Content Warning!

-Death, dying, pain and threats of violence

-Talk of Spooky Gooses

-Big meaty... things.

Screaming howls echo from across the room, and the few sputtering bouts of purple flame and tutters of magic flash at the edge of my vision. The Matron’s final death throes as she battles the Reavers, Thendra, and the horrid curse I wiggled into her soul. She won’t last long, but from the sounds I’m guessing she might prefer to die fighting rather than submit.

Even still, she’s going to outlive me. I realize as the cold begins to overtake my limbs and thoughts. Muscles jerk and spasm in pain at the lack of air.

But… my thoughts drift to that dark goddess. To… to the woman I gave my dying soul to. I… I wish Thendra would… just… She was supposed to be the one to end me. Was supposed to be there to consume my soul as I sang my final melodies.

Tears and bloody choking sadness sputter out from me as I begin to die alone amidst that shattered promise. I squeeze my eyes shut as rotten tendrils begin to drag me from the Dream. Horrid things worm through soul and mind to hook me like some beached fish and pull me from dying flesh.

All I deserve.

But then warmth wraps around my throat, and a song… so so far away, holds me amidst pain and a background of howling screams. Pours weeping soulfire into a cold corpse.

“Lyra!”

A few more heartbeats thunder through me, push pain through a dozen other wounds I barely notice. P–Please. No more pain. Just… just let me–

“Breathe!” She demands through the song.

I can’t. The… the rot has me. I want to tell her. Digging into me and pulling my soul down. Down… Down….

Then there are lips on my own, soft and warm and angry. Shoving air and song down my barely healed throat. A rush of life into my flesh.

Scorned and hated by life itself. I should just go. Let the rot take me. Why… Why fight?

“Lyra!” She screams as the healing song turns shrill and desperate. “Stay with me!”

She wants me to stay? But I don’t… But it’s so hard to fight this!

I struggle a bit. More air is forced into my lungs while a song flows through my soul. This goes on for a while. She holds the rot from advancing deeper. But… I can feel that old wonderful Fae promise now. The pleading melody of the promised end. I can’t help but want to join my voice to it and plead for–

“Lyra!” Comes a voice, sharp and hard as the curse it threatens me with. “Sing what healing you need.”

The Dreamer’s Lamentation bites down into me with pain far more foul and real than the rot. My body spasms as the soul jerks and sputters at the command. Terrible and cruel, it drags me into desiring relief from it over the peace of death.

So… through blood, and pain, and despair, I fight to live as hard as I can.

It starts out as a gurgling coughing mess, then evolves into a wheezing moaning thing. But soon I drag a breath into my lungs, and feel the tendrils of rot fade. Eventually I’m even able to force bloody gummy eyes open to cast about for–

Golden eyes hover above me, brimming with tears as her song works in harmony with my guttural tune. A smile so joyous as I return to her radiates a heat that causes warmth to return to my heart.

A… Awnya?

The limp nub that used to be my right talon bumps into her chin. She glances down to it with confusion, then surprise and horror. Takes it gently in one hand while another still rests on my throat.

“You’re alright, just breathe. I’m here. I’ve got you!” Her song’s sudden crescendo chimes down at me.

I don’t have much Amwella left, and there is so much pain. Healing hurts so much. And a few times I almost give up, nearly allowing my soul to settle back into the rot and–

But the Dreamer’s Lament bites, hard and horrid, so I continue to sing. When it’s a choice between two agonies, I have no choice but to embrace the lesser. After a few eternities my Amwella is too low to continue, healing with song too much of a burden. But Awnya’s eyes glimmer with understanding.

“She needs to stop now.” Her voice edged with anger and a desperate hope.

The command is given, and I sputter to a stop. Am forced to curl onto my side and allow every muscle to slump as blood and bile drools from my mouth and nose. My eyes flutter shut as exhaustion consumes me. The large chamber sits silent for a good minute, save my still shuttering wheezing breaths. A tense quiet that builds and builds until–

“You must be Thendra.” Awnya calls out from my side, and I force my eyes open.

“I am.” Thendra purrs from across the room.

I can see her now, sitting atop a mangled mess of oozing toothed… nonsense shapes. A beautiful dark goddess, arms still dripping with the gore of the Matron. A few of the huge eyes lay about the thing. Crushed and popped like so much fruit. Four Reavers seem to stand about her. Wounded, but still with a dangerous focus that now sits on Awnya.

