Save Me (Originally Posted 2013)

[JewellRavenlock]

Save me -
I'm trapped in a vile world,
Where the endings are the same as every other
We're only here to die
Save me -
I'm losing my only dream,
I can use some guiding light, some place to go
If you hear me let me know
--Avenged Sevenfold; Save Me

This summer night, she dreamed. Lately, all of her dreams had been similar: A guarded walk down a cool stone corridor. Doors opening on their own before her. Arms ushering her into a large chamber where voices whispered all around. Ropes tied tightly around her wrists. A hand on her head, hot and then icy. A deep pain in her chest. Then screaming. It never seemed to stop.

This night was different. Before the executioner could lay his hands upon her, she found that the ropes that bound her were loose, and with a burst of strength, she pulled herself free. Out of the darkness that surrounded her, hands grabbed at her, but she was too quick. As slippery as ice, she escaped their grasp and ran. She ran from the icy hand and the screams it would tear from her throat. She ran through the stone doors, down the cold corridor, before coming to another door. She did not know where this one lead, but she flung it open on her own and was quickly blinded by a profusion of sunlight. She moved forward blindly, desperate to escape. As her vision adjusted, she found herself outside in a field of wildflowers, like the ones that grew on the east bank of the river.

The door disappeared behind her so she stopped running, feeling a calm come over her; it was a foreign feeling. The urgency of just moments ago—the fear and the adrenaline it pushed through her system—was replaced by a deep-felt peace. Red. Purple. Blue. Yellow. She waded through the flowers, reaching out and touching some, recalling the names she knew them by: baby blue eyes, celandine, phlox, corn flower, foxglove, switchwort, poppy, rose angel, snapdragon. They were beautiful and their scent filled the air, intoxicating her. She wandered slowly, enjoying the relief Mother Nature had provided. When she reached the other side of the field, she found a dense, dark wood blocking her path.

A little girl waited for her there on the edge of the flowers. Her heart swelled at the very sight of the girl, her girl. Amanda. She was young, perhaps seven, with bouncing blue-black curls and a smile that warmed the chill that had previously seeped into her very core.

As soon as she got close to Amanda, the child turned and fled down a forest pathway, her laughter floating behind her. “You can’t catch me!” her daughter shouted joyously.

“Oh yes I can!” She replied, laughing as she took off after the girl. She was close behind her for just a few moments, but Amanda quickly dashed out of sight. She did not feel any concern though as her child’s laughter and taunts continually floated back to her.

As they moved deeper and deeper into the woods, she found she could not catch up to the little girl somehow. Slowly, the childish laughter sounded further and further ahead. “Amanda, wait up for me,” she called.

She moved faster, eventually running, but her child had disappeared. Sweat formed along her brow as she pushed herself forward; she couldn’t leave her little girl alone in this dense forest. She had to reach her before someone else did. She would not lose her again, but even with her exertion and urgency, Amanda remained out of sight Quite abruptly, the forest path ended in a clearing. A large house stood in the middle, cut out of a circle in the trees. If she hadn’t been breathless from her run, the sight of the house certainly would have taken it away.

It was the original Ravenlock Villa.

There were things she didn’t allow herself to think about when awake, things there was no good in dwelling upon. They were lost to the past, and it just hurt too much: her parents, her brother’s betrayal, the events that drove her to RhyDin, her last night in RhyDin when everything had turned to ashes around her, parting with Stephen. This house was one such thing.

“Amanda?” she called out, moving slowly towards the house as she saw the front door was ajar. Why did Amanda bring her here, and where had she gone? She pushed open the door, poking just her head inside. “Amanda? Hello?” she was loathe to enter; who knew what ghosts she might encounter. But she could hear a hum of voices from somewhere within, and she just had to find Amanda. She couldn’t lose her again. Besides, this had been her house once upon a time too, she reasoned. She stepped inside, moving first into the living room. It was empty, except for the statue of David and a stray wombat, but the voices were louder now. They distracted her so much; she couldn’t concentrate.

She couldn’t remember why she was there, who she had been searching for. The voices filled her head. She stood in the middle of that empty living room, listening to them. If she listened closely, she could hear them more distinctly. Brian and Alex shouting at each other playfully. Katt trying to quiet them down. Cher’s laughter egging them on. Her family! They were here. She must have been looking for them; a sudden need to be amongst them once more, to see them, rose within her.

“Hello? Where are you?” She called, moving around the first floor, now seeking these voices from the past. Kitchen, library, dining room. “Where are you?” She quickly became desperate, need pressing upon her. She absolutely had to find them. She raced up the stairs, trying all the doors. Every single one locked. She banged on them, hearing the voices at each door as if they were right on the other side.

“Please, let me in!” She needed to see them, not just to hear their voices. The hallway went on forever, and she was determined to try each door until she found them. She had to. She felt that her very being depended on it. As she persistently tried each door, she was already forgetting exactly who or what she was searching for, but she knew it was just on the other side.

[JewellRavenlock]

How do I live without the ones I love?
Time still turns the pages of the book it's burned
Place and time always on my mind
I have so much to say but you're so far away
--Avenged Sevenfold; So Far Away

Kasimira woke early the next morning at the climax of her despair. Any momentary relief she had felt in her dream at the sight of Amanda and the voices of her family dissipated around her. Not for the first time, the full weight of everything she had first given up upon coming to Faerie and everything else she had lost along the way crashed down upon her. She was drowning, suffocating under the burden of loss.

It wasn’t just the things physically taken from her: a previous life, her possessions, her house, her children! It was everything else too: her time, her free-will, her future, herself. They had taken from her what she was and reforged her into something else entirely. Had she always been so cruel, cold and calculating? Hadn’t she laughed once? Loved life? Been genuinely happy? She wasn’t even sure anymore.

And then there was the ceremony. Her hand moved unconsciously to her chest, as if what they had taken from her then was a physical part of her. Maybe this was because she could still feel an ache there. She pressed the skin of her chest until it bruised, but even that couldn’t simulate what she felt inside. The screaming started to build again inside her head. Soon it would overtake all her thoughts, drowning out everything with wailing anguish.

She flung the sheets from her bed, rushing from the room that had been hers for many many years now, yet it suddenly felt alien. Those were not her clothes in the armoire, her slippers scattered on the floor, her jewelry spread across different surfaces. She did not recognize these things. She moved down the stone hallways of the place she had come to call home. There was no need to be stealthy; everyone was avoiding her these days. A scullery maid skittered out of the way at her approach. Another hid in a doorway as she breezed past, mumbling some offer of assistance that was gratefully ignored.

Her feet followed a path that should have been well-worn by this time as she treaded it daily. No one ever dared to follow her when she opened the ornate wooden doors and passed into the family gallery. They had long ago learned that this room was sacred to their mistress, and she could be cruel when provoked. One poor little bogart noted her destination though, having followed her at a distance, and took off in search of Lord Ishmerai; he was always to be kept appraised of the movements of the Lady Kasimira these days.

Once inside the gallery, moved slowly down the aisle; her family—the family that claimed her—was represented in portraits on either side. She didn’t even see them. They were no concern of hers. Instead, she walked towards the end of the room to an alcove that had been set aside for her. Candles always kept it lit so her children were never in the dark.

On the right were the triplets: Oz, Raven, and Eva-Jade at the age of eight. On the left were her twins: Kerrick and Devyn at the age of seven. And in the middle, the portrait she went towards, Amanda and Moradin, portrayed at the ages fourteen and ten respectively. Moradin was seated in a chair, staring blankly straight ahead. Amanda stood behind him, a hand placed protectively on her brother’s shoulder. While all the other children were posed quite formally, with stiff smiles on their faces, Amanda was different. Her fire-cracker of a daughter glared at anyone who stood before the portrait. No one had any doubt that the little angel—bedecked and adorned like the highest nobility in Faerie—would kill you if she had a chance.

Kasimira reached forward, placing her hand on her child’s painted cheek. “Oh Amanda.” She moved even closer, resting her forehead against the textured paint. She didn’t feel as if she could even physically support herself anymore. “What am I to do? I have failed you, failed you all. I just do not think I can fight this anymore.”

She listened quietly then. There would be no answer, there never was, but she thought if she listened closely enough she could hear her daughter’s dreaming voice. No words were discernible, just a low murmur of the still childish voice forever stuck in what her mother hoped were pleasant dreams. They had assured her that the children weren’t suffering, that they were dreaming the sweet dreams of childhood, waiting for her to set them free.

But she couldn’t. It was all for nothing. She was nothing.

Ishmerai found her there hours later, her cheek against the portrait of Amanda and Moradin, hands on the painting as she tried to hug them, to somehow hold on to them as they seemed to slip further away. He watched her for some time, knowing that no one could fully share with her in this sorrow.

He eventually stepped forward, placing his hand gently upon her shoulder. “Kasimira,” he called softly, and she lifted her head, blinking her eyes, as if she had been dreaming as well. He could only hope that they had been pleasant dreams. “It is time to dress and eat, Mira.”

