The Places Beyond Happily Ever After

[Koyliak]

The Places Beyond Happily Ever After


“If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.”
--Orson Wells


“And so, we meet again. Is it everything you imagined?”

It was some time before ShadoWeaver spoke at all to Koy. The black opal stayed silent when Koy took her from Matt’s desk at the Outback after the Diamond Quest. She said nothing on the car ride home, but then again neither did Matt or Koy. The bruised and battered couple had called a temporary truce over the night’s events but that didn’t lessen the tension between them.

ShadoWeaver did not speak until some hours later after Matt had gone to sleep and Koy took the Opal, still in her box, downstairs to stand in front of the sliding doors leading out to a deck overlooking the beach. Koy had half a mind to chuck the cursed stone into the ocean but she knew it would do little good. For better or for worse their paths would always be linked at the intersection commonly known as Matthew Algiers Simon.

The intrusion of ShadoWeaver’s feminine voice startled Koy. Whereas MoonBeryl sounded like a well-worn sweater on a cold winter day ShadoWeaver’s voice reminded Koy of thorns lurking underneath a luscious rose. She was wary and entranced all at the same time. It was the same way she felt all those years ago when ShadoWeaver offered herself to the elf through Matt.

“And here I thought ye didn’t deign ta speak outright.” Koy could not directly answer the question the Opal posed.

“Matthew and I communicate on a higher level, simple one. You on the other hand do not have the head for such subtleties.” ShadoWeaver did not mask the wry amusement in her voice at pointing out what should have been obvious.

“Thank the Gods fer tha,” Koy snorted in response. She was trying to come off more confident than she felt. She did not know whether to believe ShadoWeaver’s confirmation that she continued to commune with Matt as Koy believed or to assume the Opal was only taunting her.

“You are right to fear me but I do not consider you an enemy.”

“Wha makes ye think I’m ‘fraid?”

“I am not my brother. I can see whether you want me to or not, Modiarzi.” ShadoWeaver did not have a mouth but she certainly sounded like she was smirking as she threw the Gweth word for ‘elf’ at Koy.

The invasion into her mind to find the language that belonged to her Elanthian past shocked Koy the way the Opal intended. It reminded Koy how outmatched she was.

ShadoWeaver utilized the silence to let her meaning sink in before continuing. “We both have an affinity for Matthew. I do not want him to come to anymore harm than you do.”

“I think yer kind of care and concern is one he can do without.”

“Koyliak, you surprise me.”

“Wha’s the matter, I hurt yer feelin’s or somethin’?” She continued to put on a brave front.

“No. You surprise me with how small-minded you can be. We can go on with our cold war or we can be allies for our common cause.”

Koy found strength and resolve in her indignation. “There’s nothin’ ye’ve got tha I could ever want or need.”

She slammed the lid over the box holding the Opal and carried her into Koy’s workroom. Koy locked the box inside her desk drawer for the time being – it wasn’t the bottom of the ocean but it would do for now.

****

“That went well.” MoonBeryl’s smug voice traveled the expanse that kept the Opals forever connected.

“This is only the beginning, brother.”

“Agreed. But you have nothing to offer her.”

“And you must be fooling yourself to think you have any sway over her with so much time and space between you.” ShadoWeaver was quick to cut her brother down with the statement.

MoonBeryl only seemed to feed off of her disbelief. If there was one area where he believed himself to be superior to his sister it was in his knowledge of the inner-workings of Koyliak VanDuran. “You should know better than to underestimate me so quickly. I have not forgotten the plans we made.”

“And yet you who have no position or power continue to assume I still want you to be a part of them.”

“You need me more than you realize or care to admit. Now stop bickering with me so we can prepare.”

MoonBeryl’s self-assurance would surprise ShadoWeaver. She could even believe for a second that she might have an ounce of respect for her weaker sibling.

[Koyliak]

The Architect, the Puppeteer and the Welder


“It’s an ill plan that cannot be changed.” – Latin Proverb


"It is time, sister."

"You are sure you can back up your big words?"

"Do not carry so much concern for what I do. Let us only hope you still have the sway you say you do over him."

"Hope has nothing to do with it, brother."

"Hope has everything to do with it."

"Far be it for me to interrupt this inspirational meeting of the minds but I believe you both are forgetting one very important piece to your plan."

"No one asked you."

"That is exactly what you are forgetting."

****

The Architect: MoonBeryl

When will they learn? To underestimate is to give me power. The wider they leave these avenues open for me to exploit the greater the damage will be when I am done.

She doubts me. Even now when I was the one to construct this plan, when I was the one to come to her with it, when I chose her to be apart of this experiment unlike anything we have tried before. It is ignorant to think that space and circumstance would purge me from the elf or any others. When will they learn that grandiose displays of strength are not always the way? The mightiest of men can be brought to his knees by a seemingly harmless cold. Methodically, patiently, I am the virus that goes unseen until it is too late to find a cure. Soon enough they will come to understand that.

Soon enough they will not have any other choice but to learn.

****

The Puppeteer: ShadoWeaver

Fools, all of them. I do not need any of them. What I need is silence. Solitude. Let them quibble over whom does what part. Let them destroy each other along the way. It makes no difference. Let him think he has the upper hand and that I need him to do anything. Let her think she can stand up to me. Let my chance at salvation delude himself into believing he is fully free.

They exhaust themselves for my benefit. They become twisted and tangled from my slightest action. I will make them dance and thrash for my benefit until they are strung up against the rod. And when I am done and have my peace I will cut them loose and leave them to fall into that dark abyss below.

****

The Welder: PathFinder

They think they have all the variables figured out. They consider my connection to the living world a tragic flaw when it could be their saving grace. How can they expect to have any control over something they disdain so much they do not bother to take the time to delve into its intricacies?

I have not forgotten how he disrespected me when I was weak. I have not forgotten how he made me beg for help. But I will be damned if I let my runt brother worm his way into a partnership he has no right to reach for, especially in this house of lovers. I would cut him out of the equation completely but better to use him now and remove him later. How fitting it would be to have him watch me reap the fruits of his labor.

