a very long night visiting with her parents and blood relations.”

He didn’t seem to realize that time was different. He'd see her come in at what seemed like several hours to him, but it had been eleven days since anyone had last seen her. Spirit time was always different than living time.

"A long night? She's been gone fer just a few days shy a two weeks. Mist is beside 'imself. But she's safe n'thats what matters." That said, it takes a moment before her brain reminds her of something.

"Shit. I'm not gunna be gone fer long, yeah? Lily can't go that long without milk. M'not sure how much is got pre-pumped in the fridge." There's a beat, before her face lit up.

"Jeremy. She's fuckin' beautiful. We made a gorgeous baby. Oh, I wish..." she trailed off, then shook her head violently, and tapped at her phone so she could bring up the home screen and started tapping away like crazy, before this gorgeous lil baby face filled her phone screen, and she was offering it up to him.

He stood up from the sleeping Amaris and moved towards Roni to take the phone, standing near her, his remembered scent wafting to her. He peered at the phone, then back at her, and smiled.

“As gorgeous as her mommy.”

He put his hand to the side, her phone still in his hand as he placed his free hand on her face, caressing gently before he pressed his lips lightly to hers. He felt warm and alive at that moment.

She could smell Jeremy. And not just the impression of his scent. And...he actually took her phone from her hand to look at the pictures of their daughter. There's a beat, and a happy little smile that curled her lips.

The same lips that he kissed. He was there. Physically, and there was a pale little hopeful fluttering in her heart that she could just drag him with her. Will him back into being. Something in the back of her head whispered that his hand would fade from hers as they stepped out the crumbling door. She responded in kind to his kiss, returned it even, while her hands came to find his chest.

"Yer really here." The words are breathed once the kiss broke. "But it's not long, is it?" It's spoken softly.

He lingered, his eyes still closed, a soft breath taken in as he squished her into a hug.

"I'm always here with you and Lily, even if you can't see me, but tonight, yes, I'm really physically here. It can't be as long as Amaris’ visit, because I know you don't want to see who else might come across the veil. Let's not ruin this, though, with thoughts of that. "

He had been owed a favor or two from the spirits he worked around at Battlefield, thanks to Amaris telling him, way back. Their favor gave him and Roni time while he watched over Amaris.

"Mmh. If I didn't have Lily ta get back ta, it'd be near impossible ta leave. She's mah world. Heart n'soul." Her words are breathed as she leaned into his hug and let him wrap her up in everything that was him. She breathed deep, savored his scent, and clung to him.

"I'd just call fer Siobhan n'let 'er have fun." Especially if he were physical. But like he said, they shouldn't cloud their minds with Zagan, and for the moment, very much so not there. "Gawd, I fuckin' miss ya Jeremy. This bein' a mom shit's hard."

"I know it is beautiful, but you're doing great, and you had practice with Amaris. Because of you and her family - the same family Lily has now, too - she is growing up to be a bold and beautiful young lady, kind and caring, but not backing down from fighting for what is right… while being cautious as well. Lily has a great mother and is in good hands."

He ran his hands through her hair slowly as he continued to hold her.

"I miss you too, my love, but as I said, I'll always be here watching over my beautiful girls."

"M'Tryin', fer sure. I don't wanna fuck 'er up." This is spoken softly as her face found the crook of his neck and buried itself there. She inhaled deep, like she could rememorize his scent and keep it forever just from that. Oh how she missed him. It was like a yawning hole that just grew with time as Lily grew and flourished. He should be there. Physically.

But because of Zagan, this was all she got. Stolen moments in a decaying building where the veil wore thin. There was a part of her that didn't want to leave, and a stronger louder part that knew she would, as she couldn't abandon her daughter.

"It's not fair. This wasn't how things were supposed ta be. Ya should be here. Like really here. Able ta show Lily all yer love and hold 'er. I wish I coulda made 'em feel more. Suffer more."

He pulled away from her and leveled with her, looking deep in her eyes.