She stared at him as if uncomprehending. This is how it had been for months. “Time to sleep, Mira.” “You must bathe now, Mira.” “You must dress for court today, Mira.” She went through the motions for his sake, making it clear to everyone that she did not see the point, that she did it not to disappoint him. She had already failed herself, this was the least she could do for her guardian knight.

“But Merai, I do not want to.” It wasn’t that she just didn’t want to dress and eat. It was greater than that now. She didn’t want anything anymore.

“I know, Mira.” Yet he still put his arm around her fragile shoulders and led her away.

[JewellRavenlock]

If there was something wrong would you be oh so strong?
Would you do what it takes to move this hollow life along?
--Streetlight Manifesto; Point/Counterpoint

Ishmerai watched her as she went through the motions of getting dressed. He had been watching her ever more carefully for months now, since the ceremony when a shadow had fallen upon his heart. He had been there that day, when everything had changed, when they had taken her away from him.

He had stood outside the door of her cell for weeks. There were others there too, ensuring that he did not try and release her before the trial was through, but she spoke only to him. “Merai, do you really think what I did was wrong?” Her whisper came cutting through the night.

“Of course not. You only do what you feel you must.”

“Merai, what do you think they will do with me?”

“Perhaps they will make you a hero.”

She laughed. She still laughed at times in those days. “Perhaps I can have a statue in my likeness dedicated to me.”

“It would only be fitting,” he had replied.

And then, more seriously, she asked, “You think it will be exile, don’t you?”

“It seems like it,” he answered frankly; he did not lie to her.

After her real sentence had been announced, her voice sounded so much younger to him. It made his heart ache; he wanted to protect this sometimes child-like woman from all the hurts of the world. “Merai, do you think it will hurt much?”

“Physically? No. It shouldn’t,” he replied, knowing that neither of them had been worried about that anyways. When was his lady ever worried about physical pain? His lady that had broken her own arm, freed him, and then fought at his side all without a complaint. His lady who was stronger than any person he had ever met, taking on the most fearsome enemies physically and challenging the most powerful nobles politically.

“I did not think so,” she whispered, understanding exactly what neither of them had said.

He stayed awake with her the whole night before the ceremony was to take place, but neither of them spoke. They had no use for words. When dawn came, the guards brought her from her room, red-eyed but alert. He felt a swelling of pride at how high she held her head, how she looked like a queen even in the simple shift they had given her to wear.

She gave him a fleeting smile—he should have held on to that smile, he realized later, because he would not see it again for a very long time—before the guards ushered her down the cold, stone hall, Ishmerai following behind. When they reached the room where the ceremony was to take place, he was directed to stand aside with the council members and what family were there. His lady was brought to the middle of a stone platform and made to kneel. He clenched his jaw as they tied ropes around her wrists to keep her shackled to the ground, yet he found courage and restraint from the defiance in her eyes.

One of the councilmen stepped forward and read off a proclamation: why they were all there, the accusations, the sentence, and a request for any words or petitions from the accused.

The accused thought for a moment before meeting the head councilman’s eyes and stating, “Whatever you bring upon me now, I shall bring upon you ten-fold in the time to come.” There was a general gasp and Ishmerai internally groaned—one would think she was looking for more trouble.

“We shall see,” the head councilman replied, one of the few not perturbed by her threats, before nodding to a cloaked person in the corner.

This cloaked man, her executioner, stepped forward. He placed a hand upon his lady’s head. It was not long after that the screaming started. It took ten guards to hold him back, to pin him down, but even under the weight of them, he could still hear her screaming.

In his head, she screamed his name.

Before the ceremony, he had guarded her by watching everyone else. He was always looking for danger, for threats. It was his job, his reason for living: protect her at all costs. He had sworn his life to her once and had never regretted it. After the ceremony, however, he had switched his gaze. Now he watched Kasimira. That was where the real threat was now.

[JewellRavenlock]

But don't take your life
because it's all that you've got
you'd be better off just up and leaving
if you don't think they will stop

And when you wake up
everything is going to be fine
I guarantee that you wake up in a better place
in a better time
so you're tired of living
and you feel like you might give in
well don't
it's not your time
--Streetlight Manifesto; A Better Place, A Better Time

It had been months now since he first found the need to watch her. In the spring, when they had arrived home after the ceremony—after her tears had finally dried and a sad, brooding silence took their place—he found her one morning, sitting at her vanity, with one of his knives set out before her as well as a jar of healing salve. The sharp tang of blood filled the air of the room. He had looked at her questioningly. She had just shrugged her shoulders in return; “I could not go through with it. I suppose I am just not brave enough.” Ishmerai had felt furious at first, wanting to shake her until she promised to never try something so foolish again, until she swore to want to live.

His anger had slowly given way to fear that made him sick inside. When Kasimira found that she could not dispatch herself quickly, and she knew it would be pointless to ask Ishmerai or anyone else she trusted for help, she simply allowed herself to fade away instead. Sleep was already hard to come by, plagued by nightmares as it was, but food too became suddenly unnecessary. She ate for show, but it was quickly not enough to sustain her.

He followed her throughout the summer as she languished away from him, from everyone. She moved like a ghost, haunting places with her presence. Sometimes it was the hot spring baths, where she just stared longingly at the water as it fell over the rocks. Other days, he shadowed her to the river banks, watching as she sat heedlessly on the muddy ground, hands outstretched to the waters that just passed her by. She spent countless hours in the gallery, staring at the portraits of her children as if she could will them back to life. Often he found her just sitting in her room, staring at the wall.

Most people avoided her. She was tainted now, condemned for the actions she had taken, in part, on their behalf. Others, like her cousin, watched on victoriously as Kasimira slowly self-destructed. Ishmerai and her grandmother begged, pleaded, and fought to get her to wake up and come back to them.

“Would you like to examine the guard today?” Ishmerai asked, suggesting a favorite past-time of hers.

“No,” was the one-word answer he received.

“But they are in need of supervision, Mira, and that is your responsibility.”

She always grew hostile when they mentioned responsibility. “Then you do it,” she snapped at him.

“Darling, the court is meeting today to discuss the mid-summer festival. I could use your presence; you are always so good at pacifying everyone and getting these events in order,” her grandmother tried.

“I do not care about the mid-summer festival,” Mira replied sullenly.

“Perhaps we should plan a masque instead? You have always thrown the most lavish and fun parties. Everyone raves about them for weeks.”

“No.”

“And what about the trade agreement you were working on with Lord Alwyn; we really must resolve that.”

“Find someone else.”

“But dear, you are heir. They want to deal with you.” Lady Nerissa received no response to that, so she tried another route. “If you continue like this, Muirenn will just gain more control. You are doing exactly as she wants.”

“Let her. I do not care,” Kasimira enunciated every word, trying to make herself clear. She did not care about her former responsibilities. She did not care about mid-summer festivals or autumn balls. No parties. No trade agreements. No pacifying ruffled nobility. These were all activities she had excelled at previously, all parts she had played perfectly for the family. She simply did not care for any of it now.

Ishmerai and her grandmother did their best to cover for her, but it was quickly well-known before mid-summer came that Lady Kasimira was weak and failing in her role as heir. Ishmerai watched as her enemies descended upon her like hungry sharks.

[JewellRavenlock]

And please excuse my enemies
I think they do not know
I will gladly self destruct if they leave me alone
--Streetlight Manifesto; If and When We Rise Again

Towards the end of summer, her grandmother and Ishmerai bullied Kasimira into attending one of the local court sessions. “I am ordering you to be dressed and present. If you do not start acting as you should, they will have no choice but to request an intercession from the High Court, and I will have to grant it to them! We have been more than patient with you, Mira. We have given you time to grieve, but you must move on now.”

She scowled at them both, the look on Ishmerai’s face making it clear that she would get no sympathy from him. “Fine. I will attend court today.” She had avoided it for several weeks now, but clearly she could do so no longer.

Her grandmother, being pacified by the declaration, left Mira’s dressing room to see about her own personal preparation. That left her with just Ishmerai, who was staring at her disapprovingly. “What?” she asked, annoyed.

“Do you truly intend to go today?”

She frowned, looking away from him. “Yes. I will go. Send some of the girls in to help me dress, please.”

He left her with high hopes that things were going to change, perhaps even eventually return to normal. Maybe they had gotten through to her finally, made her see the danger she was putting herself in. His hopes were dashed once the session of court began, however. Instead of taking a leading role, as she should and used to, she sat at the table and stared out the window, looking at the river that wound away beyond the fields and marshes.

She did not participate in any of the discussions, did not even appear to be listening. When her uncle, Lord Llyr, addressed her directly about the trade agreement she was supposed to be conducting with Lord Alwyn, she made no response and gave no indication that she even heard him. With a pleading look from Kasimira’s grandmother—Lady Nerissa—Ishmerai stepped forward, touched Mira’s shoulder and whispered something in her ear. Only then did she turn her attention to Lord Llyr, staring at him blankly, forcing him to repeat his inquiry. He was clearly displeased, looking pointedly at his daughter Muirenn a moment; neither had ever supported Kasimira and were amongst her greatest political rivals.