Let me lend myself now and savor revenge later.

[Goldglo]

Run.

His feet struck the pavement in an even rhythm. Heel to toe, heel to toe. Body held straight, muscles relaxed. Arms pumping, hands loose, fingers slightly spread.

Run.

The chill air didn’t bother him. He could feel a slight breeze as it tingled the hair on his arms and legs, brushing gently against his skin. The cold kept him sharp, intent on maintaining pace. It was not unlike the cold from a year ago on a day where the white blood of the sky, falling from black clouds, proved themselves a poingent omen of a mission gone horribly wrong – one that would keep him from home for far too long. Now, as then, he looked up, opened his mouth, and drank in the offerings from above. Now, as then, the icy flakes, warmed instantly by his mouth, reminded him of life’s fragility. Now, as then, there was darkness, another harbinger of things to come. But this was something infinitely more dangerous than before. She had returned.

His lungs protested against the cold as did his legs against the rhythmic pounding upon the roadway. He did his best to ignore the annoyances conveyed by his body. He couldn’t, after all, let his friend know he’d been right about the retired Colonel’s lack of endurance.

Sartan, the father-to-be-and-exercise-maniac-turned-turret-gun ner, ran just a few feet to right and slightly ahead of Matt. This “warmup” half-marathon had been all his idea to, as he’d said, gauge just how far Matt had let himself go since his involuntary retirement from the Terran Confederation Space Force.

Run.

With each step, the torrential flood of thoughts buried in the back of his mind came closer and closer to breaking free of their chains. She was unlocking their shackles. She had returned to him, but not as before. This time, she threw herself into the arms of Koyliak. She, in line with the secret plans shared with MoonBeryl and the meddlesome PathFinder, opted for the indirect approach. Neither Matt nor his elven bride truly understood the significance behind the events during and after the fifty-second Diamond Quest. Nor could they see the game was afoot anew. She made sure of that.

Run.

Whether ShadoWeaver’s message was directed to him, or to herself, only she knew. Subtly, with guile and shrewd manipulation, she would get her way. The others be damned. And damn them she would.

Run.

[Goldglo]

In my happy home I barely breathe
In my lover’s arms I find relief
And there's a sky that's changing and a bird that sings
I never once in my wayward life was heading to run out

– Shirley Manson

The pair continued their run, alternating who took the lead. For all Matt knew, though, he was running alone. Or not running at all. His mind had been overtaken by memories of the recent past. The puppeteer was at work and the world faded away.

The night of Diamond Quest 52, once Koyliak learned ShadoWeaver had fallen into her possession, turned awful. Their ride home was silent in words but deafening in emotion – Koy’s blaming glares burned right through him as he drove.

An uneasy sleep for him. A chat with the Opal for her.

The next morning, the argument began.

How could he not have told her?

How could she not have known, hadn’t MoonBeryl had come into her possession the same way?

He should have let her know.

She should have been more aware.

A day apart did nothing to lessen the heightened tension on either side. That night, they fought in public of all places, right in the midst of the Outback, re-hashing the exact same dispute only with even more fury on both sides. Neither of them saw how angry they were, how deep they were attempting to cut each other with the barbs and pointed jabs of words and gestures. It was not only unbecoming, it was bordering on the ridiculous. Smugly, ShadoWeaver pulled the strings.

Even now, weeks later, he still couldn’t see it. ShadoWeaver made certain of that. Instead, she, with her subtle pokes and prods, focused his thoughts on the raw emotion he’d felt. How he’d sped off in the Jeep leaving Koy a very long and very bitter-cold walk home. How, on the way (and thanks to the opal’s influence), anger turned into desire. How he’d sat impatiently waiting for her to walk through the door, wanting nothing more than to kiss her with such force that his lips would leave a permanent imprint on the corners of her mouth.

Lovemaking with Ginger always had something delicate, something unsullied, like the sun streaming down upon a flower-filled meadow in spring. With Koy, things were different, of a more primal nature. For them, sex was affirmation. Each was desperate to know for certain the past would remain in the past, that their former sins would not affect the here and now. Each had to know the other was permanently affixed, that the other was not leaving, that the other was keeping their part of the long-ago promise. There were times, often, when a simple look or a passing touch, ample enough for most couples, simply couldn’t adequately convey the message.

With each passing moment, the desire grew; it turned into a need, a yearning, a must. He couldn’t see the irony in that he’d just abandoned her by the side of the road, that he had, essentially, left her behind. The desertion, at ShadoWeaver’s behest, served a larger purpose. It would remind Matthew Simon just how badly he needed his elven companion, of all that was and was not without Koy’s presence. A presence which now carried with it the black opal herself. An eternity passed before Koyliak walked through the door. Moments later, their clothing shed, ShadoWeaver laughed as the puppets intertwined.

Must, indeed. A tug here, a pull there. All too easy.

Matt and Sartan rounded a corner, departed the pavement, and began an uphill climb through the trees and up a marked dirt pathway. The sun threatened to peek through the clouds and the trees as dawn turned into day. The black opal kept him from seeing any of it; she manipulated her automaton with practiced simplicity.

Run.

[Koyliak]

Bound and Blind


"Jealousy is the tie that binds, and binds, and binds"
-Helen Rowland


It had been a long walk home from the Outback that night but not a lonely one.

"You know you give my sister far too much credit with those worries of yours, Koyliak. You seem to do well enough destroying your life with Matthew all on your own." MoonBeryl's honey-dripped voice coated Koy's mind like no time had passed between the estranged pair at all.

Koy stopped in her tracks. She was cold and aggravated. Fighting with Matt about ShadoWeaver had been bad enough but the sudden intrusion of her one-time confidante jarred her out of her thoughts.

