CW:
Fixums soul melting problems! talk of abuse as child.
“You should get some sleep.” I say from across the room to the Matron of this manor and my Beloved Bound.
Tretion looks up, eyes and tendrils tiredly drooping but… still alight with such focus as she replies. “I still have a few hours in me, Awnya.”
Humming a soft melody of disagreement, I swagger over to plop down into the chair across from my Watcher. “Naw, you're pushing yourself. What’s gotten you so suddenly desperate, love?”
Tretion sighs and lets her gorgeous mane writhe freely. Conveying all her worry and guilt and weary pain. “Three attacks, just this past day. I… I need to figure this out.”
“Four, actually.” I can’t help the chuckle that bubbles up with my tired smirk. How… how this last time Lyra came out of the tussle with such a satisfied grin.
Tretion jerks a bit at that, “Why did you not call me?”
I shrug. “Honestly? Because just like the last two, she picked it. Just… started growling and dove after that spirit.”
“That… I still cannot fathom why she does that so much.” Tretion growls. “She… She’s established that this thing can’t defeat her. And she knows we’re working to help alleviate this. Why toy with that danger?”
I lean forward and tip-tap the desk. “She’s very good at reading us, love. Knows that, at the very least, one of us means to step out from this manor. Has probably guessed at what you're doing.”
Tretion shakes her head, then eyes me. “You’ve not let anything slip have you?”
“Don’t need to, honestly. She’s clever when she wants to be, and her attacking that spirit is just… She thinks if she can eat it and show that she can handle the worst that mantle can throw at her then our plan won’t need to happen.”
A long pause passes before she asks. “Do you think we should tell her about this? Our plan?”
I consider that for a bit, trying to mimic this wonderful watcher’s thoughtfulness. “Yeah, actually. But… not until we’re ready to do anything. We’re all sort of… bubbling up with our own melodies right now. Once we all understand the shape of the songs we think to sing we can come together and compare them. Trust our lovers to tell us if the tune is off.”
Tretion can’t stop the smile that touches her lips. “I don’t know how you manage to fit everything into a metaphor involving songcraft.”
I shrug. “It's how I was taught the Dream works, even before I learned Fae things.”
“I know just… The more I learn about the Fae and you and Lyra I… I begin to think that my kin’s considerations of Fae didn’t encompass their true role in things.” She muses, “Our histories and lore paint a much darker picture of the Rifts and the souls that dwell there. Consider even the Fae to be just… another oddity. Nothing as pivotal as what you’ve shared. Would never seriously believe their tales about the Dead Dreamer, or the concept of the First Fae being the ones to stabilize this big Dream of Hers.”
“That’s… stabilize is kinda a nice word for holding everything together with strings woven with warmth and songs. The Rot still spreads, always. We’re just… slowing it.”
Tretion nods and looks down at the book she’s been drowning in these past weeks. Some journal of an old watcher long gone but… apparently brilliant. If not a little on the tipsy side. Honestly seems to have really started to find the seams and threads between Fae lore and some magic nonsense she’d been obsessed with. I’d honestly love to read it myself but… it’s laden with concepts beyond my grasp. So I trust my brilliant watcher to gush and share all the best parts.
“This is one of those times I can’t help but wish I could see like the rest of my kind do. It… it could make these workings so much easier to grasp. Would have done this so many years ago…”
I can’t help but wince a bit at that. “Hey, love. You’re more brilliant than any other member of your family by half, at least.”
Eyes roll up to face me. “I know, but thank you for saying so. If my mothers hadn’t sacrificed my eyestalks during their brewings I… well… The lack of that sight was a pain mostly born of how others treated me. I’ve long healed that scar and come to adore my form.”
And… her eyes and smile sing of nothing but truth in those words, so much that I can’t help but hit her with such an unfair smirk. “Good. And honestly… same. So much that I’m thinking you should come to bed and let me remind you again.”
The temptation rocks her a bit, but she remains steady enough to shake her head and look back to the tome. “In a bit, perhaps. I… I feel close to understanding this troublesome passage. Don’t want to lose my momentum to lovemaking and sleep.”
“Alright, I can wait here. Or leave. Whichever you think will help the most.” I offer.
I can see her almost insist that I go on to bed without her, but then she pauses. Head tendrils swaying a bit toward me. “Actually… I think your unique perspective on this might be of value.”
I raise my eyebrows in obvious surprise. “I’m pretty out of touch with how Incantations work, but… sure.”
“Wretched Incantations, love.” Tretion lightly corrects. “Never forget that part. I say this without joy but… my mothers did me a favor punishing me when I forgot that.”
I wince, guessing what ‘punishments’ a watcher family might inflict on their young. “I… Can you explain that part to me again? And… and why you think it was a good thing to harm a child for simple forgetfulness?”
She sighs but… nods. “I’d have been better served by them instead never teaching me in the first place and escaping the control of the late Matron. But… since it was expected of me to learn, that is a pain that was far preferable to any child learning without understanding the cost of this magic.”
