Fia

This one is struggling to help Mistress fit into a dress that would have fit her comfortably not two moons ago. Although this one supposes calling Ayre Mistress feels just as sudden and difficult to adjust to.

Or at least this one and Selescia were trying to help when a certain someone reaches around in such a way to tear the dress’s back. “There! We can breathe again!”

This one winces. Winces!

Dolls do not wince! Even if this one’s mistress is making more bestial growls than would befit a noble.

Vylian blood dolls are trained under threat of pain to be compliant assistants in all things, no matter the circumstances!

“Nothing a little tearing and stitching can’t fix.” Comes a fiercely low growl that causes Selescia to cling to this one’s arm. “Sorry girls, gimme a moment with my sister.”

Before either of us can respond, the growl of a voice is directed at the mirror.

“Just trust me on this one.”

And then our Mistress turns about, causing the skirt to flare out as they spin.

When the spin comes to a halt, their voice falls to a breathy whisper. “Oh.”

The deep growl returns immediately after, as if in reply to their own words. “We made it. Not in the way we might have envisioned. But the four of us are the closest to freedom we have ever been.”

It is one thing to hear how another shares Ayre’s body. But to see them talk to themselves is… Well it is more difficult to refute now that Selescia has communicated how much it means to them.

Mistress turns their head, reaching out to brush the back of a hand along Selescia’s cheek in a way that… Lenore used to. “Ayre is doing their best, but both of us really do want better for both of you. If not for yourselves, then to spite those who would ever think to limit the purpose of our lives, okay?” The way they growl the words should have the opposite effect from comfort.

And yet…

This one finds a giddy joy in the framing of a promised freedom as an act of spite.

It doesn’t make what Ayre and Lenore both want from this one any easier to provide. To live for one’s self still feels like it remains outside this one’s role.

This one has for too long been content with being a necessary resource. To be used for longer and more gentler than most as a result of a kind and thoughtful Mistress felt special in ways this one dare not categorize. But such kindness as Mistress extends to this one comes at the cost of needing to protect all they extend it to.

More loved ones means more stress and potential threats that Mistress must bear.

It is why this one takes up what violence that this one can. To find new ways to serve means prolonging this period of kindness in Mistress Ayre’s life.

There is no way this ends without someone being broken, discarded, or sacrificed.

And yet here Mistress Lenore supposedly is, sharing their sibling’s body.

The how and why is beyond this one to understand. But knowing that she is here lifts a burden that Ayre has carried for far too long.

Selescia covers her mouth in surprise, fumbling for a name she has long struggled to let go of in service to Mistress Ayre in her place.

“L-lenore?” She leans into her mistress’s hand with freely flowing tears in her eyes.

Everyone seems happy.

This one should be happy too, right?

The more this one thinks, the more this one falls back on reducing everything down to burdens and purpose. It is how this one has been trained, after all.

Lenore may claim we are close to freedom, but it is not ours yet. And who knows how threats and stresses will change after this binding ceremony?

It just never feels like it will be the right time for this one to risk adding another burden to Mistress’s concerns.

And yet Ayre grows beyond the dress intended to celebrate the role of… Princess.

Try as this one might to keep track of mistress Ayre’s own changing needs and fears, this one remains unsure of how to adapt. To even ask would be a burden. Better to bottle it up and put on a smile.

This one clears her throat. “So, the deep voice is Mistress Lenore, while the soft voice is Mistress Ayre?”

They respond with a deep throated purr I associate with Lenore. “For now, yes. We’re both here to an extent. It just costs us both to be awake at once.”

“Oh. Does it hurt you? Or do you just need more blood?” This one asks, immediately receiving a shake of the head from Selescia.

“Please don’t offer blood needlessly.” Selescia chides.

“This one isn’t!” This one swears, even now that this one knows to waste time on the subject costs us precious time with both of our Mistresses.

“It is quite alright.” Ayre whispers, their gaze looking down at the dress that barely fits them. “Really. All this time in front of a mirror has given us time to reflect on what we want for ourselves. If anything, I crave willing blood sources that would grant me a tail or wings.”

The relief in their voice causes this one to drop all other thoughts.