Everyone present waited in silence for her answer to Llyr’s inquiries. She merely shrugged. “I suppose I will have to review my papers again.” And in saying so, she stood and exited the room without any request to be excused, murmurs filling the place behind her. Lord Llyr was outraged, complaining loudly to his mother, Lady Nerissa, of such disrespectful treatment.

Later that day, Muirenn and several other members of the court (including Lord Llyr) approached Lady Nerissa, Mira’s grandmother, with an intercession, requesting that the High Court investigate whether Lady Kasimira was still fit to act as heir to the Ta-Neer Family in light of recent events.

“They are claiming that you are no longer fit, no longer suitable, to be heir. And you do not have anything to say?” Merai raved at her in her room that evening.

“Does this mean you will finally all leave me alone?” she asked quietly, staring out the window as the sun set, turning everything to gold. She was still dressed in the finery she had worn to court that morning, but she seemed unable to even lift her arm under the weight of the velvet, lace, and pearls.

He growled at her, losing his patience after months of her despondency; “You will not even fight this?”

“Why should I? They are right, are they not?” While he ranted loudly, her questions were quiet, lacking any energy. She turned her head to look at him, daring him to disagree.

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. In her current state, with the way she had been acting, they both knew it was true. She nodded, returning to look out the window; the grass on the marshes was set aflame by the fading sunlight. Ishmerai’s voice took on a tone more desperate and pleading, “Why will you let them take this from you too? Why do you refuse to fight?”

“You must care about something, value it, feel passionate about it, in order to fight for it,” she stated calmly, dispassionately.

“And you do not value this? It is your life they are after, Mira!”

She just continued staring out the window as twilight shaded the world, not even deigning the question enough to respond. They were defeated then, he knew, because he could not fight this for her, not when she did not possess the will to fight at all.

[JewellRavenlock]

And I'm chained like a slave, trapped in the dark
Slammed all the locks, death calls my name
And it seems I've been buried alive
--Avenged Sevenfold; Buried Alive

As the year was falling away to winter, the three of them—Kasimira, her grandmother, and Ishmerai—sat at a table on one of the patios, servants buzzing about them to remove this plate and provide some new delicacy to tempt Kasimira with. She didn’t touch any of it. Her companions spoke about her like she wasn’t even there.

“What do you think the threat level is now?”

“It is hard to tell, M’lady. Clearly they had originally hoped for exile or perhaps even her death, as we have discussed. But they may be pacified now with the decision of the Autumn Court. Muirenn has received what she wanted: Mira is,” he hesitated, looking at his lady who was apparently lost in thought, before choosing his words carefully, “diminished and no longer in power. I am afraid that just may not be enough to satisfy them.”

Death. Kasimira was stuck on the word Ishmerai had said. Wasn’t that what her enemies had received? Surely death was inside her now. She felt it eating away at her. Certainly, that was what the pain in her chest was: the rot and decay of death. Or perhaps it was from the pressure of shovel after shovel of dirt as they slowly buried her alive. She was suffocating under the pressure of it. Interrupting Ishemrai, she entered the conversation, “But they did get what they wanted. How am I a threat at all?”

Ishmerai and her grandmother looked at each other a moment, but it was her grandmother that spoke. “Just because you do not care at the moment that you are not heir, dear, that does not mean that at some later date you may still not care. They have to protect themselves against that eventuality. We are worried that they will stop at nothing to rid themselves of you, the thorn in their plans. They clearly did not mean for you to have even survived this long, but when you... dispatched of Conventina, their plans went awry.”

She shrugged under the weight of the heavy shawl wrapped around her shoulders; she was always cold these days, even in the warm afternoon sun. “I just do not see why I matter to anyone. Let them do what they want. I could really care less.”

They both frowned at her, but it was Ishmerai that addressed her, “Mira, we need you to take this seriously.” She looked away from him. He hated to do this, but he had to say it; “Remember the last warning your grandmother gave you.”

It was hard to forget.

“You should have been with us at the Spring Court. You know how important it is,” her grandmother remarked with displeasure.

She kicked her feet, her legs draped over the arm of the chair she was sitting in. It was just the two of them speaking; otherwise her grandmother would never let her get away with such casual, un-courtly behavior. “Boring, you mean. You know what my priorities are. If there is a lead, I must follow it.”

“I do understand, but I also want you to acknowledge that as heir, you have other priorities that you need to consider as well. By not being at Court, you put yourself and your position in danger.”

She made a face, disbelieving, “From who?”

“You are not in everyone’s favor, my dear, despite what you may think.” Her granddaughter just rolled her eyes. “Muirenn, for one.” Her granddaughter made another face. “Do not underestimate the danger Muirenn can pose to you, dear. She was very busy while we were away.”

“Pokey Muirenn?”

“I heard many at court found her quite charming when not over-shadowed by your brilliance,” it was part mocking part compliment. “I only heard whispers, as I was busy in some councils, so I do not know what she was about, but be sure, she has an agenda.”

“Yes yes, I am sure she does. As do I. As do you!”

“This is not a matter to be taken lightly,” she said disapprovingly.

“Yes, grandmother. I will be sure to keep a more careful eye upon her. And next year, I promise not to miss the Spring Court.”

Later, Ishmerai issued a similar warning when she told him what her grandmother had said. “Perhaps she is right. Maybe you should look in to what Muirenn is doing. I am sure she does not act alone.”

“Psh, not you too. Come, Merai, we both know Muirenn. She may be ambitious, but she is not too smart. Without my aunt to pull her strings, she may dream all she wants, but she is not going anywhere.”

“Perhaps. I have seen such deceptions played out before though in my home court.”

“She cannot come after me overtly, Merai. I am too powerful on my own, and I have you.”

“What about subvertly?”

“Again, she’s just not bright enough. And I have ensured that I am well loved here. Who can touch me? Who would dare?”

“Well, I suppose you understand these situations better than me. At least I hope you do. But still, be careful. The Fae may love you, but what about the nobility?” Both she and Ishmerai knew she was not as well loved amongst the nobility as she claimed. They tolerated her, made love to her and paid court to her because she was powerful, but she was not beloved by them.

“Talk. That’s all they are. There is not a single backbone between the lot of them.”

“Do whatever you want,” she said to them, looking away with a scowl.

Ishmerai sighed before addressing Lady Nerissa again, “I just do not believe that they are satisfied with the decision at the Autumn Court. Muirenn may be heir now, but everyone knows who the true heir is, and Mira will most likely always have the love of the Fae. I would not put it past Muirenn and whoever may be backing her to still attempt something.”

“I agree. Perhaps it is best that Mira be taken away somewhere then. It may also do her some good.”

“I thought the same, but where?”

“One of the mountain villas perhaps? Or maybe even Earth again. There really is no sense living out her sentence here—not like this.”

“Hmm. Perhaps we can go...”

Kasimira had not even heard what her guardian had said; instead, her mind was filling with the white noise of her own screams. Over and over again she heard it. If she could just get away from that noise. Lose herself somewhere where it could not reach her. “I want to go back to RhyDin,” she stated, heedless of what part of the conversation or what plan-making she had interrupted, surprising even herself with the words.

There was a general pause and a look shared between the other two at the table. “RhyDin, darling? But it has been possibly hundreds of years since you left.” Her grandmother said kindly, treating her as delicately as everyone had been lately. They didn’t want Kasimira to lose her head, after all. Even in a weakened state, who knew what sort of damage she could do. Ishmerai just sat back in his chair, silently observing her.

Hundreds of years. It was true. RhyDin was just a distant memory for her now, tucked safely in the recesses of her mind: held on a pedestal but rarely ever touched upon. She had tried so hard to bury it away where it could not hurt her, could not tempt her. So why did it call to her now, her mind offering it as the only possible balm for her tortured soul. There was the fleeting image from a dream—Amanda, beckoning to her—but her mind could not quite latch on to it. “It would be better than here, I thought.”

“But dear, we have no connections there. At least on Earth...”

“No. Not Earth. Not again.” The memories. She had enjoyed Earth in many ways, but to return there, a shadow of what she was, had been, was not an option. Earth had been a distraction, a place she had inhabited for a while as she bided her time, waiting. Earth had not been home. It was not a sanctuary to run to in her distress.

Her grandmother pressed her lips together firmly. “I am just not sure it will be entirely safe. I do not know much of the place, except what you have told me, but we have no presence there.”

That was the point, but Kasimira didn’t say so out loud. She wanted to get away from Faerie and from the hold it had upon her. “Other families do. Besides, I will have Ishmerai there to protect me.” She turned a pleading gaze to him, so different from the scowl she had worn almost every day since the ceremony had taken place. ‘Take me away from here,’ her expression pleaded.

“Even with Ishmerai...”

He got the message and sat up straighter, clearing his throat. “Pardon me, M’lady, but I believe you should allow her to go. We can keep the destination a secret. No one will ever know. In fact, it may be much safer than Earth as she was easily found there last time; many of the exiles would still recognize her. Earth is well within Muirenn’s reach.”

Her grandmother clearly thought about it for a minute before conceding. “Well, I suppose if you oversee the affair, Ishmerai, nothing much will go wrong.” Meaning if her granddaughter was overseeing it, who knew what a disaster it could be.