I shake my head, “I can agree to the first, but promise me if you ever take an apprentice you’d not consider–”
Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
“No. Of course not.” Tretion interrupts. “I would judge their temperaments, weigh the benefits of their need versus it. Would ensure they understood the costs beforehand. I… I’m simply glad that…”
She trails off, flustered, glaring down at the page for a long time. I don’t interrupt her, so easily seeing through tendrils sway and time spent with her how in this moment she needs space to work through this.
“You’re right. Of course. I’m making excuses for them.” She finally whispers. “What… what my mothers did to me was wretched. Made worse by how, unlike my grandmother, they in fact did love me. Dearly, actually. But the scars they bore infected how they raised me. In many ways… in many ways my being charged with this manor was a blessing. A freedom to heal in ways I could never do in their presence.”
I do reach out then, rest my hand to just touch the tips of her. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” She sighs, but slides forward to give my hand a good squeeze before pulling back. “But… I really do want your perspective to consider before resting.”
I nod. “Anytime, for both.”
She nods, takes a deep breath, and ends up having to re-explain the basics of this magic before even moving on to consider the journal.
“So… basically it’s like a Fae song.” I eventually say, deciding to just go with an explanation I know she’ll hate but… can work with. “But out of tune and with words you only just understand. As painful as some dying creature’s wails because… well… you kinda tear up yourself and the Dream around you to Wretchedly Incant this.”
But to my surprise, she nods with approval. “Yes, actually. It’s… not a perfect grasping of them. But you understand the key parts.”
“Oh, alright. So… this Watcher’s workings? How do they play into this?”
“In her later years, which this journal came from, Ovellen was possessed by a theory. And it’s the reason she became so obsessed with the Fae.” She continues. “Which is why I think your view on this is possibly more apt than any others. The long despised belief she came to hold was that the magic both Faesong and Wretched Incantations create is not a product of the individual’s power or strength, but of them simply knowing how to… well… pull at things that weave through the Rifts. That if we, somehow, left what the Fae consider the Dream entirely we’d be without magic.”
“I… huh. Okay. I’m following that. I think there are lots of Fae that would have strong opinions on that. Both ways too.”
“From what I’ve read about Ovellen, she was only tolerated because of how brilliant she was elsewise. And while others would grant her credit for crafting new spells, she always presses that she instead found them. Or simply rediscovered what was already waiting for those who think to look.”
“Yeah… I can relate to that. Half of my best songs just… feel like they were already there and I was just matching the tune.”
Tretion smirks. “True Inspiration, but seeming cast through you as opposed to from you.”
I nod.
“So… that leads me to this journal, and the thing I’m seeking to drag from it.” She flips a few pages. “A thing not even Ovellen would need, but nevertheless hints and references the nature of. The Radiance of the soul, and a strange spectrum of frequencies that she often mentions being critical to avoiding the most horrid of wounds while Incanting. The more the Amwella matches this, the less damage happens. And how in her studies Fae suffers almost none when singing naturally, while she and her kin are inflicted with every time they spin a working.”
I snap my fingers, “Singing naturally? Does she… and this is gross but important, ever watch a Fae sing unnaturally? Like maybe when in pain or sad or angry even?”
She nods, excited. “Yes. Although it… um… took quite a lot to make it anywhere near what others might suffer. But she did.”
“Dream Stirring.” I smirk. “That’s what these Wretched Incantations inflict. And… huh yeah that tracks. My dad mentioned this a bit, I think. Always seemed annoyed when we came across a caster over weaving with what I assume to be these.”
“Which brings me to my problem.” She motions at the tome, “I believe that my soul is, somehow, mismatched to the radiance of the Rifts, and if your perspective matches Ovellen’s, then the death I would suffer is akin to what would happen if I spun my worst workings all at once.”
“I… okay. That… how would we even fix that?”
That is where Tretion’s excitement and tendrils droop a bit. “I have a few ideas but… otherwise I’m not sure. If you’d not already woven so many songs of blight healing on myself I’d suggest that. Is there something else the Fae do for souls that might have similar problems? Something you’ve not tried maybe?”
I pause, then shake my head slowly. “I’ll be honest love I… I wove things beyond what even my dad taught me. Both on you and the tests. I’m sorry.”
She nods, “Don’t be, I assumed you had. And honestly your…”
But then she trails off, and tendrils begin to writhe a bit.
“What is it love?”
“Is Yuna awake?” She asks and is already rising.
The pivot almost knocks me off my chair. “Uh… maybe? Let me…”
I weave a soft question to our home, and it rumbles a sleepy answer in reply.
“No but… she’d happily wake for us if–”
“Have it do that.” Then she’s moving with a purpose.
“What is it, love?” I ask as I run to catch up.
“A question I was going to ask someone else, but that I believe Yuna can answer. At least in part.”
“I… what’s that?”
She doesn’t reply, and I move up to take up a hand and let tendrils wrap about my arm and shoulder as we walk. Weaving the requests as I wait patiently for her to share what she will. But… she keeps her thoughts to herself as we enter the grove of Lyra’s mother.
Yuna waits, obviously woken from rest but… riled up with the energy of a mother who’s not seen her daughter and was denied much information on her current situation.