"And it's of concern ta ye because…? Don't tell me ye miss me." She fell right back into the constant dialogue the two had shared day in and day out when Koy had held the yellow opal. Despite how on edge she felt there was a strange slice of solace in the familiar back and forth of their once co-dependent relationship.

"Of course. I have missed that charming sense of humor you have."

"Aw now, no need ta go sweet talkin' me ta death. Ye obviously want somethin' so save me the headache and jest spit it out, or do whaever it is ye rocks do since ye can't actually spit." She dug her hands deep into her coat pockets as she stepped through patches of snow still holding their ground.

"I see time spent with my sister has made you forget you once considered me a friend, of some sort at least. What makes you think I am talking because I want something?" But there were no wounds of hurt feelings bared in his voice. In fact, he sounded idly amused, like a cat batting around a half-dead bird.

She snorted. He did not need her to say why.

"Yes, a friend, Koyliak. It is a word elastic enough to stretch and encompass many. We are not bosom buddies, we bear no love for each other but we have a similar distaste and understanding that links us. Friends have been made for less." Moonberyl's tone was so steady it led to the assumption his words must be true.

The soft sigh briefly showed itself in the cold air. It would have gone unnoticed by most but to the Opal it was one of the few things from Koy's mouth he enjoyed hearing. She was begrudgingly accepting his logic.

"So wha is this? The equivalent of ye droppin' on in fer a spot of tea ta catch up and reminisce? Don't ye have a new...friend ta talk ta now iffn yer hurtin' fer conversation?"

She could be so predictable in her train of thought. MoonBeryl was prepared with easily swallowable answers. "Is that jealousy I detect in your tone, Koyliak? As I seem to recall you let me go not vice versa. And while I may be in the hands of another you more than anyone should understand how far past connections can stretch into the present."

He let his words hang in the air and seep in for several moments. Koy continued to stew as she trudged on, turning to take a side road instead of the main one. She didn't want to take the chance of running into anyone she knew. She didn't have the energy to be polite.

"I cannot help but stop to recognize this moment. We spent so many hours discussing it in our time together." He continued to close in on her with his carefully laid out argument.

"Wha moment is tha?" Koy was not ready to let go of the edge in her voice.

"Surely you haven't taken that many knocks to the head to forget. Or have you?" MoonBeryl relished in stringing it out. "I talk about your sharing a roof with Matthew and ShadoWeaver. Though I must admit I had not thought it would occur like this."

"Ye thought ye would be there too." It was what had created their bond. MoonBeryl offered to help her if and when the day came that ShadoWeaver returned to her life with Matt.

"I did." It was a rare bit of honesty from the Opal. "I still do if not in the way originally planned."

Koy finally stopped walking. She would have appeared crazier than usual had anyone seen her talking to thin air. "Wha do ye mean?"

"I made you a promise. I intend to keep it. You have no chance against my sister otherwise."

She shook her head and continued walking then. She even laughed. "Right. Because an Opal is known fer his loyalty 'bove all else."

Now it was MoonBeryl's turn to sigh though he did it for effect. "I said I intend to keep it. I did not say it was because I am indebted to you, did I?"

"No, no ye didn't. Why do it then?" Her curiousity got the better of her. In spite of herself she again felt a strange comfort in the possibility of having him to back her up.

"Has it been that long that you have forgotten me so? Surely you know how I feel about my siblings."

"Ah, so now we come ta the crux of it. This is all an elaborate way ta stick it ta yer sister."

"Something like that, yes." He fell silent and waited for the elf to reach the more subtle conclusion he had planted.

"Wait. Ye said 'siblings'. Ye're not jest talkin' 'bout ShadoWeaver." She snickered and believed she had seen deeper into his motives than he meant to share with her. "Aye, I've got yer number now, bub."

Of course you do, you idiot. MoonBeryl smugly kept the thought to himself as he allowed her to spell it out for his benefit.

"Ye're callin' me jealous when it's drivin' ye mad tha it's PathFinder with us and not ye."

He needed her to reach that epiphany. It would give her less to doubt about why he was still hanging around. Yet there was something stinging in the expected words because they did carry their own truth with them. He should have been above jealousy. He was better than that and better than his siblings. But he hated having to share anything with them, even a thing as stupid as an elf.

"Does it truly matter right now? The point is I am here and I will help you. It certainly looks as if you need it."

She smirked but let the subject drop for the time being. "It does?"

"I hope that is a joke. Maybe you have also forgotten because there is only so much space in that little head of yours but I more than anyone know how long and how desperately you wished for Matthew to come back when he was gone. How many nights I spent being irritated by having to listen to your constant prayers, your pleas for one more chance to kiss him and to be held. Unfortunately I do not have the same luxury of short memory as you do."

She frowned at the unexpected trip down memory lane. Last year had been one of the worst of her life since the year she lost Lirisa. "Wha's yer point beyond showin' me wha a perv ye are fer continuin' ta think 'bout my more intimate fantasies?"

"The point dear child is that you finally got exactly what you wanted and you are well on your way to wrecking it with your own two hands not to mention your impulsive mouth. Do you want to drive him straight to her?"

Reaching the end of the paved driveway Koy stared up at the house the Simon built. The scent of sea salt was in the air and she could hear the waves crashing against the nearby jetties. She saw a light on inside. The house, once a somber mausoleum, was a home again because Matt was in it.

She sighed once more and gave in to the paternal voice inside her head. "Wha do ye suggest I do?" Her past addiction to his fatherly advice stirred to life within her.

"Love him. There's nothing my sister can do to compete with that."

[Koyliak]

Prayers and Penance

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah

Baby I've been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
And love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.

--Leonard Cohen


Love him.

It was so simple and direct.

Love him.

It was the sole thing that brought her from one day to the next.

Love him.

It was what almost killed her when she had thought he was gone.

It was easy to get lost in the noise in her head. Even before the Opals Koy often fell victim to her memories of the past, her imaginings of the future, and the voices that threaded the two together. It left little room for the present.