Kasimira was pacified, tuning out the rest of the conversation. A spark took seed within her—a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness she had found herself in: endless, cloying, suffocating.

Later that same day, when they were alone, Ishmerai sat by her bedside, knowing sleep would escape her yet again. He picked up the earlier line of inquiry, “Why RhyDin? Why not just some exclusive villa overlooking the sea? Or a private island somewhere?”

She stared blankly up at the ceiling and he sighed, assuming she was going to be as silent and secretive as she had been for weeks now, hiding herself away from everyone and refusing to talk about the hurt. He was surprised therefore when she began talking, her voice tired and weak, not the voice of the confident lady he had met years ago. “When they,” she paused, swallowing the lump in her throat, trying to swallow the words that followed, “when they performed the ceremony, Merai, I think they took something else from me, something much deeper. I have lost something so deep, so necessary to my being, that I am adrift without it. I am no longer me. And it hurts, Merai, it hurts so badly.” She closed her eyes tight, willing it away, this truth she had just shared.

“And you think you will find this something...this missing part of you, in RhyDin?”

She opened her eyes but looked away from him. “No.” Before he could ask again, though, she looked at him, the pain she hid swimming right to the surface of her eyes. “But don’t you see, Merai? I hate it here. I have lost everything for this family. I am nothing here. They have taken everything from me. My past, my children, my...” she couldn’t even say it, “everything. Gone. I have nothing now. I am nothing.”

“But you are the true heir; that is not lost.”

She slammed her fists onto the bed, “And I never wanted to be!”

They stared at each other a moment, a battle of wills. Even defeated, she always won. “Fine. So we will leave Faerie. But why RhyDin? Why not to Earth or somewhere new? Your grandmother was right about time probably having passed. What could possibly be there for you now?”

That was a fear inside her—so much time having passed that everything she knew and once loved would be gone. Or perhaps RhyDin would prove itself timeless, eternal and enduring. Instead, she would be the one that was gone, changed and altered beyond recognition. “Maybe there will still be something there for me. Something I can find of myself and still save. Something taken from me that maybe, just maybe, I can get back again.”

[JewellRavenlock]

Now I think I understand
How this world can overcome a man
Like a friend we saw it through
In the end I gave my life for you
--Avenged Sevenfold; Fiction

Just before winter fully set in, Ishmerai took a trip down to the docks and the small village that surrounded them to pay a visit to the captain whose boat he and Kasimira often chartered for their “adventures.” He located the man—Captain Strand—in a seedy little bar he needn’t fear to enter; most of the captain’s regular crew, all of whom were familiar and respected Ishmerai, were also there.

“Captain Strand,” Ishmerai greeted, sitting at the table with him when the captain pushed out a chair.

“Lord Ishmerai, welcome and well met. Though I can see by that there look on yer face, you ain’t here with any good news for me.”

“Unfortunately not, my friend. I know you have relied on our business and ventures for some years now, but I hope you understand that we will not be needing your services for the foreseeable future.”

“Aye, I assumed as much, what with this sad business at the Spring Court and now with what they’ve gone and done to her, that be the blessed Lady J... I mean Kasimira.”

Ishmerai nodded, “Believe me when I say I speak for both the Lady and myself when I say we are sorry for any hardships this may bring upon you and your crew. You have been a faithful friend and ally many years now.”

“Speak nothing of any hardships, my boy,” the good captain smacked Ishmerai on the back. “I know that good Lady never means us no harm. I’ve been anticipating this, like I says, ever since we got the sad news last spring.” He shook his head. “Ain’t no one less deserving of that treatment than Lady Kasimira, if I may say so.” He felt free to say so, surrounded as he was by those most loyal to him. “Never met a lady more fearless than she.”

“Don’t you mean fearsome?” Ishmerai asked with a fond smile.

The captain laughed, “Aye, that too. Never seen the like. Quite the proper lady when she’s on land, as befits her station, but when we’re out on the open sea, she’s a different creature all together. Climbing the mast as quick as me mate and diving intae troubles without a thought.”

“That she is,” Ishmerai agreed.

“We do all hope that the Lady ain’t been taken what’s been done to her tae heart there, M’lord. I hope she knows most don’t agree with what’s been done, especially this declarin’ her unfit nonsense. Ain’t no truth to that, and we all know it. Ain’t no one more fit nor more loved ‘round about here than she.”

“I believe she has been rather hurt over it all, but I will let her know your sentiments, Captain. Your opinion has always been of great value to the Lady.”

“Thank ye lad. And if there be any thing we can do fer her, you just let her know that. Anything at all. We’d go and whisk her away from this place and none would be the wiser, if that were what she wished.”

It was Ishmerai who clapped the captain on the shoulder this time as he stood. “I am grateful Captain Strand, and I will let her know. She is not able to take you up on your kind offer just now, as we will be leaving the Lands for a time for the good of her health, but if she needs assistance, you will be the first I come to.”

“Thank ye. And Nature bless the Lady Kasimira.” The second sentiment was pronounced quite loudly, the captain raising his glass while the gesture and many a “here here!” were echoed by the other patrons at the bar.

Ishmerai bowed his head to the captain and his crew before exiting the bar. He sighed once outside, touched by the sentiment and devotion the men had demonstrated. This wasn’t the first crowd he had slyly let know that Kasimira would be leaving. It was not a task he enjoyed, but he had already broken the news to the guards, where a similar display of sentiment and a vow of loyalty had prevailed, and now he had to go and speak to some of the poor in the villages hereabout. It was clear that not everyone wished ill of Lady Kasimira. He needed their goodwill to last if Kasimira decided to ever return to Faerie; they would need all the friends they could find in that case.

[JewellRavenlock]

I walk the fields through the fire,
Taking steps until I found solid ground
Followed dreams reaching higher
Couldn't survive the fall
Much has changed since the last time
And I feel a little less certain now
You know I jumped at the first sign
Tell me only if it's real
Memories seem to fade
On and on it goes
Wash my view away
--Avenged Sevenfold; Buried Alive

They stepped out of the natural circle of rocks and found themselves in the middle of the woods. They had left the winter of Faerie far behind and found the warmth of spring instead. “Oh dear, I was afraid that might happen.”

“What might happen?” He said gazing about, a large travel trunk at his feet. “This is not how you described it at all.”

“That is because I have gone and landed us in the woods.” She turned about in a full circle. “Now which way... I have always been so lousy at crossing over.”

He sighed as she mumbled to herself, turning this way and that. “Perhaps if one of us were to climb a tree?”

“Excellent!” She exclaimed, moving towards the nearest one when his hand on her shoulder stopped her.

“Allow me.”

“But you will not know what to look for.”

“I imagine it will not be difficult to discern. You said it looks like a human city and should be the only one for miles around.”

“Well yes...unless things have changed.” A worried expression replaced the excited one of earlier.

“I am sure things will be quite the same. Do not worry so.”

She nodded mutely as he took hold of a low branch of a nearby tree and pulled himself up quickly, effortlessly, scurrying higher as if he weighed no more than the were-squirrels that inhabited these woods. As soon as he was out of sight, she looked about nervously, twirling a piece of her silvery-gray hair. By the length of the shadows and the dappled sun just warming her face, she would say it was soon after dawn. The larger predators would be asleep by now, and if something were to come upon her, Ishmerai was just a quick shout away. Nothing to worry about. She closed her eyes tightly. Nothing to worry about. Now if she could just regulate her breathing and slow down her racing heart.

Ishmerai landed softly as a fallen leaf upon the ground, yet she still jumped, turning with alarmed eyes towards him, her hand out as if to summon some sort of protection. She relaxed her stance quickly, though, embarrassed. What did she think she was going to do anyways? Slap away the predator?

He just frowned at her; it was impossible for him not to notice her behavior even though he did not comment on it. “There is a city just north of here with a river running through the middle and the sea to the west. The morning breeze brought the stink of iron with it.”

“Oh, that’s it! Wonderful. Do you think you can manage the trunk all the way?” Her more serious concerns drifted away with the smell of iron on the breeze.

“Surely,” he gestured forward. “If you will be so kind as to lead the way.”

She smiled before directing her steps northward. There was a lightness to her gait that had been missing for some time. She had even been taking an interest in some of the planning of this trip over the last several weeks, quite a difference from before. He hoisted the trunk up and followed after her.

At first, she kept up a breezy, one-sided conversation about all the things he could look forward to. “There’s this cake shop that makes delicious cream puffs.”

“You will have to try bagels. They are these round things with holes in the middle...”

“I think you will enjoy the dueling sports. You would be splendid at the non-weapons one.”

“That part of the city is nice enough during the day, but it can be quite beastly as night comes on.”

As they got closer to the city, however, her chatter and comments became more infrequent until they died away completely. Her pace slackened too, almost becoming reluctant, and he wondered at the change.