Why can’t this defective doll whose purpose keeps crossing with those of her Mistress hold back tears? To allow this one’s mistresses to take what they need would prolong the time that Selescia and Lenore could be together.

But to even mention it would displease Ayre and the rest would follow suit.

This one is supposed to be thinking about what it is she wants.

It is hard sometimes, being Ayre’s doll.

This one never receives any punishments to signal a change in behavior. It took a firm scolding from Selescia to convince this one that she was becoming a burden.

This one just… Feels so trapped in circular logic that is spiraling into desperation that can’t be allowed to show! How is this one supposed to think for oneself when Ayre regularly puts the needs of others ahead of their own needs?

The purposes of doll and royalty have just… Been getting so crossed lately.

And now that Ayre has casually mentioned other blood sources, this one is starting to wonder what room there is for a doll in the life of one who no longer wishes to be a Prince or Princess.

A shadow is cast upon this one’s face as Ayre gives us their undivided attention.

This one buries her thoughts, before looking up to find the soft and tender expression of this one’s mistress.

“Selescia.” Ayre calls out, in that light and airy voice they claim as theirs. It suits them, always so gentle, even when they push us away or need space. “Can you go see if any of our beloved hosts can spare a needle and thread appropriate for mending this attire?”

Selescia looks between the two of us with more amusement than this one thinks is fair. “As you wish, Ayre.” And departs.

The moment we are left alone, Ayre’s expression softens. “The first step is realizing you are upset. And apologize if you can accept me wanting to give you time to have your thoughts in order. But it’s clear you’re beginning to spiral.”

This one blinks at them. Is this what rebuilding our dynamic is supposed to look like?

This one nods.

“Next comes asking you what you'd like me to do. If you need a shoulder to lean on or have thoughts to share, I am happy to listen and wish to remain someone you can rely upon.”

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“What if… This one's words don't matter?” Words alone fail to communicate the fretful nature that expresses itself instead in a shifting of posture.

“I care about you, Fia. Whether you were forced to or not, you were there for me in a bleak period of my life. There is an insight to your words born from experiences I would subject none others to.” They speak so lightly now of memories consigned to blood and stone. But there is no tell-tale sign of hunger, need, or weakness in the way they are holding themselves.

If they are not weakened now, then what of later? “But what about everyone else you keep going to for help? Is this one… No longer good enough?”

“Fia. Of course not. But the difference is that they are under no obligation to like me.”

This one feels she must protest. “But they are bound to you!”

Mistress waves off my words. “But we need not see each other so long as our shared purposes are resolved. By taking the time to care for one another, to learn how each other hurts, they chose to come to my assistance when I needed them. Not because anyone told them to, but because they wanted to keep me.”

This one stammers, brows furrowing in protest. “But they could have been expected to help and still come to like you as this one does! What difference does obligation or choice make?”

Ayre’s voice grows taught, their posture stiffening to match. “Need I remind you that it was my sworn protector who turned against me? Who threatened to take Ayre and Lenore away from all of you and left you all to fend for yourselves in the aftermath?”

Mistress… Certainly didn’t phrase it like that. “This one is… Sorry.” Another awkward shuffle prompts an offered hand from Ayre that this one takes. “This one has… Tried to serve in a capacity as Snapdragon has out of obligation to ease your burdens. But it only led to injury and this one being unkind to Snapdragon in a moment when they needed support that you were not present to offer.”

“Fia.”

This one shakes her head. “No. The unkindness was just as quickly turned upon you. And there is… No excuse for any of it. You deserve better!”

“It’s not a question of deserving.” Ayre whispers.

Only belatedly does this one realize that the hand raised to rub at their chest is likely a comforting gesture intended by Lenore.

This one is… Seriously starting to worry if she is no longer needed. “Can this one ask what it is about? This one is… Nearing her wit’s end.”

Deep breaths.

Dolls take deep breaths when they are overwhelmed.

And then the good ones push through. “Sorry. This one is being a burden again.”

“My darling Fia.” Ayre’s smile is… disarming. “You’re spiraling with nothing to stop you from your fall short of my intervention or discipline I’ve ensured you are no longer exposed to.”