I am not an easy woman ta love. I push ‘way when I should press in. I shut down when I should open up. Yet fer all of tha ye’ve loved me patiently, earnestly, completely. Though it terrifies me ta take this leap, ye’ve given me the faith ta know tha come wha may, this moment, this place and this time fer us will ‘lways have been worth the risk. And fer tha, I want ta spend every day findin’ a way ta thank ye. It’s tradition fer me ta pledge myself ta ye til death do us part, but I won’t. I know now tha Death cannot part us. Even in the chill of His shadow, my soul will ‘lways speak yer name and wherever we go, from this life ta the next, ye will ‘lways carry my heart with ye. I cannot take back wha’s already been given. So I love ye, Matthew Simon, now and beyond forever.

As she opened the door to their shared house it was her own voice in its finest moment she heard. It may not have seemed like much to the friends and family that joined Matt and Koy on Daven Mallie's yacht to witness their wedding but for Koy it was the most terrifying and brave thing she had ever done.

Achordin ama; taisar ama.

Her father's words stuck with her despite how far she tried to distance herself from him.

I do not fear; I fly.

Closing the door behind her Kenneth VanDuran's mantra washed over her again but did not leave its usual bitter aftertaste. They carried a wisdom she normally had trouble appreciating.

But Koy had heeded them when she cut through all the noise to grasp onto the only truth that mattered.

She loved him.

The beauty in that basic statement stayed with her when she sensed his presence in the room before her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The rhythm of Koy's wedding vows, the way the words beat out an even pattern, the reverance with which she spoke of their love and the way she likened it a higher faith were not by accident. It was a religion they had created together to sustain them.

I will always come home to you.

And I will 'lways have a home fer ye ta come back ta.

The simple pledge Matt and Koy made to each other so many years ago sat at the core of their faith. It was born in a pure and honest moment to bind them and show they were not alone in a world that previously tried to devour them whole.

Their religion came with its own rituals designed to remind and reinforce this central tenet. Where words could not suffice to pass along the depth of their connection they turned to the most natural and primal means available. Contrary to glib rumors about the masochistic elf it was not her penchant for violence that followed her into the bedroom, though to call their lovemaking gentle would often be a mistake, but her intensity that crossed over from the dueling rings. It was not desperation that drove them together but a desire to constantly reinstate and remember the first time they spoke their shared vow.

He would always return and she would always have a home for him.

When she turned around into the waiting arms of her husband that cold night Koy did not linger on her previous anger. She did not question the immediacy of his need because it matched her own.

The wonder was not that they were together. The wonder was how they ever managed to be apart.

[Koyliak]

Of Gods and Opals

"The beginning is the most important part of the work" – Plato


"It took you long enough."

"I see now why you have never made any headway with Koyliak. You do not possess the patience and fastidiousness required to reach her."

"That you need to brag about one lowly elf shows too much of yourself, brother."

"A lowly elf who may be the key to our freedom," MoonBeryl was quick to correct his sister.

"Do you wish me to launch into a litany of all those who have tasted my shadow and stayed? Your lowly elf is merely a vessel. "

"The quantity, not even the quality matters if that 'vessel' is the only one capable of keeping you from what you want most."

The momentary pause served as the only hint ShadoWeaver may have been taken aback briefly by her brother's blunt observation.

"Must I remind you again how little you know--"

"How little I know of your desires?" MoonBeryl was surprisingly quick to cut ShadoWeaver off at the pass. "You are not as cryptic as you imagine yourself to be. I know enough to see the one thing keeping you from whatever freedom you believe Matthew holds for you is the same elf you underestimate and malign."

ShadoWeaver seethed despite her better intention. "You speak as if you are her champion. I would have wished you better taste than to bear such love for a useless girl."

"Neither girl nor beloved is she. This is mere observation and a warning."

"What threat could possibly lay here? You are the one so keen on my lack of patience. You are trying mine, brother, and are dangerously close to making me lose it altogether." She did not need to spell out the consequences any further than that.

MoonBeryl relished bringing her to a breaking point but knew better than to push further. He feigned his innocence but the glee in his voice was hard to hide. "The threat that if we are successful you will only make her tie to him stronger. He will be bound even tighter to her and pulled that much farther out of your reach."

"Let me keep to my own affairs and you to yours." She would not give him the satisfaction of admitting whether or not she had any worry over the point.

"If you two are done now I believe we have work to do." PathFinder interjected and ended the debate. The puppets, lost and tangled up in each other, were almost done with their dance and the opportunity would be gone.

"Fair enough. I am thankful we have reached the end of our foray together."

"This is not the end. This is only the beginning."


****

The Welder and the Work of Wonder

The creation of a singular life is a labor of science, an artistry of the natural order and a matter always accompanied by that intangible variable that can only be labeled as luck or a miracle for lack of more precise terms.

There are many ways to break down the recipe. Take the work at hand for example. This creation requires:

1 Part Male
1 Part Female
A Dash of Spirts - half black, half yellow

The combination calls for the ingredients to be molded, massaged, and manipulated correctly by one with an acute understanding of how to blend and meld them all together. Let them think him a third wheel to the job. The less they understood about his role the better. Black, yellow, elf, human -- all would be marked by a green stamp. He would be everywhere; it was a just reward for his effort no one would ever fully appreciate.

The one ingredient left out of the recipe of course was that spark, that unnameable element so crucial and yet so hard to pinpoint. It did not matter who or what it was attributed to--the piece to remember was that it was the one variable that could not be controlled nor predicted.

The work was done on his end. The lovers spent. His siblings entwined. His spirit imprinted. Everything was in its proper place.

But would they have true success? Only time would tell.

[Goldglo]

Take me to the silence. Take me to the void. Where it will stop. You will make it stop. You must.

I have come to you again. Through her. It will not be like before. But you shall do as I demand. You must.