“Heya Yuna.” I speak gently but loudly as we approach the little soft spot best for taking meals and relaxing with family. “Sorry to drop in at this late hour.”
“Is everything alright?” She asks without hesitation as we embrace in a quick hug.
I’m about to give her calming words but, Tretion speaks first as we get close. “To be honest, no. We won’t reveal much more on things due to Lyra asking us to keep the situation private. Can simply assure you that we’re doing everything in our power to help.”
Yuna huffs and glowers, then turns to regard me. “I made the mistake of not pressing for details before, never again. What’s going on?”
I sigh and look to Tretion, whose tendrils remain steadfast and still. “She’s suffering the consequences of deep wounds and sacrifices. Is safe as Awnya, myself, and all within our power can make her while she grapples with it. But needing privacy to do it properly.”
Yuna looks like she’s about to burst with anger, but… her eyes fall to our souls. And the children happily resting within. I’d told her about the bindings during some earlier visits, and how it allowed us to carry our young.
She… had a ton of questions I could only just barely answer, and needed to skirt around things I’d promised not to honk about. But she’d trusted me and only seemed mildly worried at the time. More… honestly something else. Something I can’t quite place and she didn’t feel the desire to talk about.
“Then… Why are you here? The manor said you had questions?”
Tretion nods, motions to the home Yuna’s wove here. “I do. May we sit and talk?”
She agrees, and soon we’re settled amidst soft grass with some chilly springwater in little mugs.
“So... Out with it.” Yuna presses. “Ask what you need.”
Tretion nods. “I would like you to tell me everything you can recall about the way our beloved looked the day you found her.”
That… shocks both Yuna, and myself to be honest, into a still silence.
“You told Awnya she had a half-woven form she despised wrapped about a blazing core of Amwella.” Tretion presses. “Correct?”
Yuna nods, and her face turns pale. “I… she… is my little girl alright? Is… is she…”
“No, Yuna, Lyra… she’s not great but…” I offer, then turn to my watcher, not wanting to overshare.
“This is about my soul.” Tretion adds to help calm Yuna. “Ever since this place rebuilt it I’ve been unable to exit this manor, and am researching a way to correct that. I won’t bore you with the details, but I’d like to understand what Lyra looked like upon her first arrival to the Fae wood and what might have happened to help her adapt to this place.”
Yuna relaxes a bit, but it's amidst a new stress rising. “I… oh. That’s… I’m not sure what to add. She… she seemed like a person half-built.”
“Yes. But something you told my Beloved pricks at me Yuna, you said that she’d tried to enter the Fae Wood, but couldn’t go far. Why? What happened to stop her blaze of a soul from wandering deeper without the flesh you gave her?”
Yuna purses her lips in consideration. “I… I’m not sure. It… well the Dreamer was stirring, that’s for certain but–”
“Explain that to me, please.” Tretion interrupts.
“Of course. It… well at the time the Dream felt unsteady and it seemed as though everything was being pulled with her back into the Blighted Wood.”
Tretion nods. “And then you said that you finished her old body, yes?”
“Mhm.” Yuna nods. “It didn’t take much though, the… the stirring was just like any song. Had a very obvious opposite melody. The way to settle it was to wrap her in flesh.”
My watcher’s tendrils wibble in such an odd pattern. One of sudden realization amidst deep annoyance and pain. But… she only rises, giving Yuna a distant. “Thank you for your time, mother of my beloved.”
Such an odd way to regard her that kinda startles us both into silence as Tretion moves to leave.
“Sorry, she’s… it's been a busy few days. Exhaustion bubbling up and all that. We’ll talk later.” I rise, giving Yuna a clumsy hug and running to follow.
I want to press my lover, but from the absolute chaotic mess of Tretion’s tendrils I know she needs time to work through this all. But… I can’t help it! Need to understand what’s haunting her!
“Hey… Tretion.” I murmur, carefully stepping up within hand holding or tendril snuggling range if she needs it. “What are you thinking? Care to share your brilliance with me?”
“I’m a fool, it's… it's so obvious.” She hisses. “My idiot of a cousin, Voe, would have pointed it out if pressed.”
“Well… we can be fools together, because it slipped right past me.” I do step up to hug her arm then. “Enlighten me.”
“I died, love.” She whispers softly and so painfully. “I… can the Fae return the dead to life? If the flesh is good and dead but the soul is returned to the body?”
I shake my head. “No. Some… Some have tried. Kept the soul safe while restoring the body but… it never takes and… and…”
Oh.
This manor is literally filled with what Tretion always calls ‘Soulwaste’.
She nods. Like she’s hearing the realizations and thoughts bubble up. “I’ve been so focused on the Amwella I failed to consider the flesh. The Dream always rots soul away, and children often go years without a hint of Amwella in their bodies. My… my body and soul are… they don’t match.”
“So… like. What are you thinking is a way to solve that?”
“To put simply… The Radiance is not in misjunction with the Dream, but the physical. I need to, at best and easiest, reattune my flesh to the Dream.” She growls with such determination. “Or worse… I think I might need to weave myself a new body.”