"Beautiful, what was done was enough. Let the fates take care of him. Focus on Lily. You are a wonderful woman and there will be another to fill your heart someday. Promise me you'll allow a new love to bloom when the time comes. I want you happy."

He pulled her to him, kissing her again deeply. The kiss was so expressive, as if he tried to kiss away all the sorrow she held in her heart, trying to heal her.

"I love you and my beautiful Lily, always," he murmured against her lips. "You have to go... the fire’s out, and Amaris needs to head home to her dad and family. You, you need to get back to our daughter. I love you, Beautiful."

He pulled back, and her eyes flickered up to meet his, and stayed as he spoke. "They need ta hurry up." That's muttered softly. She was tired of Zagan haunting her. When he wasn't actually haunting her, she was still plagued by words and thoughts that came to mind that were very much so his poison.

Promise me you'll allow a new love to bloom when the time comes.

The thought terrified her. How could she even begin to open her heart up again like that? She had been wholly and completely honest and vulnerable with him in a way she wasn't even with herself. She fell hard and fast in a way that was scary and so out of the norm for her. And in the moment that should of been one of the happiest, life decided to be cruel and destroy the future she had only just begun planning. It shattered her already broken heart, and left her empty. Loving someone else like that would only open her back up to the possibility of that heartbreak again.

"I promise I'll try."

Her thoughts raced as he poured everything into kissing her. The faerie responded in kind, and tried to make it last as long as possible.

Her time here was growing short, and she was well aware of it. His words only gave voice to what she didn't want to accept. Tears burned like fire at the backs of her eyes, and her vision of him blurred. "Fuck, I miss you so much. N'I love ya even more. I'm still sorry." She doesn't clarify for what. He knows, and she doesn't want to bicker about it.

There's only a moment before she pulls him close one last time for a breath squeezing hug, and a vicious kiss, that ended with her forehead resting against his. "When I collect Amaris, just go. It will be even harder ta leave with ya standin' behind. Thank ya fer everythin' including our daughter. She's my everythin'." There's no stop to the tears that streamed down her face now.

Then, before he could say anything else, she turned and stooped to first collect her sister's book bag, and shouldered it.

He didn’t linger but a very soft rumble of his voice said, “You’re welcome, Beautiful. I love you, always my wife. Still nothing to apologize for.”

He vanished as the fire snuffed out and a cold wind swept in to reclaim the old building. Something would catch her eye, though, winking in the darkness. Near a smoldering ember, a rose gold ring winked, a small note left beside it, not close enough to catch fire:

~Always with you my love, my wife.~

It was when she moved to kneel and rouse her sister that the glint of something in the light of the dying fire caught her eye. It's on closer inspection that she finds the ring and the note that had been left behind. She's not sure how that works, but she wouldn't argue. Roni Harper had a nice ring to it. Gingerly she collected the ring from the ashes and gingerly slid it onto her left ring finger. She wouldn't deny that it felt right, even with the sad realization that they wouldn't ever actually get the pleasure of a honeymoon or walking down the aisle. She would of married him in a heartbeat.

The note was collected and tucked away as well, most likely to join her small hoard of Jeremy things. Her silent tears still fell. Then she turned her attention back to her sister, and pulled back the comforter to reveal her face. A hand came to shake her shoulder gently.

"Sissy. Wake up. I've come ta take ya home."

A groan left her as she turned and stretched, hands coming over her eyes: “Mmmmerrr what?”


She blinked, blurry eyed up at her, tilting her head before jumping up.


“I… I am home aren’t I?”


She looked around, then realized where she was.


“I thought it was a dream… wow. Sissy! I saw my mommy and daddy!”*

She jumped at her to hug her.

“It was so cool… everyone in my blood family was here…”

"Ahh, nah, it was most definitely not a dream." Given her tears, Amaris could hazard a valid guess as to who she had visited with.

"I'm glad. You never really had a chance to even really say goodbye." Its a quiet statement. "You deserved it."