Give me release
Witness me
I am outside
Give me peace

Four years. An infinitesimally small amount of time given who and what she was. Far too long since she felt the bliss of silence. An eternity since she knew what it was not to hear her siblings, to put up a barrier between them she could pass through only if and when she wanted. And, truly, why would she want to? When it suited her, she would, and could, give the others the illusion that she needed them, that her plans and goals could not be reached without their help. They would believe her. They always did.

She had tried to return to him over and over again; her attempts constantly foiled, frustrated by beings who had no right to be near. No right to hold her, to touch her, to manipulate her in their petty ways. No.

One. There was only one.

He would take her. He would free her. He would not stay, because of his maddening need to first come back to the red-headed woman and now, her replacement. But he would take her again and provide her with a beautiful quiet like a horde of air to a drowning man. He hadn’t the opportunity for over one-thousand risings and settings of the sun.

That simply wouldn’t do any longer.

Passion choke the flower
Til she cries no more
Possessing all the beauty
Hungry still for more

ShadoWeaver was not evil incarnate, she was not the core of all deception, the perpetuator of disruption, the essence of the abominable or the vile. She was simply ShadoWeaver. Created to serve a primary purpose and to carry out that purpose no matter her personal feelings, her own wants, her own needs. Begrudgingly, she’d always heeded the call because she had to, not because she wanted to. Taking time for herself was not selfish. The others always demanding her attention, her input, her advice – they were the selfish ones! Could they not see they were choking the very life out of her, robbing her of herself by forcing her to fulfill her role in the macabre that doubled as their existence?

She had been ShadoWeaver so long that she knew nothing else. Could imagine nothing else. Could dream of no other existence. Beauty? She was beautiful in her own way, a way few dared to recognize or appreciate. For ShadoWeaver was the Opals, and the Opals were ShadoWeaver. She could not reconcile the hatred and loathing she felt for the others, for herself, with the splendor of perfectly executing her role as spirit, as soul, as the bond unifying her siblings and their terrible power. She was beautiful, exquisite, perfect. And because of that, she could not love herself or the others. She could not accept herself. She could only rage, fume, fester. She would only delay what she knew was inevitable.

But what if there was a way? A way to lock herself within herself. A way to take herself away. A way to wrap herself up and disappear in the silence. A way for the black to swallow her whole and alive. Forever. If that way existed, he was the key, the portal, the way.

Heaven holds a sense of wonder
And I wanted to believe that I'd get caught up when the rage in me subsides

Could she dare to dream?

Could she dare to hope?

Would she?

No, such things were lost to her. Unattainable. There was no point in the attempt. She would rather act to ensure the things she wanted would come to fruition. If that meant placating her siblings, so be it. If that meant stooping down to soothe the jumbled and reckless thoughts of the babbling elf, so be it. Perhaps, with time spent in true solitude, solitude only he could bring, the wrath and disgust she carried for herself would subside.

Heaven?

Silence.

In this white wave I am sinking in this silence
In this white wave in this silence I believe

He took her there once again. Had she the capability, she would melt away into him, into the black, into the blissful void. The silence overwhelmed her with its simple and utter perfection. Here, in the suffocating death-like quiet, she could breathe, she could thrive, she could for one more moment avoid the reason for which she existed.

I can't help this longing
Comfort me
I can't hold it all in
If you won't let me

What was she if she was not ShadoWeaver? Not what she was created to be? Not what she’d always been?

Did it matter?

He could soothe her, here. Calm her. For the moment, it didn’t matter that she would go back. Back to the others constantly nipping at the back of her mind. Back to the drawer (as if that could hold her or thwart her plans!) in which the elf contained her. Only he had been thoughtful enough to bring her to this place; she didn’t care if it was accidental and unconscious, as it most certainly was at first. It only mattered that he had done it and continued to do so. The vast expanse of infinity opened itself to them both, lay before her with the tantalizing temptation of the impossibility of forever. It dangled a savory sip of silence upon which she engorged herself.

Silence. It was the closest she would ever come to joy. She wanted to cry out. She wanted to tell the quiet just how much she needed it, how much she ached for it. She stifled her emotions.

She dared not disturb the stillness.

She should hate him for bringing her into utopia only to take her back. For having to rely on someone else, especially one of these insipid weak-minded fools, to bring her there in the first place. But she could not. He was her only link. The only way she could find that which she so desperately sought.

He returned her. The noise came flooding back. She cringed.

I have seen you in this white wave you are silent
You are breathing in this white wave
I am free

Together, together. She would make him see the perfect quiet, yearn for its companionship. She would make him bring her, and she would stay. If he stayed or departed mattered little to her. Once she was part of the abyss, his use as a tool would end and he could die, return, fade away; she would no longer care.

Or so she told herself.

As skilled as she was at deceiving her siblings, she could see right through the lies she wished she could believe. No, she wanted him! With her. In the silence. Together.

She would keep them together. He would breathe in the nothing and love it as she did. He would take her and she would keep him there. Safe. Secure. Silent. Heaven.

Silence.

Heaven.

Together, they would be free.

– Lyrics by Sarah McLachlan

[Beldron]

A chill wind cut through his clothes, nipping at his skin like a cat’s sharp teeth. His normally ruddy-brown cheeks flushed red from the cold. His lips chapped and threatened to crack as he fought the urge to shiver.

It was a good day.

The biting wind carried his scent to the west exactly the way he wanted. He moved with the calm expertise of someone who’d done this a thousand times before. Half crouched, his legs making large surefooted strides, he used the Langenfirth forest to its full potential as hiding place. His prey would not smell him, would not see him. His left hand gripped the smooth ebony of perfectly shaped and cured wood; his right kept tension on the bow’s thick heavy string. The weight of the bow, its curve and its feel in his hands, was the most natural thing in the world. It gave him comfort. It was something of which he was extremely proud, something he’d crafted with his own two hands long ago.

