Content Warnin's:

- broken body and healing

-attempts at self-mutilation

-physically restraining

-Discussion of missing limb things and feelings of limb being wrong

-Existential dread as someone informs another about the impending end of all things. Neat!

“Sing what healing you need.” My dark goddess commands.

Everything hurts, oh Dreamer’s Tits it’s… oh please. Please no no NO… The fit of spasms are less than the previous ones, but as I’m jerked to half wakefulness from twisting night terrors by the Lament I can’t help but choke out a sob at the curse's bite.

Bones grind, skin stretches while muscles drag everything out and apart. I try to… to numb the pain. But… I need it to make sure everything slots into place, pain helps me sense that. Then there’s the rot. The Dreamer cunt fucked horrid rot!

My hands got so numb before, but now… as I try to help the maimed one it just… won’t stop hurting! Fighting every note and singing pleas to regrow. But it does heal, slowly. Painfully. Black and ugly and furious at being attached to me.

I snarl through the song, and begin to shove half formed fingers into my mouth. I’ll curse the blighted thing. Curse it to stop hurting me! I dig teeth into fingers and knuckle and–

Dark hands of a goddess stop me, drag the bleeding thing from my mouth and pull it back.

“No.” She purrs.

The song growls as I bite at the hand she’s wrapped around my shoulders. But then I’m suddenly sputtering, choking. Spitting blood and flesh and rot. The disgusting taste shocks me from my madness. Vomit almost ruins the song and submits me to my Lament’s bite.

Gurgling, guttural, and whimpering, I slowly continue to sing my fingers and talons back into form while dragging my Fae flesh into its first shape. The pain in my body is… terrible. Multiple broken bones, torn muscles, and even a few bruised organs lay barely half-healed. But compared to the agony at my right hand it’s laughably small.

Almost… almost silly.

I jerk up to see Thendra laying beside and over me. I plea for her to let me stop singing with dripping tear soaked eyes. But… she doesn’t give the command. I try to curl in on myself, but she wraps fingers through my hair and forces my head to face hers. With one hand she feels and examines the regrowth in the horrid talon, with the other she forces jade eyes to bore into mine. I try to close them a few times, but she enforces her will with a little shake of my head and a low growl.

Eternities pass like that. But eventually a call in our beautiful tongue prompts the command of silence. Thendra lets me curl in on myself while she speaks with one of her Reavers, and oblivion and darkness begin to snake about my shaking sobbing form.

“The Fae woman is here.” Bulderii murmurs.

Awnya. Golden eyes glimmer and burn the dark oblivion I’m falling into. Stir me into wakefulness.

“Hm… Later than I expected.” Thendra replies, moving away to stand. “Offer her a meal, same as you would gather for Lyra. Just cider for myself. I’ll be down shortly.”

Bulderii pauses. “She asks for both of you.”

I force myself to rise at that. Everything is still so heavy.

“I’m okay.” I croak out. “I can… I need to…”

I force gummy eyes open to see Thendra and Bulderii looking back at me. Sharp eyes roll over what must be a hideous sight of half healed nonsense. Thendra’s injured leg is… longer. More bone and flesh has grown beyond the wound. But not entirely healed. She uses the bed for balance. I almost shiver in relief that she can heal herself so well.

“Remain here.” Thendra turns, “Bulderii will–”

“No.” I almost spit out, crawling wearily toward the foot of the bed.

A low growl stutters me to a stop. I jerk up to see Thendra’s glaring back at me. But I’m just too tired and in too much Dreamer blighted pain to care. Even as green and purple… somethings begin to twist and curl around her injured leg, letting her stand as if it is hole again. Bulderii raises an eyebrow, steps back from us.

I wriggle wobbly legs to hang off the bed before dropping to–

To just kinda slump onto the tiles. End up on my knees and fighting a bout of dizziness. Thendra and Bulderii don’t catch me, not because they can’t, but because I’m defying a command.

And being stupid.

I grind my teeth and reach to grip the bed. I slip and fall again. Look up glare at the useless half formed talon. Then twist to use both arms to claw my way to standing. Dizziness nearly sweeps me down again, but I hiss and claw and bite it down.