There's a bit of a grunt at the hug, but she returns it fiercely.

"Let's go. Yer dad will be relieved that yer safe. N'before ya ask, spirit time is weird. Its just shy a two weeks since any of us have seen ya, n'm not sure how long I've been. We've got ta get back."

Owl wide eyes blinked up at her and she looked around.


“Shit."

She rushed to get her stuff mostly the quilt seeing that Roni had her backpack she stood up and went to fold up the quilt only to gasp

“Sissy… look!”


On the quilt was an image of her, her mom and dad on one side, Mist, Benny, Roni, Jeremy and Lily on the other side. Around her were the faces of her family both blood and those she brought to herself.

“... It’s so pretty!”
She snuggled it close after showing it off carefully wrapping it around herself offering Roni a hand up she was ready to follow her home.

[Roni]

(Ya'll know Roni and Zagan by now. There's violence and foul language ahead! )

January 30th, 2021 - Late Evening

....Would she have had a babysitter tonight if she had been fully honest of where she was going? Most likely not. She shouldn't be chasing ghosts. It wasn't healthy. She's certain someone would have made that point. But when things had ended so abruptly, on such a note as they had initially, she couldn't be blamed for every stolen moment she could manage with Jeremy while possible. Some day, she'd have to let go and heal, maybe even love again. Today though, was most definitely not that day.

Her steps came with mild purpose as she made her way towards the stretch of city she let herself get lost in, before she happened to find her sister. She's not positive on how she'll find it again, but she figured she'd manage somehow. She didn't look as exhausted as she had the last time, and had at least swept her mess of hair up into a mess of a bun that got it out of her face. Just like she had since she found the ring among ashes, she sported Jeremy's ring, quite proudly on her left ring finger. A nod to what could have been, of the future stolen from her. A million what-ifs and wishing that things were different.

Roni hadn't been paying attention to where she had been wandering, just that she was slowly making her way further into the territory of buildings that were no longer inhabited by most. The snow that had been falling so far was light and fluffy, but here the wind bit hard, and the snow fall came heavy, blurring visibility. The cold seemed more vicious than she remembered, and for a moment she's happy that she left Lily with a sitter, as much of a joy it would have been to actually introduce Jeremy to her, it was better to be safe than sorry. She'd take pictures to add to their scrapbook she's been building.

A particularly cold gust of wind blew through, and had her pulling her tacket tighter, and muttering about the cold and winter. And really, Jeremy could show up as light and lead the way at any moment now. She could use the heat of that fireplace. It wasn't until she was ready to give up hope that the wisp would show, that it did. This one was paler, more of an icy glowing blue, and appeared very suddenly before her. A hum sounded on the wind as it zipped around her in a couple circles, then blinked away.... Only to reappear a few feet away.

It's with a delighted sound that the faerie's moving to chase after the Wisp, and the path that it used to lead her back to the worn down, dilapidated Riverside inn. This time when the light of the wisp disappeared, she didn't hesitate one bit, heart full of warmth and excitement at the thought of a few more stolen moments.

"Jere-" Her voice died in her throat, for no other fact other than the spirit that awaited her today was most definitely NOT Jeremy.

No. No. The face that looked up and simply grinned at her arrival was none other than Zagan's. And he found absolute delight in the abject horror that flashed across Roni's features as it settled in that it was most definitely not Jeremy that had led her to the Inn tonight. Ever so casually, he lifted his bourbon on the rocks and finished it off, before he rose to his feet.

"What, Doll? You're pale. Paler than you normally are. Might even say you've seen a ghost?" There's a sly as shit smile that curls his lips with those words as he started in her direction.

Roni stood frozen for a moment. Zagan. Fucking Zagan. The last time she had seen him, it was with him screaming and writhing in agony as she unleashed all the pain he ever had caused her in the form of untethered rage. The last time she'd made contact with him, it was as she watched the life drain from his dreamself's eyes, before she slammed back into the waking world with his lack of brain activity and heart beat.

She woke next to his bloody and battered body, and she came undone.