But once they entered the city, she barely stopped a moment to allow herself to get her bearings or for him to catch his breath. She ushered him along, street after street, without answering a single question, moving with urgency. She was thankful it was still early and the city was still asleep. She let her feet guide them, her mind existing in a dream. Places familiar but not, as if they were all something she had imagined once, floated by. The deeper they went into the city, the greater a feeling of dread developed inside her.

By the time they reached the hotel, Ishmerai was exhausted and completely bewildered by both the strange things he had just seen and his lady. She was continually glancing around and urging him along, practically racing to the desk in the hotel lobby.

He didn’t even have time to marvel at the hotel, so different from the inns at home, before he was stuffed into a small metal box with his lady and another man who had taken control of the trunk from him. The box made him ill even before it shot upwards, depositing all of them on another floor where the young man—a human, he realized belatedly—led them to an ornate door, opened it, placed the trunk inside and bid them good-day.

Kasimira practically shoved Ishmerai aside, locking the door behind them before breathing a deep sigh of relief. Then she was pushing past him, examining their lodgings. They were standing in a small living area with a breakfast table. She pulled open a set of curtains, revealing a small balcony, before she drew them quickly again, plunging them back into semi-darkness. Ishmerai continued to stand by the door and trunk, watching her as she examined two bedrooms and a bath in the same manner before stopping in front of him. “Yes, this should do nicely. Don’t you think?”

He simply nodded, unsure of what to think at all.

[JewellRavenlock]

And in a way it seems there's no one to call
When our thoughts are so numb and
Our feelings unsure
We all have emptiness inside
We all have answers to find
But you can't win this fight
--Avenged Sevenfold; Welcome to the Family

They stood in their lavish suite at the RhyDin Imperial Hotel; Ishmerai had his back to Kasimira as he stared out the window at what could be seen of the town. He was not impressed with the hustle and bustle, the towering buildings, the lack of green. He missed the woods and wide open fields of Faerie already. Kasimira moved about the room listlessly in a bathrobe, touching this, moving that.

“I do not see why you wanted to come here if you were going to insist that we stay locked in this room.” He was frustrated with her; she could tell. She could always tell. She nibbled on a carrot, leftover on the room service tray, her body still now as she stared at his back.

How could she explain any better why they were here? She had already tried. “You were all so eager to get me gone, and this was just the first place I could think of I suppose,” she replied casually, still watching him watch the city.

He drew the curtains at her response and turned to her with a frown. Oops. Wrong response. “So I am to just sit with you in this room and watch you waste away to nothing here instead of there?”

She pursed her lips, feeling somewhat defiant. She knew it was not a good time to mention that she had just eaten a carrot at least, so she would not be wasting away quite yet. “I would have happily wasted away in the comfort of home if you all would have just let me be.”

He made a noise of disgust. “Infuriating woman.” It was the closest he would ever come to an insult towards her.

She merely smiled grimly in response, having succeeded in putting him in as bad of a mood that she seemed to perpetually be in these days. “If you cannot handle it any more, there’s the door.” She nodded towards it before padding barefoot into the bathroom.

“You know that is not an option.” He grumbled as he followed her. An argument replayed for the 100th time.

“Just say the word Ishmerai, and I will release you.” She shrugged off her bathrobe, handing it to him as she stepped into the claw-foot tub, already drawn with steaming water. They had long passed the time of prudish behavior with one another.

“Why must you antagonize me so? And when will you be getting a maid so that she may stand around holding your things instead of me?”

“What else do I have to amuse me now besides you?” She asked as she stared at a pool of water cupped in her right hand, brow furrowed for a moment as if in concentration. Whatever she had been attempting failed to work, and her hand sank back into the bath before she turned her head to look at him. “What else do I have at all besides you?”

“I am not your maid,” he said more kindly.

She sighed, so easily defeated. “I will make some arrangements in due time. But only to please you, Merai. Only to please you.”

“My lady is too kind.” He bowed and beat a hasty retreat from the room as the sound of her laughter—so rare these days—and a splash of water on the floor followed him too closely.

[JewellRavenlock]

Can't wake up in sweat
'Cause it ain't over yet
Still dancing with your demons
(Victim of your own creation)
Beyond the will to fight
Where all that's wrong is right
Where hate don't need a reason
(Loathing self-assassination)
--Avenged Sevenfold; Nightmare

And then later, after night had descended upon the city, she woke with a startled cry, “Merai?” She called out for him in the dark.

“Right here,” he stepped out of the shadows of the room and into a ray of moonlight, cast through the partially opened curtains, in order that she could see him.

She let her head fall back onto her pillow once she was reassured of his presence, her hand limply pushing her silvery-gray hair, damp with perspiration, off her forehead. “Do you suppose that at a certain age one outgrows nightmares?”

“Unfortunately, I do not believe so. Would you like some water?” He was already at the table, pouring some into a glass for her; he didn’t even need to see her nod. He returned to the bedside, handing the cool glass off to her before taking a seat on the side chair that she had moved from the desk to besides the bed upon checking in at the hotel. She had merely smiled a little when he had caught her doing so at the time. “Well...you know,” she had said then, and the problem was that he did know. This had become their routine by now on the nights when she bothered to attempt sleep.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“No.” She never did. Not after those first few days when she had cried—something she had not done since being in Faerie—actually sobbed hysterically, curled up in his arms, night after night. They thought it would help her come to terms with it and move on. It hadn’t. And when that hadn’t worked, she just holed up, refusing to talk about it at all.

Why talk about it? Why make it all more real than it already was? Whenever she closed her eyes she saw it. Felt it. Hands tied with rope to either side. A simple white shift covering her body. Footsteps behind her. Someone’s hand resting on her head, fingers on her forehead. The touch was warm at first, so very warm that she began to sweat; then it was colder and colder until it seeped into her very bones—a frost taking root deep inside. And then she screamed.

“We can still go home, you know. I will protect you. Nothing shall harm you,” he spoke so softly to her then, with love and devotion, this man with hands that ran red with blood.

“There’s no going back.”

“Then what are we doing here?” The question he had asked her earlier, had asked her many times since they arrived.

“Merai, I have to try something.”

[JewellRavenlock]

Not long ago you'd find the answers were so crystal clear
Within a day you find yourself livin' in constant fear
Can you look at yourself now?
Can you look at yourself?!
You can't win this fight
--Avenged Sevenfold; Welcome to the Family

Over breakfast the following day: “Will we be leaving this room today?”

“I don’t see why we should need to,” she studiously ignored him in favor of her sticky bun, alternating taking a bite and licking the sugary confection off her fingers. “’sides, you were the one grumbling earlier about how much it stinks of iron out there.”

“And so it does,” he took a sip of his tea. “I cannot get the taste of iron out of my mouth and it’s giving me a dreadful headache.”

“You get used to it,” she said unsympathetically, pretending she was not experiencing similar symptoms herself.

“Or it will kill me first. Only fools surround themselves with iron like this, living in mortal-made cities.”

“Or the desperate.” She remarked as she licked more sugar off her fingers like a child while her hair dragged dangerously close to the food on the table.

“And which are we?” He asked, watching her hair dip too close to a bowl of fruit before reaching out to bat it away. She merely shrugged, sitting back and examining the ends of her hair for any bits of food. “Don’t think I haven’t notice that you’ve neatly avoided answering my original question either.”

“I did answer it. I said I didn’t see any reason why we should have to leave the suite.”

“Perhaps to secure proper lodgings if we intend to stay here?”

She looked around as if appraising their surroundings for the first time. “I don’t see what’s wrong with this. It’s rather nice.” And then she was back to her sticky bun; she had apparently gotten some of her appetite back upon arriving in RhyDin where things like “bagels” and “pizza” tempted her taste buds.

“For a tomb, perhaps.” He almost snarled at her.

She frowned at him before looking out the partially opened windows. “We will secure proper lodgings when I am ready to.”

He snorted, picking up the paper again to try and puzzle out this dueling sport she had told him about. “And when will that be?”

She turned her face away, refusing to look at the paper. The names mentioned there...it was all too confusing. “Soon.”

“Soon,” he mouthed, mocking her.

“Hmph! Well, it would be done already if you would just go out there and do it.”

“Oh no.” He turned the page. “I will not be traversing this place on my own.”

“Scared?” She smirked.

“Hardly.”

“Whatever.” She picked up a cup of juice, leaving sticky fingerprints all over the glass.

“If someone would be so kind as to show me around.”

“No. Not yet.”

He sighed, placing the paper down. “You did not come all this way to hide out in this room. I thought we were searching for something.”

She pursed her lips and looked away.

[JewellRavenlock]

I've returned and no one's waiting.
I strain my eyes to see but it's so hard to read the old tags on the fallen walls.
--AFI; Weathered Tome

Ishmerai whipped back to curtains in one of the hotel’s bedrooms, flooding the room in light. The sole occupant of the bed growled and spit like a cat at him, pulling the blankets up over her head. “Oh no,” he exclaimed, yanking the sheets back down. “Up. Now.”

“Mmmmr,” she replied, covering her head with a pillow this time. When that too was torn from her grasp, though not without a fight, all she had were her arms for protection and a terrible whiney voice, “Isssshhhmmeeerrraaai!”