This one… Doesn’t know what to make of all that, so instead this one focuses on why their smile no longer looks familiar.

Are their teeth growing sharper?

Longer?

Both. Definitely both.

Ayre continues. “I can hardly fault you for being injured and poisoned in a battle. You may not have been subjected to everything the Watchers or I have. I’d nonetheless be confident in wagering that you not only picked up how to use that bolt thrower quickly, but were quick to assess which parts of the Drake could and would not be pierced by your shots. You’re observant, adaptable, and more dedicated than any of my siblings would give you credit.”

This one clings to Ayre’s final words in order to not melt under their kindness, reaching instead for an indignant pout. “But this one does not want to serve any others! …Only you.”

“Sure.” They say, managing to make it sound confident. “But you understand why Lenore and I want better for you, right?”

This one bites at her lip instead of replying. “You would rather us be Snapdragons.”

Something about this one’s phrasing causes Ayre’s breathing to pause.

Hurriedly, this one tries her best to elaborate. “As opposed to aspiring to be a First or a Second thorn who take on all the responsibilities with pride. You would rather this one and Selescia break away from the roles intended for us.” This one’s own voice gets quiet by the end, saying more what this one thinks Mistress would prefer to hear than what makes sense.

Mistress smiles, their voice falling to a whisper. “You remember the promise I swore to you and Selescia upon claiming the both of you as my dolls?”

This one’s eyes widen. An easy question! “Of course! That you would never again allow either of us to be caged!”

Mistress nods. “I ask only because my understanding of what being caged even means has changed.” They loosen their grip on this one’s hand, clawed fingers tracing their doll’s palm as delicately as their whispered words. “As such, I felt the promise worth revisiting.”

Unsure of how to respond to that, this one merely smiles like a good doll.

“I’m not sure if you’ll be easy to convince that serving me is anything but good. I just think that staying here might be bad for Snapdragon and the Seers. We may have arrived at a more accommodating place…” Their voice drifts off, eyes lingering as their claw finishes tracing the outline of this one’s hand.

This one can almost see the shape of what they are getting at, and take a chance at making comparisons that feel most apt. “But for them, this grove is the court that we never felt safe in.”

“More or less.” Ayre says.

This one is not sure what more or less refers to. “Um. Can Mistress kindly explain?”

Ayre sighs, but the smile they give me is an easy one. “It’s like you said. I’d rather the two of you be a Snapdragon. But where does that leave the other nineteen Thorns? And what of the Howling Watchers? Or any others? Are they all bound to fight and die, proving themselves superior amongst their siblings until only the insufferable like Iitharna remain?”

This one doesn’t have an answer to that, only a growing sense of discomfort as Mistress proposes that we have, each of us, always been caged to some extent.

A pit begins to form in this one’s stomach as the scope of what is bothering Mistress Ayre begins to take shape.

“I’m sorry.” A voice cuts in like a familiar knife. “I had hoped to not intrude, but did you want an answer to that question?”

Ayre turns away from this one.

A clawed grip tightens around this one’s hand before tugging their doll protectively behind them.

All so that this one need not meet the gaze of the one responsible for… Everything.

The growled response is more Lenore than Ayre. “Apologies, mother. But I’m a little more concerned about how you’re even speaking to us.”

This one shivers as an all too familiar frigid mountain chill begins to settle into the room.

Words manifest with a terrifying weight that can be felt irregardless of volume or distance, emanating from the room’s largest mirror. “Scrying is something of a subtle art. Make no mistake, it is one worth learning from one of your Bound Seers before circumstances demand that distance separate you.”

Mistress tenses. “So you can see and hear.” Their eyes dart down to the hand mirror they’ve dropped. “Have you been…”

“Keeping tabs on you?” This one can almost imagine those blue lips twisting into a horrifyingly wide smile that splits the entire length of her face.

Can’t be seen clinging to Mistress.

It would… Not be of any benefit to them.

Only this one.

Dolls have nothing to fear, for they are but resources to be used and discarded as needed.

“No. For a favored child of mine, I will freely admit that I’ve been unable to for quite some time. A reflective surface alone will do little without an understanding of the target as intimate as the distance between you.”

