Content Warning:

Violence. Threats of detransitioning (veiled behind a threat of unmaking Lyra back into previous body), some suicide/death ideation in the intro. Illegal Cliffhanger.

Melody of The Three Deaths

To a Fae, there are three ways the dream can end.

The first is the most conventional. The heart stops, the head is squashed… that sort of thing. Very… physical and normal, but often unexpected and tragic in its abruptness. Especially for a people promised an eternity of life who can heal almost any wounds given time and Amwella.

The second is known as an unraveling or an unmaking. Our first songs involve knitting new bodies from old ones, and our best healing magics simply call us back to that first Fae shape. Thus, we also know exactly where to pull and which things to push to cause everything to unwind. This is very much a chosen thing. One that most Fae will pick when they decide to end the dream for one reason or another.

It’s almost always painless.

The last is the worst. The most cruel, and should be completely impossible for a Fae to achieve on their own. It is the total loss or death of their Amwella. This can often only happen by being fed upon, or…as I have discovered, by a Dreamer's Lamentation draining away the final dregs of one’s soul.

What I did not know is that this will leave the body alive… at least for a bit. A husk with all its memories, but no soul to draw upon. No Amwella to channel. All flesh with no fire.

Only empty, cold, silence before the eventual Rot settles in.

- Melivias of the Fae

True to Awnya’s words, Ganzorig did not use stealth. Just… walked right in the front door after kicking them open. Both sit wide, letting the dry night air of Theradas wash into the room.

When we arrive he and two other Fae stand framed in the entrance, with Thendra and the other three surviving Reavers at her back about twenty feet opposite. As we come down the stairwell to enter the room, his eyes dart to us, widen as they pass over my three growths. Then darken as his gaze settles on Awnya’s still wounded core.

“Barely a night.” He growls, almost shaking with rage. “And this thing has already progressed and–”

“Woah woah!” Awnya holds up her hands. “You’re jumping to so many conclusions there, dad. Just… take a few breaths. I’m fine!”

Thendra purrs approval at her words, then turns to… to…

Beloved Sibling? Usete stands to the right of Ganzorig, eyes wide with glimmering horror as they watch my tendrils and core and hands.

“Usete of the Fae, It’s been a while since we’ve spoken.” Thendra purrs.

They only spare her a glance, swallows and nods. “Can’t say it was a pleasant conversation, Thendra of the Thirteen.”

Even with her back to me I can hear the predatory smile in her words. “Eyegorger now too. And I quite enjoyed it. But I also seem to recall a vow you laid at my feet.”

“I did, that I would return her to wherever she desired. After, her conditions were seen to.”

“Usete, What are you doing here?” I step forward, try very very hard to keep my tendrils back and low and as unthreatening as possible.

They pause, face a twisted mess of such confliction and... shame? Guilt?

“We came to settle this.” Ganzorig answers for them. “Now. Tonight. And I’m glad we did. Look at yourself. Look at how bad you’ve gotten in such a short period of time!”

I’m about to try to bite out a reply, but Awnya steps forward.

“Dreamer’s Tits, No. Absolutely not. Get out.” She demands. “Lyra is my responsibility. Passed into my care by Usete. You have no claim to her healing.”

Ganzorig growls, but Usete lays a hand on his shoulder, steps forward. “I… I didn’t have the right to it. I went to Ganzorig twelve years back, passed this to him. He… he should have handled this.”

“Handled?” I stammer, voice shrill. That’s… that’s the… same words they used before. When… when they…

They wince, must see the wound the word stings me with. “Lyra I’m… Please. Come with us. With me. We can still settle your stirring.”

“And if you can’t?” I'm trembling as I step back, tails writhing now. “What then? You… you promised me, Beloved Sibling. Sang it for me. That… that you wouldn’t betray me again.”

“I’m keeping that promise. You left the Fae-wood, abandoned the healing.” They hold a hand out toward me, pleading. “Come back with me, let us help you.”

“N- No. I… I can’t.” I shake my head, take another step back. “You just keep making the same mistakes.”

“We can help!”

“And if you can’t? Then what?” I hiss, the same fury from the matron's estate bubbling up from the muck in my soul. “What will you let them do to me? What will you let them take!?!”

A long pause, Usete’s hand drops. Face goes pale. “You’re… Lyra, this is bigger than you. We have to consider the wider Dream.”

Stolen story; please report.

The weight of their broken promise shatters me into silence.