“I do not want to hear it. Yes, things have been rather difficult for you lately, but you cannot hide away from it forever.”

“Sure I can,” she grumped in return.

“Now come on. I even drew a bath for you.”

She hmph’d at him, “Don’t like water, and I don’t want to go out there. People might recognize me.”

“Fool. You are wrapped in so much glamour you are lucky that I recognize you. Now get up!”

She groaned dramatically, stepping out of bed. “But wha-hy?”

“Because you are giving me a tour of this city today. We cannot stay locked in this room any longer.” She opened her mouth to protest, but he held his hand up, forestalling any words. “You know we need to find out when we are, how much time has passed. You need to know this, Mira, if you ever want to move on. So we will start out slow, and you will give me a tour of the city.”

She stomped her foot, but she didn’t have a single valid argument to use against him. “Fine! But I will not enjoy it,” she stated, heading towards the bathroom.

“I would not dream of asking you to.”

They were on the street outside the hotel two hours later. For someone who claimed to hate water as much as she did, she still spent a ridiculous amount of time bathing.

“I look appropriate as I am?” He watched people pass by, looking at his own attire in comparison. His outfit was quite typical for him: leather vest with a light shirt beneath; loose, dark pants; soft leather boots.

“Yes dear, you look fantastic,” she replied, twirling her parasol. She knew he did not ask out of any sense of fashion vanity. Ishmerai wanted to blend in wherever he went; the silent shadow protected her best. She was more concerned with her own dress—fashioned from ginormous white and yellow rose petals and covered with a thick shawl. She was always cold. The city had forced her to act more alive, to care about her appearance once more, at least for the day. She did not know how she felt about that, but she could not stop it either. Ishmerai knew how he felt: a sense of relief at seeing her take so much time and consideration about her appearance. She had even plaited her hair today.

“All right,” he nodded. “Then lead the way,” he gestured ahead of him.

“Oh no,” she smirked, striding up to his side and clasping the crook of his arm with her own. “We shall walk side by side here, Merai. Equals in this city that bends all the rules.”

He later realized the real reason for their walking arrangement: she needed him physically, her own strength and stamina apparently insufficient for the day’s activity; she had truly become a shadow of her former self. She also needed his strength to lean upon as she encountered her past. Many happy memories lurked around the corners and in the buildings of the city, but there were sad and painful ones to match. She did not tell him the stories behind them as they walked up and down the streets together, but he could see the history in her eyes and facial expressions.

“This place is a bewildering maze,” he remarked at one point.

“It is,” she agreed, “and even though it doesn’t seem like it has been horribly long here, much has still changed.” Regardless, her feet remembered the way around well enough—even if her memories remained foggy, images out of the past—and he saw many places that he knew must hold some significance to her.

They wandered down by the docks, but she did not gravitate towards any particular ship and only briefly pointed out a bar where sailors liked to hang out. A cake shop. A building where a dojo used to stand. It had her name on it now, and that made her frown for some reason. There was a restaurant by the water front that she said she once owned, and a clothing store in a more affluent neighborhood that she liked to shop at but passed by quickly.

“I am worried that I might see myself go running by,” she admitted as they walked back towards the hotel as the light faded. There were many things he had not seen that day—a sanctuary, a clubhouse, her old house—but did not mention.

“Would that be so terrible?”

She paused for a moment, staring at an outdoor cafe. He was not sure if the cafe itself held some memory or if she was just thinking. They continued moving before she spoke again, “Perhaps. But perhaps I would not even know that girl if I saw her now.”

They passed the gates of the cemetery soon after. He looked at her, questioning if she wanted to go in. There was a morbid curiosity inside her. Was there a stone for her, standing there in memorial to a woman that was truly dead? A memorial to her past life and the person she had once been? There was something keeping her back, the darkening sky making her feel reluctant, nervous even, despite Ishmerai being at her side. Events had happened in that cemetery. She could not remember the details of them, just the lingering feeling of dread they left behind. She tugged on Merai’s arm, pulling him away. “Not yet.” He only nodded.

[JewellRavenlock]

I never meant to leave this world alone
I never meant to hurt the ones who cared
And all this time I thought we'd just grow old
You know, no one said it's fair
--Avenged Sevenfold; Danger Line

It was days later when she felt ready to face the cemetery, curiosity overcoming any dread. She left Ishmerai at the gate. She did not want to do this alone, but she knew anyone’s presence, even Ishmerai’s, would make it even worse. So she entered the land of the fallen by herself. Many of the graves she passed by had been recently desecrated. It made her sad for those who rested there; was there no peace to be found anywhere?

She couldn’t be sure there was a stone for her as she was still not positive how much time had passed since she had been gone (maybe if there had been one, time had already worn it away), but she felt that there would be one somewhere. It did not even take her long to find it; she was pulled towards it somehow. She passed by where she knew a memorial stone once stood for Cher and Gene, their faces unclear in her memories now. There had been one for Skyler too, she knew, but something in her mind reminded her that Skyler’s was not there anymore. She couldn’t remember why.

It did not matter though because she was not there to honor and pay her respects to ghosts out of her past. Only one grave stood out amidst the others: a Celtic stone cross of real artistry, lit by candles that would never go out. Her breathing felt short and quick when she saw it, her steps becoming rushed until she was right in front of the stone, where her strength gave out and she fell to her knees. A small cry, muffled by her hand, escaped her lips as she took it in: the names, the candles, small mementos left for the lost. It was all too real; her death was being shoved in her face, unavoidable. The tears began as she reached out, fingers tracing the names of the fallen.

Everything had been to no avail then. She had tried so hard to hold on to a piece of herself when in Faerie. She had insisted on being called Jewell. She had snuck out to the inns and bars deep in the woods with her Fae friends, enjoying brawls and drinking contests as if she was still in RhyDin. And when she had been exiled to Earth, she had opened her own bar for a time. It had been named The Raven.

Slowly, though, the demands of her life in Faerie had eroded her away. She was called “Lady Ta-Neer” instead of Jewell. She was named as heir, so she had to act like it. No more fraternizing with the Fae. No more wild nights in the woods. She played the courtier, the coquette, and the diplomat. They placed more and more responsibilities upon her until that girl she had been was just a tiny little part of her, locked away inside and only let out to play occasionally.

Then they had taken that part away too. Crushed it under their heels, heedless of the pain it caused her. Now, she knew she had been living in denial all along, holding on to a dream. That girl—Jewell Ravenlock—was dead. She had been dead the whole time. Her life had been burned to the ground. Her children were gone. There was nothing left of her but this stone: a cold memorial to what had once been.

Ishmerai let more time pass than he deemed prudent before venturing into the graveyard after Kasimira. It was hard to hide the distaste he felt for the presence of so much death around him; it was unnatural. Amongst the abundance of graves, however, he still had no trouble finding her. He discovered her kneeling before a Celtic cross, her back to him. He cleared his throat, allowing her to know that he was there without disturbing or alarming her.

She turned her head to look up at him, tears streaming down her face. They were the first she had shed since the days following the ceremony. “Oh Merai, it is true! I am dead and gone. There is no going back. And my babies,” she turned her face back to the grave where the dearly departed names were written, “they are gone too. All gone into the ground.” She dug her hands into the soil, leaning forward as sobs shook her body. “I let them take my children away from me. And then they killed me too. They destroyed everything I have ever loved. They have destroyed me so completely, and I just... I just want this to end.” She finally said out loud what had been eating away at her all this time.

The more she talked, the more hysterical she became. Ishmerai had been waiting for this moment, watching for the time when that iron resolve and will she always exercised finally crumbled. How much could any person really endure before they broke down? He knew he must take some action to calm her. He would not watch her fall into so many pieces that there would be no putting her back together again. Instead of kneeling and taking her in his arms—as his first impulse told him to do—he knelt down and smacked her across the face.

It worked better and quicker than any soothing words or gestures would have. The momentary shock and surprise on her face, which stopped her tears, was quickly replaced by a flash of anger. For a moment, he saw the haughty noble he had offered his life in service to many years ago.

“How dare you?” she burst out, unthinking.

He was not put off by the condescending way she addressed him; never in all their years together had she pulled rank on him, acting superior. “I dare because I will not see you break down like this. You have forced me to recall you to your senses.”

“You do not have the right, Ishmerai.”

“You are wrong, Lady Kasimira,” he spoke to her formally as he stood, brushing off his clothes. “I have every right that you have previously given me. I have been charged with your safety, and someone once requested of me that I ensure she would still be alive on the day she could be with her children once again. That woman was you. Now they do not deserve a mother who sits, sniveling in the dirt, do they?” He hoped he had not gone too far.

She looked down, “You are too harsh with me, Merai.”

Now he placed his hands gently on her shoulders, “I am so because I know you are a strong woman who can weather even this storm.” She just stared at the grave. “And you see that you will not have to do so alone.” He pointed out the keepsakes that were left in remembrance of her—withered flowers, some fresher than others, candles that never went out, a snow globe. “You are still alive and honored in someone’s memory, Mira. Not all is lost to the past.”

“They honor and love someone who does not exist anymore,” she objected.

