“Why create a new world when you could serve me, Fourth Imagined? Be the second in command for once in your life, my dear. I’ll even spare that motley crew of Splinters, leave the big poodle alone. I have absolved rabies, dear, so please consider it carefully before declaring war to your beloved brother.”
—Desmodus
Glorious were the colors of dusk as they cornered the receding chasm of Lyssav’s pupil. Her gaze was once more fixed on one of the little vials, as every other time she had stirred awake. Her bloody mass twitched, the reddish gelatin of her being bulging chaotically over her metallic bones. She wanted them to be a memory, the vials, an illusion, a reflection of a fear so entwined with her constant pain, and, hopefully, just as mute. For Lyssav had never known relief from said pain: To exist and to ache were to her just synonyms, with no discernible differences nor any further implications. The only reasons why she knew there was another normality was due to the complaints about pain she had heard from her siblings, and the knowledge etched in the memories inherited from the creators.
A life without dolour, however, was not counted among her deepest desires. At most she had entertained the idea a couple times, ruminated on it to pass the time. How could she wish freedom from something that had begun to exist the moment she had, and accompanied her since then? There wasn’t a world without pain for Lyssav. There ought not to be, for it was just part of her. Not negative, not positive. Her siblings thought, loved, or simply played. Lyssav hurt, and that was fine, that was how it had to be. It didn’t bother her any more than Babesi was bothered by her particular mind or Dirofil by his feelings for Shadiran.
It was in a sudden bout of clarity of mind that she listened once more to what her spire was saying. Someone ascended the winding stairs towards her little comfy bridewell. Not a sibling, but a Splinter. Not a splinter of a sibling, either. A thief coming from her parts, maybe? What for? A Splinter of the Thinkers at the Edge surely wouldn’t stoop that low.
Feathers; metallic feathers, the spire said. A Splinter of Mardhaka. Mardhaka, third oldest of the seven siblings. Named by the creators—as they all were—after one of the last dragons of their world, known for her extravagant love of birds.
She couldn’t have stayed on this side of the sea after it closed, could she? That sick and fanatic sycophant of the bat. Was she coming for revenge? For a small favor? Or to bow and serve? Lyssav hoped it was the first, maybe the second option. Never the third, as some minions were perfect punishments for their masters.
“Lissav, are you awake, Lady Lissav?” The nerve-wrecking voice of the Splinter reached Lyssav’s ears, and she smiled at the prospect of subjecting Parvov to such aural torture. It was definitively her. Runila.
“Why do you come disturb my agony?” she demanded, her claws digging into the fabric of her throne.
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The darkness of the portal across the room got tainted by the light of a core, and a lithe silhouette accompanied it. She donned a skirt of metal remiges, had an androgynous face molded upon the blue mask that conformed her visage, and her turquoise slime flowed around a headdress fabricated out of silver rectrices. And despite the delicate chains and vials obfuscating most of these details, her image was imprinted onto Lyssav’s mind.
“I live to serve Desmodus, and given you, lady, devoured him, I live to serve you.” Forwarding a hand, she took a knee to the floor, and after a few seconds reached to inspect one of the chains. “What sort of decoration is this, my Lady?”
“Curtains that Parvov, in his infinite kindness, gifted me. Avoid touching them. They are delicate.” She couldn’t show she was afraid in front of her despised underling. And she couldn’t get Runila to remove the chains, as that would be an act of cowardice. “Runila, my esteemed, I have got an idea. If you so wish to serve me, why don’t you pay Parvov a visit and sing for him? A song of your heart, a song that expresses my gratitude for such wondrous gift.”
“Parvov is not in his spire. I passed by it on my way here and the spire laments so.”
Lyssav leaned against the back of her throne, her fifth hand scratching the teeth that extended beyond her jaw and embedded in her flesh. One of her free hands slowly advanced, a clawed finger raised as she tried to break through the resistance her own dread offered. “Maybe he’s paying a visit to old Leptos. Could you be a darling and check his spire for me? We, me and whatever remains of our beloved Desmodus, have thoughts to think.” The second Envisioned picked up her ears then, trying to make out what her own spire was whispering. “Forget about what I said. It seems long has Parvov’s spire suffered his absence. Dirofil’s must have fallen by now. That means Leptos and I are alone. Pay him a visit in my stead, and pray tell my brother to come and visit me before this place gets swallowed by the sea. I get quite bored in here since my sister disappeared.”
“As you wish, Lady Lyssav,” With another curtsy, Runila retraced her steps, down the spiral staircase.
As the clacking of her steps became distant Lyssav jerked her hand back. Drawing so close to the chains and vials felt atrocious. If a hell would be possible, she thought, it would be flooded. Water all over. An ocean of the creators, compared to an ocean of the created. A hell for her, but not for the others, that wouldn’t mind. A hell for Parvov would be an all-encompassing discordant orchestra whose performance qualifies as everlasting. Dirofil’s hell would be... perhaps the absence of Shadiran. Morbilliv’s hell she had no idea about, and Babesi’s would be any task that demanded an attention span longer than a third of a minute. That left Leptos, about whose fears she didn’t want to think, or even know. Idols were to be put on a pedestal, not torn down by the degrading details of reality.
Her spire informed her of Runila’s departure, and she embraced a welcome relief. In solitude she could fear. In solitude she could squirm and hiss and stare without blinking at a single vial. There was no one to judge but her spire, and soon she would fall like all the others. “I’ll miss you, my confidant. The whole world will miss you.”
And so she settled in silence, closing the eyes where sunset was held prisoner. She would meditate and gather power for the day the sea came for her, or for the day she felt ready to hunt after said sea. At least, until Leptos came. Leptos, the only one before whom she could reduce herself to a scared little thing. The only one she could ask to remove the chains that held her back. He would understand, he would lecture her on how fearing water was nonsensical. And she would bob her head and agree. And he would take the vile tendrils away, maybe even resolving to scold Parvov for it. And once again she would nod and agree and say yes to everything and be just good. Because if might made right, Leptos had not a wrong particle in his body.