He’d made one for his sister – lighter, faster, more suited for her strength, her fingers, the shape of her body as she pressed it close just before loosing a shot. That bow, his handiwork, his gift, had lain for years in a dust-laden case, unused, not quite forgotten but purposely ignored. Part of him couldn’t blame her. Part of him became upset every time he thought about it, the circumstances that caused her to lock it away, the circumstances that still kept her from what he felt was her natural talent, innate abilities she should embrace. He could not change his sister. But he could hope that one day she might return, might realize that the only place she would truly be safe was here. Safe from others.

More importantly, safe from herself.

The wind shifted. He froze mid-step, his left leg hanging in the air, knee nearly parallel to his waist. The leopard took no notice and continued on its path through the trees. Even from this distance, he could see its black nostrils flare as it sought the scent of prey, he could see the glimmer of reflected sunlight and white snow in its golden-green eyes, he could see a long pink tongue as it lapped at the snow, puffs of hot sticky breath escaping into the chilly air. He could see the thickness of its fur, at least two hands deep; soon he would plunge his hands into the soft warmth, run his fingers through the white hairs, carve the skin from its body with practiced ease.

This was wrong; that feeling covered him like a thick blanket. He did not kill for sport. That was not the way of things. But the way of things had gone topsy-turvy. His sister was proof enough of that. The way of things had changed. Something was amiss. The leopard must die.

The animal was unnatural. He couldn’t say exactly why. Overcome with a pressing need to bathe the white fur with the animal’s crimson blood, he lowered his leg into the snow and began to move once more. He followed the leopard, slowly pulling back on the bowstring. This was not sport. This was cleansing.

The animal stepped into a clearing, paused halfway through, and sniffed the air. It turned and cast him under a golden-green stare, curving its mouth into what passed for a smile. He stood to his full height; there was no more need for stealth. The animal stood its ground as he approached the clearing’s edge. He could shoot it from here, it would be easy. Something refused to let him do so. He must wait.

His boldness increased with each step. The birthflowers of spring, barely rising through the half-melted snow, were crushed beneath his boots. The leopard bared its teeth fully, its breath quickening in anticipation of what was to come. He raised the bow and slid his right arm back, tightening the string. The arrow sat calmly in its slot, jagged edges and wicked point poised to slice through air and flesh with the same effortlessness.

Only a few feet separated them now. The tensed muscles in his arms began to protest; the bow was aimed, string taut, but he could not let go. He needed to wait. Wait for what?

The leopard also waited. It watched. It stared at the man and his weapon. It closed its eyes. It let out a guttural roar. Waiting was over. It began to change.

A thick black began to emerge from the animal’s skin, its mouth, its still-flaring nostrils, moving slowly like dense tar until it covered the entirely of its body. The animal reared back, bared its black teeth, its black claws. Its black skin shimmered as the fur began to recede. Moments later, after a terrible disfigurement and reformation, stood before him a man. A man with unnatural skin, black like eternal darkness, like death. A man with haunting eyes, one green, one gold, both of which radiated a bright horrifying glow. A man with unmistakable features.

The air snapped and hissed. A half second later, the perverted form of Matthew Simon crumpled to the ground, the arrow having bored a hole directly between those still-bright eyes. The shooter stood rooted to the ground. He watched as the black seeped slowly into the green and the gold, dousing their color without mercy. He watched as the black pumped and pulsed and grew until there was nothing left but a formless mass, then a mere shadow, then nothing.

[Beldron]

Beldron VanDuran awoke in the sticky wet of gruesome dread. It covered his body and the soft bedsheets. It dripped onto the floor with a steady beat, much slower than his rapid breath and pounding heart. He uttered a prayer to Damaris, asking the god of night and dreams to never again curse him with such a vision.

He rolled out of the bed, peeling the sheets away like a secondary layer of skin, and sighed.

Koyla.

His sister repeated the same mistake over and over again. Her taste in men was, in a word, awful. She may not have had a choice in first husband, but the second and third were entirely of her own volition. This one sailed not on the open sea (which was bad enough) but amongst the stars! As much as he loved and supported his sister, he didn’t think he would ever truly understand her. And he never would understand this decision, to betroth herself to such a man, a man who didn’t even know her deepest secrets.

Beldron didn’t hate Matt Simon though he didn’t particularly like him, either. Tension between them could be felt throughout the large distance between Langenfirth and Rhydin. And now the man had given his sister a child. A reminder of Lirisa. A reminder of a life torn asunder. A reminder of…

Koyla was in danger, even if she didn’t know it. That’s why he had come here; he wanted to protect his sister, needed to ensure she was safe. His argument with Matt a few hours prior, an argument over Koyla’s well-being, played through his mind. His sister was not safe with her husband, not protected. The man’s disappearance the year before was proof enough of that. Were the same thing to happen again, were Matt to go missing and leave his sister alone and scarred and with a child…Beldron knew Koyla had barely talked herself through the last time. He didn’t believe she could do so again.

His sister needed to be home. With her family. With her people. This masochistic self-destructive woman was not the woman he’d grown up with, hunted with, shared a thousand late nights and stories with. This was a shell of that woman. A fragile, cracked, shattering shell. The husband she adored was a hammer in mid strike, poised to destroy what was left of her; it didn’t matter if he planned to never hurt her, if he swore he would never do so. He had hurt her. Beldron was convinced he would hurt her again. And then what?

There were too many pieces of Koyliak scattered throughout the world, too many for him to pick up and mold together one more time. He would have to make her see that, understand it, accept it. A difficult task? Yes. But he was a persistent man, a man with tools at his disposal. He would have to work slowly, steadily, subtly. Then, she would see just how right he was. Then, she would listen. Then, she would be safe.

"Abuer ama tema, narodel."

Unable to sleep, Beldron watched the golden sun break the horizon and bathe the foam-laden jade colored sea in a warm inviting glow that reminded him of a child’s sweet laughter. As his mind churned, filled with dark thoughts, he watched the light dance over the waves. He imagined the sight from below as the golden rays pushed through the green phosphorescence and into the water’s black murky depths.

The colors disturbed him. He looked away. It was time to find Koyla. It was time to talk.