"M'not sure if I'd insult spirit kind by even lumpin' yer fuckin' sorry ass in with 'em. Yer close enough." This is spoken firmly as he closed the distance to about five feet between them, then stopped, and watched her.

"Mmh, forever ready to spit fire at me. You have not changed much, have you? Apart from obviously not being pregnant. Tell me, Doll, where's the little bastard?" His rough gravel laugh came barked, like he had told the best joke in the world.

Abyssal hues narrowed on Zagan's form dangerously with his question. "Ya ask that like it's any of yer actual fuckin' business." That said, she's quick to close the distance between them, and was not shy about getting in his face. "Iff'in yer plannin' on tryin' somethin', don't. I'll personally destroy what essence of yers is left, n'erase yer stupid fuckin' face from history. No one will remember yer name, not even yer family."

Roni's obviously become more of a spitfire than she had been before. Zagan's honestly not sure why that surprises him so damned much, but it does. "Mh, That's a bold claim of ability, Ronixi." Flatly, he comments. And he is only mildly unnerved by the smile that wickedly turns the corners of her mouth upwards.

Roni's hands shot out, to press against his chest, and she found delight in the way that the motion made him flinch like he had made her, so many times before in the past. It was empowering. Exhilarating.

"Oh, Zagan." She crooned his name patronizingly, even as she peered up at him. "Do ya forget? I ripped yer heart from yer chest in yer dreams. And I woke up next ta yer bloody body. Siobhan took the fall, n'no one questioned it. She was just doin' her job." A single finger jabbed itself against his chest, before she leaned up close.

"Ya don't fuckin' scare me anymore. Ya've no control over me anymore Zagan. This. Yer physical, corporeal form currently is nothin' but temporary. N'm'not afraid ta fuckin' wreck this one like I did yer physical body."

"While that might be true, it's still not like any of that will manage to bring your pathetic excuse of a lover back. He's just as dead as I am. Mist can't fix that. You can't fix that. Just like you'll never forget the feeling of driving that blade into him repeatedly, of the delicious copper tang of his blood. That was all you, Ronixi. Ultimately, you are responsible for the end of Jeremy's sad excuse of an existence. You-"

Whatever else he was going to say was met with a roar of anger and bubbling rage. How DARE he lay the blame of Jeremy's death on her when he was the one that uttered the commanding words followed by her true name, that made her. Quick motions has her jerking her head forward, and connecting with something that kinda crunched. Might've been a nose, might of been a jaw, Roni herself, had no fucks to give.

A startled and pained expression crossed his features. She most definitely had a hard head. That was still the same, in more ways than one. He reeled back, both in shock and pain.... And after it wore off in a couple of seconds, Zagan snarled, and flung himself at her.

There's a yelp that escaped her as his bulky form collided with hers, and sent them both tumbling, and landing in a piled heap of flailing limbs and legs. Roni bucked, and swung, and aimed to dig her nails in viciously whenever he actually did manage to get the occasional hold on her.

In their struggle, her nails catch his face, and leave a trail of weeping red scratches. It's with a growl that his hand catches one of hers, then the other. It's a backhanded blow to the face that sends Roni's thoughts scattering, and leaves her ears ringing. It's in those couple seconds of stunned silence, that his fingers leave her hands and simply circle around her neck and squeeze.

The explosion of pain that the strike brought blooming to Roni’s cheek was like a summoning call for the wrathful knight under life bond with the fae. An unearthly echo of a banshee-like shriek reverberated through the air a moment before a hole tore in the very fabric of space inside the Inn. The rider was already running as she came through the portal, deadly scythe in hand and being swung at whoever was overtop of the one that held her reins.

Zagan had been expecting Siobhan's arrival. He's not forgotten about her, or that infernal connection she had with Roni. Always turning up like a bad penny. There's that rumble, and the wail, and that was all the heads up he needed to be scrambling off of Roni and very narrowly avoiding Siobhan and that wicked scythe of hers.