“I need to take her back to the Fae Wood.” Awnya turns amber eyes to meet jade, “We have healers who can–”

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Thendra lets out through a purring laugh, a low and dark thing that sends shivers of warmth through me. “No.”

Awnya bristles. “She’ll heal faster there.”

“Her Amwella will recover by morning,” Thendra leans forward, jerking her head at something behind us. “Then I will have her sing that form back to perfection.”

Before I can even consider the joy of her calling my form perfect, Awnya’s fingers dart to that leaf bladed thing on her hip, suddenly kneeling and ready to move. Doesn’t shift her eyes from Thendra as she tilts to keep something behind us in the corner of her eye.

Everything goes still again, a pause before violence.

She… Thendra promised! I won’t let her–

But I begin to push myself to my elbows, It hurts so much as I beg. “Stop, please.”

The movement breaks something in the tension, Awnya moves arms to support me as Thendra’s eyes consider the movements.

“Lyra, hey! You really shouldn’t be moving yet.” She comforts as warm hands try to find the best places to aid my shiftings while not encouraging them.

“I’m fine.” I croak. “You… you’re okay? Where is Usete?”

“Yup, just Busy. They’re fine. Just like I said.” She says in a hushed whisper. “Let’s get you back to your mother’s, yeah?”

I shake my head with a fury. “No.”

She doesn’t let me go, but… pauses as I get my knees beneath me. It’s then I notice the shadow Thendra was looking at. Bulderii stands opposite us, arrow notched and bow half-raised. Eyes focused on Awnya.

“She’s right… I’m better off here.” I can barely meet those gorgeous golden eyes as memories of watching her Amwella get torn from my soul and fed to Thendra burn through me. “Thank you, for… for healing me.”

“Of course, but… Lyra.” Her hand doesn’t release my maimed one as she hits me with one of her satisfied and confident smirks as she points a thumb over at the looming dark goddess. “I can’t leave you here with these spooky gooses.”

I take a deep and steady breath, focus on bodily pains as I force the words out. “I want to stay here, okay? Just… go help Usete.”

She studies me for a long moment, “You sure?”

No. I want more of her warmth and love and… but... she needs to help Usete. And I need Thendra’s commands to heal.

I nod. “Yes.”

WANT them, always and forever. I… I promised!

She turns, moves to stand between myself and Thendra, then surprises me by giving the Reavers a slight bow. “My name is Awnya, and I’ve been tasked with settling Lyra’s stirring.”

Thendra’s Jade eyes have never left us, and now she only raises an eyebrow. “She is bound to me, Fae or no.”

“I’m aware.” Awnya nods, “But that changes very little. Her… the potential for calamity is a danger to this Rift and others.”

Thendra considers this, fingers drumming on dead flesh.

She’s not healed. I stare in horror at her stump leg. There’s no blood, no smoking ruin, just… flesh curling around itself at the end. Almost like her will alone holds it shut. But she shows absolutely no pain. Almost seems… amused at the injury.

“What will your… tasks, entail?” She purrs.

I fight to rise, end up needing to grip at Awnya’s leg else risk a fall. She turns to take my good hand, eyes meet mine. The worry almost chokes me, and I have to look down and away as I murmur a thanks.

As I look down I… I remember what I’m wearing. Gone are my soft Fae tunics. Torn away amidst violent soul-drinking sex, here now are the old shawl and underthing. Easier to sneak about in, but… a clear mark of what I am.

“Not sure yet.” She sighs, and once I am steady turns back to Thendra. But she doesn’t release my uninjured hand. “There’s no set way to deal with it. Back in the Fae she was spending time with family. Positive things seem to help.”

It’s then I notice… oh the rot has spread so far. It now reaches past my wrists by about half a hand.

“Hm…” Thendra ponders, “And if I… disagree? With the actions you mean to take?”

The room goes still again, and while Thendra remains all easy calm, her Reavers tense. I even hear Bulderii’s bowstring flex tighter.

Oh Dreamer’s Tits… she’s… she’s threatening to kill Awnya. Will kill her if–

Awnya laughs, warm and soft. Squeezes my fingers ever so gently.

“You misunderstand.” She glances back at me, worried but… also trying to give me a calming smile. “I’m not here to command anyone, what we do here isn’t up to me. It’s up to her.”