Mistress seems to think that over for a few moments before relaxing their shoulders. “I take it Grove Tender Mel’Viora has spoken highly of me?”

“But of course. My consort and I spoke at length in order to arrive at an ideal pairing. If there are any problems with your arrangement, you need but name them to the Grove Tender or I.”

Ayre shakes their head. “No problems here.”

“Such a subtle answer. Scarce a tenmoon has passed and already you show signs of not only eating well, but maturing at a commendable pace.”

The sound of the Castellan’s approval is the only time this one feels safe breathing deeply.

Mistress’s clawed hand relaxes its grip enough to give a more gently reassuring squeeze. “Be sure to give my regards to Mel’Viora. I don’t expect my changes to stop anytime soon.”

That gets a long and wicked laugh out of the Castellan. “I will have to thank my consort for suggesting you get away from the courtly functions. Although I must say, out of all the things I expected, seeing you happy is not one of them. Your dress suits you. Although I imagine not for long.”

“What were you expecting?” Ayre and Lenore stand firm, somehow continuing to hold a gaze with an entity that this one never could.

“Safe. Arranged to be bound to those most likely to survive plans I did not think you would want to be included in.”

“You’ve already interrupted me. Why stop now? Or is Fourteenth suddenly a relevant number all of a sudden?”

“You’ve grown. Always had a good head on your shoulders. It’s more than enough for you to know by now that numbers ultimately mean very little beyond the purpose served in keeping each other in check.”

Mistress’s voice softens yet again into relief. “I don’t suppose you’ll ask me to take part in this plan if you didn’t lead with it.”

More sounds of the Castellan’s amusement. “No. Not unless you’ve nurtured a sudden sympathy for the siblings I’ve sent to resolve the primary purpose your Binding Ceremony is meant to disguise.”

“Just like that?” Mistress Ayre doesn’t sound convinced.

The Castellan’s amusement fades. A sudden and oppressive weight is felt as she rises from her throne. “You have my favor, child. But not enough to question my sincerity.”

This one’s knees buckle under a projection of power that puts lesser beings in their place.

This one is not special.

Not like the pair of Princesses who remain resolute even as the room around them groans and creaks.

They scoff.

Openly.

At the Unholy Castellan!

“Very well. Then to what do I owe the pleasure of my mother’s attention?”

“The day of your binding is intended to recognize your worth. Not as Prince or Princess, but as an heir worthy of the gifts I have inflicted upon you.”

There is no hiding the growl that Lenore musters. “I’ll trust that you intend it as an honor and keep my… Admittedly limited perspective to myself.”

“Rest assured, child of mine. I am quite content with the eldest already serving my interests. And your lessers already have their orders. For those of my brood who seek only favor enough to flee the roost, I merely wish to prepare accordingly.”

This one shudders in her powerlessness.

Ayre takes a deep breath.

They submit to the weight of pressure in the room long enough to kneel down and caress my cheek. “Do you trust me, Fia?”

This one… cannot nod. Too much weight on a mere doll’s neck.

Fingers hook beneath this one’s cheek. Another hand takes their doll by the shoulder in such a way that eases the burden this one is being subjected to.

It is enough for this one to gasp in a mixture of horror, fear, and recognition of the hope in Mistress’s eyes.

This one speaks through pain and weakness. “This one trusts you to the depths and back.”

Mistress lets this one down gently before bracing enough to rise under the Castellan’s projected contempt for all that is weak and frail.

And they make it look so easy.

“Very well, mother. In the interest of today being a celebration of this alliance and my binding to admittedly very favorable partners, I’m happy to play along. But if allowing me to stretch my wings is on the table, I’d rather we depart on good terms.”

“How… Amicable.”

“I have questions, of course.”

“First, a question of my own and one long overdue. When word of the victories you claim betwixt bloody fang and claw reach my court, what name shall I and the rest of Vylia know you as from this day forward?

My mistress doesn’t even hesitate.

They speak in a voice that this one will only later realize is reflective of both siblings speaking in unison.

“Fell Wyrm Aelinore.”