"Wonderful. Your guard dog's here. I'm not surprised. Too bad having her still didn't save your precious human pet. It's a terrible shame she's not as in tune with your emotional pain as much as she is your physical." As he spoke, Roni gasped a moment, and rolled to get to her feet again. There's a single glance cast towards her best friend and protector with her arrival...

"Not," He paused, "...that it's surprising, given how lacking in her own--" whatever the rest of his insult was, died in his throat when Roni launched herself at him again, and connected once more. They both went sprawling, and she knocked the breath from his lungs.

Siobhan’s scythe swooped through the air, narrowly missing the bastard it had been aimed for. When she realized who it was, she blinked, mildly confused as she spun the scythe around to prepare it for another swipe. The rider bristled at whatever Zagan was going to imply and he would, unknowing, be thankful that Roni stopped whatever those words were about coming from his mouth.

She couldn’t let this bizarre reunion continue though. Zagan being there was an affront to the natural order of things and she couldn’t let Roni be hurt again. The rider cursed under her breath as she dismissed her scythe to use both hands to snatch the irate fae noble from her deceased husband’s soon-to-be twice dead corpse.

“Enough.” The hiss of her disembodied voice came from beneath the jet black helmet, the speaker at the side of the thing crackling and squealing with the feedback of power.

Aww. Siobhan most likely would have left him a smear and dragged him back to wherever he belonged. Too bad Roni interrupted.... And too bad Siobhan pried her from Zagan's writhing form, as she was in the process of trying to poke his eyes out when she felt her friend's arms wrap around and pull her from Zagan's flailing form. She struggled against Siobhan until her voice cut through the fray.

Roni hissed in irritation in response, but she fell still and stopped struggling against her. "I'm gunna kill 'em again. However it fuckin' works with thin veils and spirity shit." There's snarl in her voice, and a feral ferocity on her features. She's so very unhappy to have been pulled from Zagan.

Zagan himself, once Roni had been pulled from him, took a moment to catch his breath and wits, before he laughed. "Well this is definitely a day I never thought I'd see. Guardog's the one with the leash right now." He sounded haughtily amused.

...All of which went out the window whenever Siobhan relaxed her grip, even just a little bit, and Roni made like she was going to lunge for him again... but doesn't actually. It doesn't stop him from flinching, and it doesn't stop the absolute rush that she feels with making him do so.

Instead of saying anything else for the moment, Roni simply cackled aloud.

Siobhan sighed and moved around between them and faced Zagan, her scythe once again being summoned to hand. “I should jus’ let Roni do whatever she’s gunna do...but a new mother shouldn’t have so much blood on ‘er hands…” The speaker at the side of the helmet continued to hiss and crackle, “My way’s a lot cleaner.” She brought the scythe up and down, the tip aimed for the center of Zagan’s chest.

"I mean it's not like it's new blood or nothin'. I've tainted my hands with 'is blood plenty a times. What's one more? I jus' wanna fuck up 'is face a lil more. Maybe collect n'eye fer a souvenir ta put inna jar." She leered in the man's direction, still absolutely delighted in the fact that somewhere, deep down, part of him was scared of her now. He could never take that from her, and she was going to revel in it every chance she got. Even if Siobhan was taking that kind of fun from her currently.

"Oi, Doll that's fucking morbid." Oh yes. He was just mildly scared of her. Just mildly. There's a touch of horror pulling at his features, as he reconsidered the fae. She seemed bolder. Maybe even mildly unhinged. Not that it was honestly much of a concern of his for very long. He looked about ready to say something as the scythe cut through him. Him, his essence and his entire being.... Was there, and then the next moment, he was simply no more. Gone, without any trace, and no longer a massive pain in the ass..... For now.

It would be a very long time before Zagan’s soul had the power to manifest physically back in this plane again, if ever. The power of the Dullahan’s was certainly efficient at keeping the order of things. Dead things should stay dead. As soon as Zagan was gone, her shoulders slumped a bit...she hadn’t reaped any souls for a long time and it put a bit of a heavy weight on her shoulders for a moment. But then she reminded herself that it was Zagan and he deserved it.