She turns back, offering an open palm of placation. “Honestly we should be having this conversation after you all get rest and have a meal or three. I sense you're a bit winded, from all… this.”

Thendra growls, but it’s amused. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Awnya sighs, all casual annoyance. “Why does it always have to come to violence? I’m not threatening you, Thendra.”

“No, You play at taking what is mine.” Thendra suddenly goes very still. A jungle cat eyeing a rival as all amusement drains away. “Look around you, Fae, and see what became of the last woman who thought to steal from me.”

Cold cuts through me, hollow fear that these two will decide to fight. At the possibility of one of them dying or… or…

“Fine. If that’s the language that will get you to listen.” Awnya goes still, grips my hand tighter. “You are weakened, spent, and injured. But even so, taking Lyra from this place, from you, would be difficult. And that’s if she was unconscious or willing.”

Thendra smiles, tilts a head in acknowledgement.

“But,” Awnya raises a finger. “Plenty Fae know where I am and what I am trying to do. If I don’t visit regularly they’ll know who killed me.”

A long pause.

“This is so…” Awnya huffs, “Ugh, I hate this Thendra. But I guess it really is part of your language so here it is! Don’t cooperate, and I’ll get more Fae involved. Kill me, and you’ll be buried in our kind. And their songs will drown you.”

“You kind abhor cruelty and death.” Thendra counters, “Declawed, how many will they be willing to risk and end on such a danger?”

Awnya snorts, “You wouldn’t know you were in trouble until you were already up to your big meaty tits in it. They won’t even need to enter your home to sing you silly.”

Thendra barks out a laugh. The Reaver’s calm at the genuine mirth in it.

“Very well, Fae.” She shifts back, relaxes into the Matron’s corpse like it’s a throne. “Return in the morning, I will be a more… hospitable host then.”

Awnya sighs in relief. “Thank you, Thendra. Eyegorger and Reaver.”

Thendra grins wide at the honorifics, but jade eyes dart to me. A silent command.

I begin to move, but… Awnya doesn’t let go.

“I’m okay, Awnya. Really…” I whisper, then look up and give her my best smile. “Thank you again, for the healing and… and everything else. Before.”

I must look like such a horrid ugly mess, her smile falters, eyes don’t leave mine.

“Be safe and rest up, Okay?” She touches my face, and I have to fight to not lean into her warm touch. “Sorry I was away for so long. I’ll be back in the morning this time. Promise Promise.”

I nod, and she lets go. Then I wobble through the mess and muck to stand at the foot of Thendra’s corpse throne. I’m honestly surprised I make it. But… I can’t risk the conflict that a fall might cause. Once there Thendra looks past me, considers Awnya again.

“Let’s meet up at your home. This place is disgusting.” Awnya calls out as she walks toward the still thrumming Rorliras, her form begins to shimmer. “I have… other things to deal with. Need to clean up this Dreamer Cursed watcher’s mess still.”

Thendra agrees, then Awnya is gone. I do think I notice a few more shimmers beyond the Rorliras though. Footfalls of her parting. I turn back to look up at Thendra, and am met with a look of contemplation. Steady jade eyes studying my worn and battered form.

“I’m… I’m sorry. About the Matron’s curse. I tried to–” I blubber, trying to reach out as my balance wavers. End up jerking back when I almost touch the Matron’s corpse with the fingerless talon.

I would have ended up slumping down onto the floor, but strong arms sweep me up, cradle my body into a warm chest.

“You did very well today, my Lyra.” Thendra purrs.

Dreamer’s Tits, her words are the final blast of wind that knocks my need to continue today all to pieces. I… I don’t even know how she’s holding me right now. Can’t look down to find out.

Awnya is safe, Thendra is safe, The Matron is… gone.

“Drag the dead to the entrance, display their corpses outside for all in the city to see.” Thendra pulls me close and begins to move. Walking like both legs are present and hole as a strange thrumming of… something echoes from what should be the missing leg.

“And the two living?” I hear Bulderii ask, much closer than before.

“Bring them to our home,” Thendra replies, cold anticipation in her tone. “Strip them of arms and armor, and leave them to… consider their future overnight.”

I shiver at that, almost throw up at the memory of the writhing parasites I birthed today. At… at the two others who now bear my horrid Laments.

Thendra considers the motion, pauses. “Do you need to sing?”

I shake my head tiredly. “Just sleep.”