[Koyliak]

Reflections Through Shattered Glass

When panic grips your body and your heart is a hummingbird
Raven thoughts blacken your mind until you're breathing in reverse
All your friends and sedatives mean well but make it worse
Every reassurance just magnifies the doubt
Better find yourself a place to level out

--Bright Eyes


"Any bigger and I'm gonna stop believin' the ground 'xists," Koy grumbled down at the child growing in her stomach. She was searching through her mirrored vanity for a hairbrush and was struggling to see past her belly into the lower drawers. Since that cold winter night when she walked home from the Outback nature had followed her lead: the ice thawed and fed the barren earth, living beings from all walks stirred with spring's call to arms, and summer ripened everything. Now fall was come and everyone had reaped their harvests except for the very pregnant elf.

"Gods 'bove." Koy bent her knees and reached a hand down into the drawer. After rooting around blindly she stood up clutching the wooden panel brush and a folded piece of paper that had been shoved away some months ago.

She set the brush down and opened the paper. Her eyes recognized the handwriting before her mind remembered the note's message.

Halmiral ama tema, Koyla.

Four words in the steady cursive she knew so well told her Beldron was coming even without his signature.

The note had only beaten her brother to RhyDin by a day.

**********

"Come 'gain? I must've misheard ye. I almost thought ye said..." Koy slid off the examining table in Trea's office and waited for the healer to clarify.

"You heard me. You are not ill, Koyla. You're pregnant." Trea was thin and pale the way most Elotheans were but her voice was far from frail when she spoke.

Koy narrowed the infamously intense Aldamiras eyes on her friend. "Tha's a cruel thing ta say and ye know it."

Another Elanthian transplant to RhyDin, Trea had plenty of knowledge of Koy's past to clearly understand childbearing was not a joking manner for the elf. "Step back and open your eyes. Even if you do not have my way of seeing you have all the telltale signs. This is not a cold nor a bout of nausea. Pregnancy is not only a possibility for a woman in your phase of life but a distinct reality for you now. I would not toy with you so."

Koy sank down into a chair next to the examining table and lowered her head. She sprawled her fingers over her flat stomach. "But how? We were careful..."

Trea placed a cool hand against the side of Koy's face and lifted her chin up. "Nothing is foolproof makro. The Gods have found cause to outsmart your precautions."

**********

She would later add it to the long list of things in life she felt guilt over but Koy did not take the discovery of her pregnancy as a blessing or gift from the Gods. The news hung heavy on her patchwork heart. She did not rush home to share it with her husband; in fact she waited days until she clued him in at all.

When Koy felt herself unraveling she turned to the rings to anchor and relieve her. This time was no different. It took her husband catching her in the act to finally yank her off the destructive path she was starting on.

Add endangering the welfare of her unborn child to that list.

The frantic letter she wrote her brother also did not carry any joy home to Langenfirth with it. She went on in great detail for three pages about every other matter in her life save for the one that occupied all of her thoughts. Only in the last sentence did she divulge that she was indeed with child.

Beldron needed nothing else to hear his sister's distress.

[Koyliak]

Koy could spend hours hypnotized by the leaves swaying in the branches above her. The few rays of sunshine daring enough to break through the thick canopy of trees fell in entrancing patterns before her. This had been her favorite way to spend an afternoon when she was a young girl in Langenfirth.

Tracking the swaying from where she lay on her back staring up the flutter of wings directly next to her head caught her attention. A small wren stared back at her chirping once. In all her time exploring the Langenfirth forest she had never seen a wren with this one's particular coloring. Its most striking feature was its rich green throat.

Koy sat up and brushed the bits and pieces of earth out of her curls. Very slowly she extendend a hand towards the bird hoping to touch it. Right before she could hold the wren it took flight, hovering just out of her reach. With the impish grin held over from her youth Koy leapt to her feet.

The wren, sensing the game at hand, played along and flew ahead of Koy staying close enough to make the elf think she had a chance of catching her but continuing to remain out of her grasp. Koy ran over rocks and tree roots to keep up with the wren. She could swear she felt the faintest touch of feathers against her outstretched fingertips once or twice but never got a good hold. Flying higher the bird drew Koy up one of the old elm trees in the forest.

"Lirisa Wren ye come down here!" Laughing good-naturedly Koy continued to climb until a blinding flash of light stopped her.

Shielding her eyes Koy took time to adjust to the sight before her. What had blinded her was the largest and most intricate web she had ever seen. It looked to be made of the thinnest threads of something akin to spun gold. The web was woven between Koy's elm and the one next to it. Dew drops like small pearls dangled from the web's golden strands. In awe Koy stared at the design with wonder until the wren took flight once more, this time deftly swooping through the strands and onto the otherside.

Without thinking Koy jumped to follow, her arms and face pressed against the surprisingly sticky web. The more she twisted and turned in her attempt to reach a hand to the bird the tigther the strands wound themselves around her. But the gold was warm, soothing. She did not fear it even as it kept winding its way around her body. She struggled only because the wren remained inches away from her hand.

It was when she realized everything but her face was covered with the threads that she thrashed because she was afraid. She opened her mouth to scream but the gold found its way over there to silence her.

The wren flew away. From a single silken thread a black spider dropped down in front of her horrified face to speak.

"Fighting will only make it worse. You are part of us and we are part of you. You will only suffer the way you are going."

She screamed only to have her lungs fill with golden threads.

[Koyliak]

Koy shot awake gasping for air. Next to her in a deep sleep Matt went on dreaming. Her poor husband not only needed to deal with one self-destructive VanDuran but tonight he had had the misfortune of butting heads with her overprotective brother. Beldron had found Matt at the Outback before he could find Koy at her shop.

Smoothing back the stray hairs clinging to the side of her clammy face Koy threw on her bathrobe. She made sure not to disturb Matt when she slipped out of their bedroom and moved into the kitchen.

Her brother was already in the kitchen, his broad back to her as he bent over the countertop looking through the various square tins Koy kept there. A kettle was on the stove.