She turned back around and looked to Roni, dismissing the scythe once again and shook her head, “Wha’ were y’doin’ out here?”

Zagan deserved it, and so much more. Too bad Siobhan sent him back before she could do anything scarring, Hurting his pride and his ego would have been a two for one. She stared at the empty spot where Zagan had stood just moments before, before the fight slowly left her body, Her own shoulders didn't slump until Siobhan asked what she was doing there.

"I wanted ta find Jeremy again. Just ta talk more. I didn't think that I'd find Zagan instead. I just..." There's a beat, before the fae blew a heavy sigh. "I guess I was bein' stupid, n'hopin' fer more than I'd been gifted already." There's hesitation before her attention drifted up towards her friend.

"Jeremy was 'ere when I found Amaris. He's the one that lead me ta 'er. We talked. I showed 'em pictures a Lily." The smile that tugs at her mouth is bittersweet.

Her shoulders slumped a bit with a sigh, the speaker at the side of her head no longer crackling or squealing, the GPS monotone voice returning rather than her own voice that was wispy through the air, “...it’s not stupid to miss someone you love or want more time with them when they’ve been taken too soon...I’m glad you had that extra bit of time with Jeremy…” She lifted a gloved finger to poke Roni’s forehead, “What is stupid is wandering around by yourself chasing mystery spirits in the dead of night.” She folded her arms over her chest and shifted her weight onto one leg, “Next time, just tell me, would you?”

"I am too. There's a part a me that wishes he coulda actually met Lily instead of seen her through pictures. Figured it wasn't the smartest ta bring 'er. Obviously, I was right." Oh, how she wished she hadn't been, and that things had just gone to plan. It was always better when they did.

She paused when Siobhan poked her forehead, and voiced what she believed to be the stupid thing that she had done. "Sometimes... I hate it when yer right, y'know." This is used softly, her smile small, but fond. "Fine. Next time I'll tell ya my stupid plans, and ya can come along n'supervise." Cuz they both know that once Roni's set her mind to something, nine times outta ten, she was gunna do it regardless. Honesty!

There's a beat, and a moment taken to look around one last time. "Ah, I guess maybe we should head home. Rescue Mist from the perils of babysitting." He'd be happy to see her before the time they agreed on, she's certain.

There was no sound of laughter but Siobhan’s shoulders shook a bit to indicate she was amused, “You’d think you’d be used to it by now with how often I am right.” She looped her arm around Roni’s shoulders in a one armed hug and headed off home with her.

[Mairead Harker]

(Cross-posted from Memories and Other Dances )

Just after 2.a.m., 30 Jan 2021

Fresh snow was swirling in the air as Maggie took her nightly ride. She wore her dark blue parka with its hood drawn up. Mittened hands curled around the black leather reins as the teenager surveyed Dragon’s Gate from the air. There were lights in a few older buildings that were dark and cold only weeks before. She was reminded of the lamp her grandmother left in the front window of her home; a symbol of warmth and welcome. The sound of a clicking tongue caused the black Pegasus mare to dip downward near the boundary wall between Old Market and Dragon’s Gate. Four hooves touched down on a high pile of snow that had built up against the wall with the remains of walkways that were recently shoveled. The top of the knoll was a good six feet above the street.

Maggie chuckled as she stared down at the frozen pile beneath her then at the street. “Really, Windy? My legs aren’t that long!” The winged beast tossed her head and mane with an indignant snort. “Don’t look at me, I asked you to land, you picked the where!” More snorting followed as the mare gingerly stretched out her front legs and started sliding down the narrow slope. “Skiing it is!” Maggie leaned forward to pat Gaoth Dubh’s neck as they moved down to the street.