“Lyra.” Thendra’s purring growl is punctuated by a little crackling coming from the unseen Amwella serving as her temporary leg.

I huff. “Just… give me a second. Need to catch my breath. Then I can–”

Thendra sighs, Turns back to Bulderii. “Return Lyra to bed. Stop her from trying to leave or bite any fingers off.”

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“Wh–” I begin to protest, but Bulderii is at least half as fast as Thendra and a thousand times faster than me right now. She wraps big, but deft, hands under my armpits and hoists me back onto the bed.

“Thendra!” I stammer, but as I am able to jerk around to look, she’s already gone.

Bulderii doesn’t toss me in and leave, she drags my body up and settles us amidst the covers. Forces me to lay in a curled mass basically in her lap. Wraps blankets about me after moving a pillow to cushion my head. I’m only barely getting the world to stop twisting as she settles.

“Rest.” Bulderii commands, but softly.

I twist to glare up at her. But… it’s a weak and impersonal thing. I have no reason to hate her. She’s just… following Thendra’s commands. And… She’s the only Reaver to never feed on me.

“Or don’t, and we’ll just wait here for Thendra.” She shrugs.

I grumble and turn to stare out the doorway. Consider… options.

Well… one option. And… as I glance down to see my Amwella, I know it’s a very bad one. My soul is a mess of loose strands and bruised chunks that look so… broken. My normal overnight healing hasn’t restored much of me this time. Riftwalking takes a good amount of soulfire, even without considering my curses. Not even sure if… if I could do it again. Like this. But… as my soul flutters occasionally, still alive and ready to–

Bulderii takes my chin, just like Thendra does when I need to pay attention. I can’t even stop a little flutter of horny madness as she does it either!

“No.” She commands.

“Wh– what?” I struggle weakly.

“No singing.” She squeezes tighter.

“I wasn’t… I didn’t even–”

“I will stick my fingers down your pretty little throat.” She threatens.

I pause at that, glare back at her to see… yeah she would. I even notice a glimmer of Amwella sight in one eye. She’d stop me before I got out a single note.

“Dreamer’s Tits, Okay!” I huff. And she releases my chin.

A long pause. Sleep begins to… to tempt me. But the thought of… of Thendra and Awnya together. Of… but what if one of them says or does something stupid and tries to–

Bulderii catches my hand by the wrist as it begins to drift toward my core, examines the half healed nubs. I shuffle and shift to face away from the blighted thing.

“Hmmm…” She murmurs. “Why does Thendra think you might bite your fingers off?”

I grind my teeth, don’t answer. She flips my hand around, peers at it from all sides.

“It seems to be taking the same shape as before. Your songs move the muscles and bones to re-grow correctly.” Her words send brumbleflesh down my neck. It’s… she’s not praising your work. Just… trying to distract you.

“Just…” I begin to say. Pause.

Why was I biting at the… the stupid rotted–

I whisper, more to myself. “It doesn’t… doesn’t feel like it’s mine.”

“Because of this?” She rubs at the blackness.

“That and…” I pause, but weariness loosens my tongue. “and the last time I did something this extensive there was another Fae to help.”

“Your Fae mother?”

I flinch, not… not expecting her to guess. Much less to guess right. Thinking about her… right now is... hard. And painful. While I'm broken and bound and terrified that Awnya might get hurt or… or…

I don’t answer at first, but eventually nod.

“First limb loss is always hard.” She murmurs.

“Bulderii,” I glance up and back to meet her eyes. “This is not my first. I had to remake myself, remember?”

She tilts her head, curious. “Was your human body not easier to reshape to–"

“No.” I hiss. “I tore out every single thing of it as I reknit this new form, made sure to burn and bury the ashes. None of that old blighted thing will ever be a part of me again.”

Her gaze goes… strange. A weird mix of respect and… more curiosity. “Why?”

I almost tell her. But turn to glare at the exit. Dreamer’s Tit’s. Almost… almost told her more than even Thendra knows.

“It wasn’t me.” I eventually reply flatly.

“And this isn’t either?” She still hasn’t released my wrist.