“For now.”

[JewellRavenlock]

You should have known
The price of evil
And it hurts to know
That you belong here, yeah
No one to call
Everybody to fear
Your tragic fate is looking so clear, yeah
--Avenged Sevenfold; Nightmare

Later that night, when she finally wandered into Dream, with the aid of several glasses of wine to calm her nerves, she dreamed her dreaded nightmare in full.

Their ship was pulling in to the quay as she stood at the railing, waving to the entourage her grandmother had sent to meet her. “We are here!” she shouted, waiting impatiently for the ship to be anchored and the plank lowered. She was the first one off, leaving Ishmerai behind to deal with any work that needed to be done.

“M’lady, welcome home.”

“Do you have any good news?”

“Have you found an artist?”

“How was your trip?”

The questions were fired one after another, and Jewell failed to notice the nervous gestures and glances of a few, blinded by the good will of friends. “We did not find an artist, but I am in high spirits! We heard promising news. With the right training, we just may have found the one at last.”

Before she could truly start her tale, two guards cut through the group surrounding her. They were not of the House of Ta-Neer—the livery of which Jewell wore at times and the guards whose names she knew every one—nor were they from the lesser houses in the area that did business on the docks. They wore the insignia of the High Queen, a man off to the side bearing her standard. “Are you the Lady Jewell, Heir to the House of Ta-Neer?”

She nudged her friends aside, stepping forward. “I am.”

“My lady, you are under arrest.” Two more guards appeared from the side, grabbing her arms and forcing them behind her to be bound.

“This is absurd! What are the charges?”

She could hear one of the house servants running up the plank, shouting for Ishmerai, as another guard spoke, “The charge is treason for the murders of Antipholus, Steward of the House of Ta-Neer, and Lady Conventina, Queen of the House of Ta-Neer.”

They had taken her to the high court directly; there was nothing her grandmother could do. Jewell had arrived back in the Lands just in time for the High Spring Court—as promised to her grandmother the previous year—where she would now be tried rather than play the part of courtesan and heir. She became cold and aloof once the charges were initially read, and remained so once she arrived at the High Court. She allowed Ishmerai to act as indignant as he wanted for her.

“Is this how the heir to the Ta-Neer family is to be treated? She is in a common cell! She is no commoner.”

“You may take your argument to Lord Cenric; he is in charge of the lady’s case,” he was informed.

Apparently, Lord Cenric was not receptive to Ishmerai’s arguments. Jewell reassured her Knight, “I do not mind, Merai. They will treat me as they like.”

“You are greater than this. You deserve to be treated as such.”

She had merely shrugged. “I have become a piece in someone’s game. Do me a favor and find out whose as I am a little busy at the moment,” and she laughed as she lay upon the bare cot in her cell, her head hanging over the side and her hair (it was still blue then) pooling on the floor.

He had been happy to see her in such good spirits, but he could not share in her optimism. He did not think she was taking the situation as seriously as she should. He began to snoop around, acting as a chameleon amidst the courtiers and queens, countesses and lords, even the servants. So many of the nobles talked openly before their fae underlings. The more he snooped, the more details he discovered, the more he knew she was absolutely not taking the situation as seriously as she needed to.

“It goes much deeper than Muirenn, I am afraid. Obviously your uncle Llyr is partially behind this, but Muirenn has also planted a seed of fear in many that you cannot be trusted, that they will be next in line during your grab for power.”

She snorted in response, “Ah yes—I am so very power hungry.”

He ignored the comment, “They are also making much of your past: An upstart from unknown parts; who even knows if she’s even of pure blood?”

She scowled at that; “Oh let them talk.”

“But their talk can hurt you,” he insisted.

“Only if I let it.”

The trial was a sham, a circus show set up before all those present for the Spring Court that year. It was the best entertainment that the court had had in years, it was said.

“And do you deny the murder of Antipholus, Steward of the House of Ta-Neer under your aunt, Lady Conventina, which was witnessed by hundreds, some who stand before us today.”

“I do not.”

“But you continue to maintain that Antipholus was treasonous, plotting to have you murdered?”

“Attempting to have me murdered,” she corrected, “three times.”

“Attempting, yes, despite the lack of evidence.”

“The evidence—an unseelie fae—was a prisoner of the Ta-Neer House who gave testimony before hundreds, many of whom, as you remarked, stand here today.”

“Where is this prisoner now?”

“Conveniently sentenced to death by Conventina.”

“You say by Conventina, but you really mean yourself, do you not? To cover up your unfounded accusations and therefore cold-blooded murder of the Steward.”

“No.” Not once did she let her emotions get the better of her, speaking matter-of-factly when necessary. “I was not present in Faerie when the prisoner was killed. I was exiled at that time.”

“Yet, as the court has heard, even in your exile you commanded power and control in Faerie, as can be seen by your uncalled for return and the events that followed.”

She remained silent. She was becoming too angry, insolent, but such emotions would not help her now.

“And what of your involvement with the untimely death of the Lady Conventina? Is it true that you were involved in her demise indirectly?”

“Directly,” she clarified.

“Pardon me?”

“I was involved in her death directly. I personally took Conventina’s life.”

There was an uproar in the court at this bold declaration, a confirmation of what everyone had heard only in rumors. It took several minutes to regain control of the crowd. “What is your defense for such a treasonous action?”

“While I was in exile, my aunt went on a megalomaniac spree. I am sure you are all aware of this. She waged uncalled for war with the unseelie court on our borders and set in place harsh measures of control and persecution upon her own people, causing many of them to flee into self-induced exile. It was therefore requested of me to put an end to the deteriorating situation, which I gladly did.”

Another ripple of astonishment went through the crowd. “Who made such a request that you felt you could defy the rules of these lands and your duties to your liege-lady?”

“The Council for Preternatural Activities.”

The room went out of control yet again, and Jewell took secret pleasure in the spectacle she was part of.

“Silence! SILENCE!” The councilman glared at Jewell, “This council does not recognize the authority of the Council for Preternatural Activities in Faerie.”

Jewell had known the CPA had no sway in Faerie when she worked with its agents on Earth. She had known those in Faerie completely disregarded the CPA’s edicts and decrees when one of the agents had approached her, making the unusual request to “take care” of the situation regarding her aunt, Lady Conventina. In court, she offered in her own defense the reasons that the CPA agent had used in persuading her that the job needed to be done. It was to no avail. Neither was the line of brave souls who stepped forward to testify in her behalf, risking the displeasure of the High Court.

All the evidence having been heard, including precise descriptions of how Jewell had committed the supposed murders—she was extremely proud of how she had dispatched of her aunt—the sentence would be decided and proclaimed the following day.

That night, knowing her loyal knight stood outside her prison cell, she could not help but take comfort in his presence and conversation. “Merai, do you really think what I did was wrong?” Her whisper came cutting through the night.

“Of course not. You only ever do what you feel you must.”

“Merai, what do you think they will do with me?”

“Perhaps they will make you a hero.”

She laughed. “Perhaps I can have a statue in my likeness dedicated to me.”

“It would only be fitting,” he had replied.

And then, more seriously, she asked, “You think it will be exile, don’t you?”

“It seems like it,” he answered frankly; he did not lie to her.

The idea of exile did not scare her. There was actually something pleasing about the idea of escaping Faerie, except for when she thought of the children. She knew there was a way around that problem though; she just had not thought of it yet. All in due time, though. While Merai whispered tales of his childhood to her through the barred door—stories she had heard many times before—she found sleep was not too hard to come by.

The following day, as she stood before crowd and council once more, there was no sensationalism. An eerie quiet fell over those assembled when the council read out their decision: “For the wanton abuse of power and disgusting acts of treason committed through the murders of Antipholus, Steward of the House of Ta-Neer, and Conventina, Queen of the House of Ta-Neer, you, Jewell Ta-Neer, heir of the House of Ta-Neer shall have your magical abilities placed under bindings to prevent any further abuses in the future.”

Jewell stood deadly still, even when they dismissed the court. She did not move of her own accord, even when the guards came to escort her back to her cell. She did not hear the reaction of the crowd, which was a mix of dismay and triumph. The words of her sentence were bouncing around inside her skull as she tried to understand them, tried to understand this completely unexpected turn of events.

That evening, when Ishmerai was finally allowed to see her, he found her punching the stone walls of her cell repeatedly. He stood inside the door, watching as she finally broke her right hand before switching to the left to continue her abuse of that appendage until it too was broken.

Only then did she look at him, and what she said took him by surprise; “I am so sorry, Merai.”

He frowned. “Whatever for?” he asked as he stepped inside, guiding her with a hand on her shoulder to sit on the cot; he kneeled before her as she cradled her broken hands in her lap.

“You told me to watch myself, to be more careful, but I did not listen. I have been a horrid liege-lady to you. I have made your job impossible.”

He just tsk’d. “That does not matter.”

“No, not now I suppose.”

They were silent as he examined her hands, her eyes staring blankly off to the side. He didn’t like that she barely responded to the pain she must be feeling, even when he purposely pushed on the break.

“There will not be an appeal?” she asked, still staring.