Ganzorig looks to Awnya. “Little Sparrow.”

Her hand moves to my elbow. “Dad.”

It’s…. It’s like decades of unspoken understanding passes between them then. Something… something I never got to develop with my own mother. She knows my form and ways, but… I never got to learn hers.

Not before Usete drove me from her and the happiness she'd given me.

Ganzorig sighs, shakes his head like… like he’s trying to–

“Lyra.” Awnya whispers to me.

I glance back, meet her eyes. Hoping… hoping… she hasn't changed her mind. Desperate for her to not have broken her promises.

“I’m with you, whatever you decide.” She murmurs, making my heart break in the opposite way Usete had. “I meant what I said. I don’t like you being here, But... I understand you not trusting them.”

Her confidence in me causes the bubbling muck of rage roiling inside my soul to pause. I look back to the Fae, to my Beloved Sibling, to Awnya’s dad. See flashes of the pain this… this… disagreement could cause. Consider… am… am I worth all this? Eyes drift down to talons, glare at the one that isn’t mine. The one that tried to curse Awnya.

“M– Maybe–”

Purring laughter from my dark goddess interrupts me. “You forget something, Fae.”

A beat, then the oldest speaks.

“I haven't forgotten,” Ganzorig rumbles, with way less rage in his voice as he counters “But we Fae don’t respect slavers. Even if she agreed to–”

“No.” She cuts him off with a calm rumble. “Something else.”

He pauses, brow furrows. “Oh?”

I… what is she…?

“You were a goat, yes?”

That turns his confusion into a glare. Awnya’s words, calling him that…

“And if I was?”

She holds up a single hand, finger pointing up. “Your mistake, old Fae, was that when scaling an unfamiliar mountain you should always be mindful of where you step. For each stone could turn and give way beneath your feet.”

A confused pause. Then Thendra’s Amwella pulses and suddenly the doors behind the Fae grind and slam shut without anyone touching them. Everyone but Thendra and her Reavers flinches hard.

“I have spent years securing this place. Attuning its walls and ways to my will.” She purrs, “And you’ve fallen into a den of flesh eaters.”

“Dreamer’s–”

“Thendra wai–”

“Awnya–”

“Lyra–”

And then the room is plunged into a sudden and smothering darkness that not even my Amwella sight can pierce.

* * *

The first thing I recognise are the muffled songs of light and fire and things to wash away the darkness.

The second, is the mistake of singing such things.

The Fae to the left of Ganzorig, the one who’s name I will never know, suddenly appears. Hand raised with a flicker of pure blue they probably expected to engulf the entire room with, but… all it does is show their hand and top of their head.

An arrow passes so close by my ear I’m sure I lost some hair, followed by the sound of a heavy blow against flesh. Then the arm jerks and the flame sputters out.

The last thing I realize is that my tails do allow me to see in this pitch. Amwella sight stopped working the moment the room fell into this nightmare. But… The Amwella pressure sense of my new limbs seems to work. Even if it’s at a fairly limited range and only really shows a soul’s outline.

Awnya pulls us back, spitting quiet curses and whistling songs of somethings I can’t understand. All sound seems muffled too, like… like this darkness smothers it. Then my foot hits something, the first of the stairwell’s steps, and we’re tumbling up.

A crash from the room beyond, a scream of pain. Songs of whistling melodies that slice the ear and tear at the darkness with brief flashes of color.

“Lyra, Hey.” Awnya reaches out. “Stay here, okay? Need you to–”

I don’t let her go. Not because of some fear of being alone, but because I sense that right now we are surrounded by two predators. One up the steps… Bulderii… And the one approaching is too big to be anyone else.

“Little Fae.” My dark goddess whispers, kneeling before me.

Awnya draws her blade then, it emits a very very small blue glow that barely reveals the hand that holds it as she spits and aims its point at Thendra.

“Peace, Awnya of the Fae.” Thendra purrs, “I keep my oaths, and you are a guest in my home. Remain neutral or fight upon my side, and my Reavers will watch over you.”

“Or you call this all off and no one else needs to–”

Another loud cutting of painful song, muffled hisses and growls of anger, and another arrow is loosed past our shoulders.

“We are beyond that now, your elder stated his intentions quite plainly.”

“Thendra.” I plead. “I… I don’t want them to die. They’re my Beloved Sibling and–”

To my surprise, a large warm hand reaches out to cup my cheek very very gently. “This is the way of things, little Fae.”