I squirm as another bout of dizziness washes through me, even begins to upset my stomach for a second.

“It keeps hurting me.” I stammer out. “More… more than it should. Dreamer’s Tits… I… I think… I went too far this time… With the curses.”

“For a Goddess of the Fae you sure curse her name often.” She chuckles.

I shrug. “She’s a cunt, and dead.”

That makes her laugh more. Real and deep. “Most are at least the first and, if we’re lucky, soon to be the second.”

I can’t help but smile a little alongside her. Fight to avoid letting out a giggle.

“Tell me about this Dreamer.” She finally says at the end of her mirth.

I huff. Debate refusing her. But… I need something to keep me awake.

“She’s… not really a Goddess. Not like… not like other things that claim that title. She was never born, chosen, or rose to great power. At least not here with us.”

Bulderii doesn’t interrupt, just… waits. Fingers gently begin to massage the knuckles of my right hand. It… It hurts. But the pain keeps me awake so I don’t try to stop her.

“Everything is… is Her dream. The Fae, the Rifts, and everything in between. She’s not a great power who bends things to her will, Because everything is already a piece of Her.”

“But… she’s dead?” Is Bulderii’s first question.

I flinch as she presses into a sensitive bit, then nod.

“Then how does the dream go on?” She pauses her work on my hand. “If the sleeper is dead?”

I grimace, remembering… Wait. Were these my mother’s words? I frown as I can’t remember her telling me these things. But… there they are. Clear as any other memory. Stored in my mind at the same place as other simple things.

“It… didn’t. Doesn’t... Not well.” I murmur automatically. “Didn’t you feel it? When you stood in the Dead Dreamer’s Wood?”

“Is that where we found you? I did not know it’s Fae name.” She resumes her work on my hand. “I try not to dwell on the things I felt or observed there. I have no words to describe it.”

“Rot.” I supply on reflex, smile at the thought of my old home.

Bulderii flinches, squeezes my hand so tightly I hope she might tear it free and allow me to restart.

“Yes.” She whispers, and it’s the second time I’ve heard fear in a Reaver’s voice.

“It’s spreading.” I giggle. “Like an infection or… or decay on a limb when it loses blood and–”

A bone breaks in my hand and Bulderii is shoving her free one down my throat. Pinning my tongue to gag and choke my words. Sending me into a panicked flailing.

“Stop!” She hisses, pulls my maimed hand away so far she nearly dislocates elbow or shoulder.

I bite down and try to get free, barely manage wheezing breaths through my nostrils while digging my good talon into the hand choking me, but I’m still so tired and weak. She doesn’t release me until I’m just a mostly still twitching mess beneath her. Even then, only very carefully does she pull her fingers free.

“Why!?!” I croak. “Why did you do that?”

Bulderii shakes blood and bile from her hand before pulling my head back to glare down at me.

“Stop.” She snaps, nails dig into my skin. Twitch toward my mouth.

I obey, but form what must be a horrid glare. She just… stares down at me. Amwella sight glimmers, but just seems to make her even more wary.

“Rest, and be quiet!” She commands. Hard and unmoving.

I hiss, but… she releases my head. Lets me turn away from her. But… my hand remains securely in her possession. Still aching and horrible. She doesn’t massage it anymore. Just lets it swell and throb at the newly broken bones.

Bitter anger helps me fight to stay awake, and I’m sure… sure I hear something from downstairs. Not a shout… but…

I’m haunted by flashes of Awnya getting hurt… being killed… and especially after seeing Thendra fight. I choke on a sob as I remember the blue watcher that Thendra got a hold of. How she simply tore head and eyestalks from neck.

Bulderii has no sympathy for me. Grips my wrist like cold steel, rests a hand near my head for… for easy access to smother me again if I so much as whisper.

It’s easy to hate her then. To… to want to hurt her as I begin to drift into oblivion. Consider all the beautiful writhing things I could hatch and lay in her wretched soul. Even… oh I could weave such wondrous blights to make sure she never EVER hurts me again. Can bind her will and soul to me like Thendra would never even dream to–

“Sing what healing you need.” Comes a stern command, jerking me awake.