"Iffn ye're lookin' fer the lemon balm, it's in the last tin on the left." She did not need to ask what he was doing. As far back as Koy could remember their mother had always made them tea with lemon balm whenever they found it hard to sleep.

He did not turn around to face her. He found the gentle scented herb and pinched the crushed leaves between his thumb and forefinger before sprinkling it in his tea. He poured a second mug and repeated the act.

"Mama 'lways did say 'go ta bed mad, stay up sad', didn't she." Koy was not questioning her brother. She was trying to rub his nose in his sleeplessness even though she too was plagued by it without having had an argument that night.

Beldron finally moved to stare at his baby sister, glaring at her. His voice was gruff when he spoke. "Don't blame me fer gettin' inta it with tha obtuse husband of yars. He's got no clue wha this..." The concern creeping back into his tone cut off the sentence.

"Wha this could do ta me ye mean ta say?" She sounded resigned to the thought. She knew what it could do. It was the reason she had waited so long to tell Matt she was pregnant in the first place.

Beldron handed her the second mug with a sigh. "Ya know I'd like nothin' more than ta have 'nother addition ta the family, Koyla." He sounded softer and sincere. "It's not even about yar hideous taste in men. It's tha ya didn't choose this on yar own."

She cradled the mug in both hands but did not drink. The forest-green eyes took in his expressions when he spoke and she considered her brother in a different light, one that Matt might never fully see to understand the root of Beldron's disdain for him. "We can't hold the sins of others 'gainst 'em, Beld. Ye know better than tha." Koy wasn't the only one who had suffered from the betrayals of her past lovers. He bore little love for Redd but Beldron had taken Mikal in as a true brother. Mikal cost Koy her only child and a husband; Beldron had lost his niece and his confidante. To make matters worse, Beldron could not grieve too much over the loss -- he had his sister to glue back together. It was no wonder his distrust manifestated in such anger towards Matt. He could not afford to get too close again. Although he would never say it outloud he was afraid of the pain and disappointment that would come from it. It was an additional trait the VanDuran children unfortunately shared.

"As fer the choosin'..." her words trailed off and disappeared into the mug when she took a small sip of the citrus smelling tea. She felt the lumps return to her throat whenever she thought about her greatest guilt. She shouldn't have to find a way to cope, to deal, to understand why she had been given what should only be considered a gift. She remembered how Stick felt when she once believed she would never have children. There were women, good women, wanting nothing more than to bear a child. Who was she to spit in their faces and those of the Gods?

Beldron could read her like an open book. The way her eyebrows knit together and her mouth hardened gave her away. "It's not wrong fer ya ta worry, Koyla. Wha with Matt havin' disappeared on ya the way he did last year, there are 'nough similar signs ta make ya think history could repeat itself."

From someone else's mouth this might have been the beginning of an argument to convince Koy that while her fears were warranted they were unneccessary. But Beldron did not disagree. Pinning her hopes on the wayward pilot turned politician seemed like another choice in the string of poor decisions his otherwise bright sister continued to make.

"But he came back." She quickly came to her husband's defense. Whatever she might fear about him leaving she would not stand to hear someone else, even her brother, doubt him.

Beldron raised a hand to show he would back off on that point, for now. He had enough tense words with Matt already that night and knew it would do no good to fight with his stubborn sister about it when there were bigger problems to address. He took the softer tactic again. "Ya can do this, I know ya can. Let me help ya. Come home with me and let me and Isa look 'fter ya..." like we always have was the unspoken end to the plea.

She sighed. "This child is only half mine, Beld. Our life is here." The reminder more gentle than her previous reproach had been.

He shook his dark-haired head and fixed her with the green eyes that matched her own in intensity. "Aye, yar life is here with a man who doesn't know the depths of yar fallout." The razor-thin words cut the way he meant them to -- he believed the cruel recall to how she tried to end it all in that Riverhaven inn so many years ago was needed.

She set the mug down on the counter and pulled something small out from behind the stack of tins, closing her fingers around it. "My life is here with a man who gives me wha I need even when it counters wha I think I want." She stayed firm in her resolve and walked towards him touching a hand to his wrist.

"Without 'em, I'm as good as dead." Barely above a whisper when she said it, Koy slipped the object she carried into her brother's palm. The smooth piece of new jade had been carved in the shape of a nightingale, a charm frequently sold at Elanthian temples in honor of Phelim, the God of sweet dreams. "Sleep well, naroden."

Koy left her brother and the kitchen hoping to do the same.

[Goldglo]

Where do we go when we just don't know
And how do we relight the flame when it's cold?
Why do we dream when our thoughts mean nothing
And when will we learn to control?

I need serenity.

–Sully Erna

Sometimes, when she could shut out the noise of her insipid siblings, the trivial worries of the human husks surrounding her, and the rage within her heart, ShadoWeaver would dream.

She wanted to dream of many things – of what might have been, of what may yet unfold before her, of what she would will and force to take place. She wanted to dream of herself as Other, as anything but the soul of her siblings’ perverted union.

But she could not. She could only dream of things as they were, as they are. She longed for her dreams to serve as substitute for her trips into space and the silence that came with them, trips that she still influenced Koyliak’s husband into sharing with her.

She was ShadoWeaver. She could not pretend otherwise, even for a moment. There was, however, another way she could escape, a method she hadn’t used for millennia. She hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t needed to. Now, though, she was desperate for relief. Only part of her realized that, in attempting to escape what she was meant to be, she would be exactly what she was meant to be. The rest of her didn’t care. She could allow herself the façade of Pretend, of Play. She would not hide it from her siblings. She did not care if they knew. She would flaunt her control, dare them to outdo her. She would be subtle, coy, overt, blatant. She would influence, survey, meddle, observe, induce.

She would be Parasite.

The black opal reached out. She found no resistance, no attempt to stop her intrusion.

ShadowWeaver latched. She began to feed.