Hearing a familiar chirping sound, Maggie looked up to see Sparks perched on a darkened lamppost. The little dragon tucked his head under his wing. “I can still see you, you know,” she chided playfully. He chirped at her again and puffed air into the glass housing. A blue glow lit that part of the street as Maggie’s eyes swept over worn wooden signs. A child’s laughter caught her attention. Maggie murmured, “I hope this really is a happy sound.” A frown touched her lips as she remembered her last encounter with a tormented young spirit.

Maggie’s boot prints were covered by falling snow as quickly as she made them. A drunken man in the street cried out in fear and fled as she neared. It wasn’t until she was startled by her own reflection in a window that she understood. Gaoth Dubh’s wings were spread as she flitted along behind her rider. What had the man seen? Angel? Demon? A dragon in the midst of changing to a more humanoid form? Seconds passed, but it seemed like hours as Maggie studied her visage in the glass. Her expression ran the gamut from horror to fascination as pieces began to fall into place. “I am not one of the Kindly Ones. Not even one in waiting,” Maggie said aloud.

“You’ve done their work,” a male voice spoke from the doorway of the Riverside Inn.

“Once,” Maggie answered.

“More than once,” the man spoke again. “Come in and join us.”

“I don’t think so.” The teenager shook her head. The place oozed of ethereal essences like a well established bee colony did of honey. “Join you? No.” Maggie’s dark brows raised. “Speaking with you, however, is another matter.”

Her response caused a wry smile to appear on a nearby blonde woman’s face. “I told you that she would not fall prey to your trickery, Badger.”

“Badger?” Maggie stiffened visibly at the sobriquet. “Agreeing to join spirits without specifying how long is as unwise as eating pomegranate seeds in the Underworld.”

Rumbling laughter escaped the man at her answer. “You know your history!”

“History, yes. Languages, yes. Math is another story.” The teen made a soso gesture with her hand. “Unless money is involved, then, I’m good with numbers.”

“Your grandmother still bet on the horses?” The woman asked as drinks were served.

“Of course!” was Maggie’s jaunty reply. “Helps when you can talk to them!”

“I am …”

Maggie interrupted the woman. “I know who you are. You’re Cerridwyn of the Iceni. Leader of a squadron of Boudicca’s troops. I know when you died first and I know when you died last.” She was quiet for a moment. “And I know where your blade is kept.

“Do you know where I rest?”

“I do, but I won’t speak of it here.”

“I’ve been watching you for some time, Mairead.”

Maggie blew steam off the mug before her. “Wish I could say the same,” she said in earnest. “So, why are you here?”

“To the point, I see.” The ancient chuckled. “Good.”

Maggie took another sip of her drink. “Instinct tells me that you’re here because you have unfinished business or for some reason, you were awakened.” She glanced at the man at the table. “She’s here because of you. She doesn’t know the rest of the story and I doubt you do either.”

The sapphire eyed man studied the teenager. “Who am I then?”

Before answering, Maggie glanced around the place. She saw a spinning wheel decorating one corner of the inn. She lifted a single finger from her mug and gestured toward it. “Their brother, nephew, cousin.”

Understanding dawned in the man’s eyes. “Father to your mother and grandfather to you.”

“And, yet, I do not know you.”

“It’s time you did, child.” His tone was quite condescending.

An aura of ocean blue glimmered around her then faded as Maggie murmured, “I’ve got this.”

The blonde woman smiled, she’d seen that air of confidence in her own young charge many years ago.

“Pardon?” Damon Brock asked.

“No.” Maggie shook her head. “I won’t ... no, I can’t pardon you. I’m not the one that decided your punishment.” She had, perhaps, interpreted his word more literally than she should have.

“Punishment,” he muttered, “I did nothing to deserve punishment. She…” He froze.

Behind Maggie, a creature of ethereal beauty appeared. She was fair skinned, sapphire-eyed, and rich waves of ebony hair tinged with auburn tumbled over her shoulders. “Do go on, Father. If you did nothing to deserve punishment then it may have been your inaction that weighed against you. You speak of how she,” long fingers brush over Maggie’s shoulders, “has done the work of the Erinyes, but you fail to understand the reason. She seeks justice in the names of dead children, who cry out for something as simple as their names. And for the families that don’t know what happened to their lost children. Through the knowledge in the Elemental Towers of Twilight Isle, she is able to find more of them and guide their souls to rest.”