“No. The decision is final.”

“And what will they take from me, Merai?”

“Your glamour they will not touch, cannot touch perhaps. But I am afraid they will bind your ability to manipulate raw energy and your tie to water. They did not like what you did to Conventina.” She nodded numbly in response before he continued, “I am going to get a healer to take care of your hands.”

“If you want.”

“I do.”

That night she lay on her back with her hands bandaged but already well on their way to being healed. It was late in the night, but she knew he too would be awake. Her voice sounded so small, so young, when it reached him outside her door. “Merai, do you think it will hurt much?”

“Physically? No. It shouldn’t,” he replied, knowing that neither of them had been worried about that anyways.

“I did not think so,” she whispered, understanding exactly what neither of them had said: she was never afraid of physical pain.

She did not sleep at all the night before the ceremony. Her mind would not let her, torturing her with racing thoughts instead. Everything she had already lost, everything she was about to lose, all whirled around in her head. Why was this happening to her? She had given up everything she ever had, everything she wanted and could have, to serve the family. She had done what had been requested and demanded of her, gone above and beyond in serving her post. But she had not been careful enough. She had made enemies. They envied her power—both physical and political—and the allure that drew people to her. It was something she did effortlessly and did not try to hide. Why hide it? She had even reveled in her displays of power at times, the ability to do what she wanted when she wanted without consequences.

Everything had caught up to her now. It seemed Conventina would get the last laugh in the end.

In the morning—she could not see the sunrise but she felt it—two guards came for her. Ishmerai was there as well, of course. There was nowhere else he would be. Suddenly, there was a fear inside of her that they were leading her off to her death. She was not ready to die. Had she ever told Ishmerai how much he had meant to her all these years, at her side through all her searching and every adventure or mishap? Had she told her grandmother that she truly did love her? That she was the only mother she had ever known?

There was no time for those words now. As they lead her out of her cell, she held her head high and offered a fleeting smile to Ishmerai. It would have to do now for all the words she had not said.

The guards marched at her side, Ishmerai just steps behind her, down a cold stone corridor. It was Ishmerai’s presence that gave her strength. He would not allow them to kill her. He would save her if anything went wrong. He had promised with his blood to do so.

That hope competed with the building dread in her stomach as she was escorted into the ceremony chamber. There were many people there to witness her sentence being carried out, her humiliation. She was tempted to scowl, feeling disgust at the ghoulishness of it all, the pleasure many were seeking from this cruelty. She caught her cousin’s eye— Muirenn was standing in the front of the crowd, gloating—and gave her a cruel smile. Muirenn’s smile faltered and she shifted nervously. Her cousin was right to be nervous, Jewell thought. They should all fear her revenge for what they had done, what they were doing.

She was made to stand before the council and hear her sentence read out loud once more. Then, Lord Cenric allowed her to speak any petitions for mercy she may have. She thought for a moment before meeting his eyes with that cruel smile turning up her lips, “Whatever you bring upon me now, I shall bring upon you ten-fold in the time to come.” The general gasp that followed was satisfying at least.

“We shall see,” the head councilman replied, one of the few not perturbed by her threats.

Then she was lead to the stone circle and made to kneel. The hard stone was icy, biting at her bare knees. They tied rope tightly around her wrists, the action causing a sudden panic to quickly rise within her. She had always hated being restrained in any way. She pulled on the ropes a little, but they did not give. Her eyes sought Ishmerai in the crowd; she needed him now. He needed to stop this; he could not allow them to go through with this. All her bravado was gone. Where was Ishmerai? She could not find him. Then it was too late. She could not see her executioner, but she felt his hand on her head. It was so hot. She felt her skin burning under his touch. Her whole body broke out in a cold sweat, her breathes coming in panicky gasps.

Then there was ice. It pierced her chest. It sank deep within her, spreading a chill to the very tips of her fingers. That was when she started screaming, struggling uselessly at the ropes. She had no concept of how long the ceremony lasted or how long she screamed. The pain became the only emotion she had ever experienced, filling her entire being. She was certain that they were killing her, hoping they were killing her because then the pain would stop. And why was Ishmerai not stopping them? “They have killed me, Ishmerai,” was her only coherent thought before she thankfully blacked out.

The following days were a haze. The pain never fully went away. They had bound her magic, but it felt like they had torn out everything inside of her, leaving her completely empty. The water would not respond to her touch. The bright light of energy could not be summoned to her hand. Her senses felt dull. She had been blinded. She could not speak. She could not feel beyond a spreading numbness and the crippling pain. Ishmerai held her as she cried and cried—she could not even control her tears now.

[JewellRavenlock]

Don't ever speak my name

Don't ever speak my name again
Don't ever speak it
Don't ever speak my name again
Don't speak
Don't speak
--AFI; Kill Caustic

Kasimira woke from her nightmare screaming as usual, fighting against the hands and ropes that would hold her down in order that they could steal her magic from her. Ishmerai was quickly at her side, ready to bring her to her senses and offer what comfort he could, but she was able to gain control of herself more quickly these days. She had a lot of experience. “I am fine, Merai,” she reassured him once the screaming and flailing stopped. She took a minute to compose herself, the nightmare and its emotions still lingering. “Why not try and get some sleep for once?”

It took a bit more promising and swearing that she was fine before he would return to his room. She didn’t even know if he ever did sleep, or did he remain awake, waiting to be called to her side once more? She didn’t concern herself with the matter tonight, absorbed in her own troubles. Kasimira was far from fine. She pulled a blanket over her head, trying to hide from the emptiness and pain that echoed out from her dream, threatening to consume her once more. She need not even close her eyes to see the rest of her personal nightmare play out before her.

It was after the ceremony, once the crying had stopped, that the pain was accompanied by an overwhelming emptiness. She knew she was no longer the same.

When Ishmerai called her name gently one morning, trying to rouse her, she practically screamed at him. “No! I am not her. Do not call me that ever again. She is gone.”

He had remained silent a moment. He did not find it a trial to be patient and kind with her even during her unprovoked outbursts, but he did not know how to respond. “What is it you would like me to call you?”

“You may call me Kasimira.”

If she had not been so serious, he would have been tempted to laugh. The original Lady Kasimira had been an Unseelie noble with an insatiable blood lust. She was the twin sister to a queen and was quite fearsome in battle. With Kasimira leading her armies, the queen gained great power and experienced peace in all her lands. But the queen betrayed Kasimira after becoming nervous and envious of Kasimira’s growing power. The queen had her sister locked away in iron shackles and chains for years and years, where the bitterness of the betrayal ate away at Kasimira while the queen enjoyed the peaceful fruit of her sister’s labors. It was said that she eventually became immune to the effects of the iron, breaking free and taking her revenge on her sister and her court. It was said she killed every last one of them on her own—no one could stop her. It was said she bathed in their blood, dancing in it, before she turned her sword on herself.

All Faeries were taught the story of the original Kasimira. They all knew that the name commonly meant destroyer of peace or destruction of peace. That was who his lady now wanted to be associated with: the bloodthirsty murderess of Unseelie legend, the one they revered in the night courts. There was no point in arguing with her, though. He could see by the set of her jaw that she was already determined in what she wanted. “I will see to it that this is done for you... Mira.”

She did not object to the nickname he gave her; perhaps she did not know that in some languages it meant “sea” and “ocean.” She only responded quietly, “Thank you, Merai.”

Ishmerai was extremely thorough in fulfilling his lady’s wishes. Her name was stricken from all the family records, replaced with Kasimira. The plaque under her portrait in the gallery was altered. A proclamation regarding the issue went out into the Ta-Neer lands as well as the surrounding country. The house servants, the guards, even the gardeners were made aware of the change. Every little detail was attended to by Kasimira’s loyal Knight. When they learned of the change, some frowned and wondered what it could mean, others sighed. Muirenn possibly felt her knees quake: could her cousin mean to one day dance in her blood? For a moment she doubted the wisdom of setting herself up against such a fearsome, and possibly now deranged, opponent.

Regardless of the reaction, by the time Ishmerai was done, everyone in the Ta-Neer lands knew they were taking their lives into their hands if they dared to utter the name “Jewell.”

Kasimira was who she was now. Ishmerai was wrong in thinking that Jewell Ravenlock—the Jewell Ravenlock whose grave she had just visited that day—could exist again. There would be no bringing her back from the dead. No resurrection. That simple truth tormented her. She could not escape it. Her grave continually floated before her eyes, a death knell of screams sounding in her ears. She could not escape, would not escape, not even into dream where she knew the repetition of her nightmare awaited her. There was nowhere for her to run, nowhere to hide. The end of everything was looming before her: she was nothing, had never been anything, could not become something.

She came close to asphyxiating herself, her anxious breathing quickly using up all the air beneath the blanket she hid under. She stumbled out of bed, tripping herself in the tangled sheets, and rushed out onto the small balcony. Collapsing against the railing, she took in deep breaths of the night air, sharp with the tang of iron in it. When her vision stopped spinning, when her world stopped tilting dangerously out of control, she gazed desperately down on the city below her. Therein lay her only chance at salvation.