“B– But…” I stammer. “I’ll come back. I’ll always come back. Just… let them try to… to fix me. Please. I–”

“You do not need fixing, My Lyra.” She purrs with such deep anger.

I jolt to a stop at her words. Let a few more far off sounds of carnage wash over us.

Awnya squeezes my arm tighter. “That’s… Thendra this isn’t the way. Even if you win here other Fae will–”

“No.” I whisper, tears begin to stream down my face at the… the realization. At how I can still keep everyone alive.

Just… they’ll hate me. but…

“Lyra?”

“Only… Only the Fae here know. Right?”

Her nails dig into my arm, a stressed affirmation of my claim.

“I could curse them.” I whisper. “No one needs to die.”

Thendra hums, annoyed but… also amused.

“I hate this.” Awnya grunts, “But… the old goat won’t move on this now. If you can do it without damaging them too much…”

“Thendra.” I take her wrist, “I won’t curse them like I did Voe or… or the Matron. I’m doing this to protect us. Nothing more.”

For a moment, I think I feel an anger rising. Feel future punishments forming. But then she gives me a wondrous gift. “Sing what you think best, little Fae.”

Reflex saves me from hesitating, but then I am quietly choking out a song of quiet thanks. Then she is pulling me up onto her back, settles my hands onto straps and grooves I can use to hold myself in place.

Awnya rises with us, hand still locked on my elbow.

“Fae, this smog is no place for you, and I will not have my Lyra distracted.” Thendra purrs, “Remain by Bulderii, ensure none try to escape deeper into my manor.”

A pause, and I’m worried I’ll need to convince her.

“Keep her safe, okay big girl?”

Thendra purrs, Awnya releases my arm, and we are moving.

I think… I wonder if my ability to sense pressure got better when my tails split and I… um… okay don’t think about that. Don’t… don’t need the temptations right now.

Focus on the songs.

As Thendra moves like a predator, I consider the two best options for a curse that will protect us. I’ve already decided to avoid using the horrible Fae words, no… no rot maggots!! So that leaves me with human words and smaller stings. Which means my curse has to be direct for it to bite hard enough to hamper these elder Fae. Worse case, I can always just… place two identical ones. This also means I have to carve the thing onto their flesh, no anchoring anything onto myself or relying on eye contact like I did with Thendra.

So, two options. First is… well really complicated and has the most possibility for failure. I’d string out a long curse of things they cannot do. Stay away, don’t talk about me, don’t take my songs. But… while each of those would bring a solid bite if they broke it, it also might never stop biting. Even… even if one of them tried to wriggle around my curse and failed, I don’t want them to experience a horrible Amwella death. This also will take longer to weave, and I could miss something, some avenue of subtlety that will allow them to tell others about me and get even more Fae involved.

The second… well I’d just lay a curse like Thendra wanted on the Watchers. You will obey all of my commands. Then I just… take my time and lay out a series of instructions they have to follow. I can also end and change old commands if I ever need to. But… I hate it. They… they’d be my slaves then. At… at least on some level.

But… What choice do I have? They did this. They came after me!

Thendra has paused now, and while I can only feel the Fae’s souls when my tail’s whip out to their full eight foot length, I can feel her thoughtful regard of the two. Patient predator instincts roll through her every muscle.

Usete and Ganzorig have backed into a corner and seem to weave their Amwella out into songs that dance and flit about them. Every now and again there is a crack or a thud as either a Reaver’s soul tries to sneak up or pounce and gets batted away, or an object (probably Bulderii’s arrows) crack against some kind of barrier. A few times the Reavers try to get a tendril of soulfire around them, but the shield seems to protect them from that too.

“I’ll need to be close to lay a curse strong enough.” I whisper into Thendra’s ear as part of my song’s melody.

She hums understanding, and her soul considers and watches and waits…

Then she rumbles, “Prepare your first curse.”

Then there is a grinding sound from next to us… I don’t… oh! Thendra takes up something heavy, whirls it around, then throws one of those big couch things directly at the pair.

The barrier of Usete flairs, screams, cracks and–

Then we’re beside them, can feel a… a few snaps, muffled screams as their song is cut off. Then Thendra has moved us back with something writhing and struggling in her arms.

She gives no command, just… something soft and fleshy and cool bumps my arm. I can tell from the Amwella pinned to her chest this is the first target.

Usete, Beloved Sibling… I’m so sorry...