Cerridwyn curled her fingers around Maggie’s and gave them a reassuring squeeze. “You didn’t need me after all.”

“No, but I am glad you came.” Maggie smiled gratefully. “I can remember you now instead of just reading about you.”

A kiss was pressed to Maggie’s temple much as a doting aunt would have done. “Be at peace with yourself, Maggie. Always remember, choose your ground, choose your weapon, and face what is to come.”

“Rebecca,” Maggie spoke the name with reverence. Copies of The Chronicles of the Watchers had been on her reading list for some time. “Rest well.” She embraced the ancient before the woman faded.

The sight of the daughter that had never drawn breath had stunned the man into cold silence.

She was not so much a ghost as a presence. Her eyes seemed to be searching for whatever remained of the soul of Damon Brock.

“Don’t stare, child, it’s rude,” he complained.

“Staring is rude.” Zapphira muttered. “If that is rude then what is destroying or abandoning your family?”

Maggie shook her head at Zapphira. “I wish I could say he’d been punished enough, but many have been collateral damage because of his actions or perceived actions.”

“Just what is it you believe I did?” Damon’s eyes narrowed as he studied the pair that was now sharing a table with him.

“Killed your wife and... “ Maggie broke off the words as she gestured to the woman at the table.

“That’s what you believe?” he asked incredulously.

“You left us for dead, Father.” If looks could kill, the one Zapphira gave him would have resurrected him and sent him back to the Underworld. “Because of your actions or lack thereof, I have been left to wander without form. I’ve bided my time guiding the first singly born female child and hers. They needed to find the key to unlock the prison you created for all of us.”

“All of you?” Damon shook his head. “Rhiannon wasn’t the first singly born child.”

As the pair’s conversation escalated toward an emotional explosion, Maggie tapped the nail of her index finger on the wooden table. Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound was something between an annoyingly dripping faucet and a metronome. When she finally spoke, her own temper was in check. “I know. However, the gods made allowances for the death of a five year old. Her death was caused by someone else’s hand, too.” Maggie’s golden eyes swept over Damon as she briefly assessed him.

Damon met that gaze and looked away. “You think I killed her.” The sound of someone using the spinning wheel in the corner had captured his attention. Clotho, always watching but not always seen, did her work by feel.

“What I think, Grandfather, is that you don’t follow the lessons of your sister.”

Damon’s blustering laughter died quickly under their withering gazes. “You were serious.”

Long legs pushed the chair back from the table. “I never joke about death, Grandfather.” Her golden gaze didn’t waver from his sapphire one. “When I was six, I started being visited by the spirits of children. For a while, I thought they were sent to me because you foisted your responsibilities and charges onto someone else.” Maggie shifted to straighten up in her seat. “Maybe it began that way, but that’s not what it is, now.” Her gaze shifted toward the spinning wheel, maybe they were the only patrons that could see Clotho at her work.

“What is it now, Margaríta?”

“Mairéad,” she corrected him. “My name is Mairéad. If you insist on using Greek, call me Margarítis or Trifýlli.”

“Why trifýlli? It’s a plant.”

Maggie laughed. “Yes, a clover plant. I’ve been called Clover all of my life. It’s a nod to my birthday.” She sobered as she finished the drink in her mug. “What it’s become, is preparing for something on horizon. What it’s become, is helping as many kids as possible before they get to the other side, maybe give them more time on this one.” She finally got to her feet. “It’s about creating my own path, taking my own journey, and not being anyone else but me.” Zapphira had already faded. “You should go back, Grandfather. Don’t wait any longer, Gran won’t be coming here to see you.”

She went out into the snow again, the door shutting behind her. After rounding up Sparks and Windy, Maggie made her way home.