CW:
Awnya POVs, gaslighting, BEG Gucking upload. snuggles. crying. calling people cunts. new friends from books.
Tretion just… stares down at her own soul, eyes wide with such a deep sadness that is only matched by the harmony in my own.
“It’s gone.” She whispers. “Our binding.”
This was what proved it all. Lyra had accidently consumed her beloved’s soul during one of these… Well, Tretion called them trauma induced panic responses, but I can’t get Lyra’s name for it out of my mind.
Waking Nightmares.
All… all this time. For an entire year, at least! She’d just… been plagued and inflicted with them. One of my people, one of the Fae, and a lover no less! Wrapped and blighted by the pains of the life that just keeps hurting her. How she’d screamed and wailed and… and even her Fae shaping song didn’t help to lessen their agony. How this dream wasn’t just content to wound her, but branded those traumas upon her mind to be relived over and over and–
I’d… I had to stop Tretion while whistling a tune of calming for myself at hearing the whole of it.
And... and it was during one of these that the dream had robbed her of the woman she loved, and she’d wailed a horrid Dreadsong of Reaving to lash back. Cracked the manor, and ended up falling through the breach into the endless ocean of Blight.
In doing so she’d not remained alive long enough to witness the miracle of Tretion’s manor.
How this wonderful home was somehow able to rebuild a soul for its beloved keeper and caretaker.
But she couldn’t have known it was possible!
Apparently Tretion developed the technique for her little cute friend and used the manor in a similar way we Fae use songs. Just… the manor as her sleepy tool, unable to do this without her guiding hand and will. And on top of that it was only my fast arrival and melodies that kept her mind and memories from being lost. Otherwise she would have eventually awoken a blank husk with no way to recover the past love she’d shared with Lyra.
We’re sitting in Tretion’s chambers now, her on the edge of the bed and me on the floor in front of her desk.
I stare at her Amwella as well. Still small and soft with fuzzy hairy bits. “Binding?”
She smiles so sadly, but doesn’t look up. “She cursed me when we first met, and… and after I understood my beloved better I… I so quickly came to adore it. The scar she’d left. The mark of a young woman just… trying to survive.” She reaches up then, touches a faded mark on her neck. “At… at least this is still...”
Then tears are bubbling up again, in both our eyes.
“She… um… Most people aren’t fond of her curses.” I murmur.
She laughs through a sob. “She freed me of all of it that I wished to ignore. Let me… let me keep the…”
Then her head in her hands, tendrils just… sagging. A fleshy pile of twitching limbs.
I assume now that… that a watcher’s soul plays a big role in their tendril's control. And this new one just… doesn’t have the right parts.
“We were supposed to be always and forever!” She stammers, “Or… or at least until this wretched dream ends! B— But She’s gone and I’m still here and– and…”
I rise from my spot on the floor and move to hold her then, pull this watcher into my arms and lean my head down into her bundle of cold limp tendrils. “I’m so sorry, Tretion.”
“Why!?! Why didn’t the Fae let us go?” She growls. “Why not just… let her find happiness!?!”
I freeze, “Wh– What?”
She turns up to face me, eyes suddenly wide. “You… Oh Dreadweave’s Bane you… he was… You don’t know? I thought you came here from the Fae Wood!”
I feel my brow furrow. A cold trickle down my spine as I shake my head. "No I... I've not been back there in a while..."
He? Did… was my dad responsible for… for hurting Lyra and causing her to–
She’s breaking into sobs again, but forces out the words. “Awnya, I… I’m so sorry. But… your father is dead.”
The words just… don’t make sense.
My dad... Dead?
“What? Naw… the old goat is just stubborn.”
No, that’s… I mean the curse was getting really bad last I saw him six months back or so. But from our spitfire of an argument I could tell he’d shrug it off eventually!
But I feel it then, the… the truth that my mind just cannot accept.
Her hands move to take one of mine. “I’m so so sorry, Awnya. Lyra she… We went to help. But the Fae they… they did something to make me sleep and took Lyra to some far off rift. But… we found him, before we left. He… his soul was so small and… and he begged Lyra for an unweaving.”
I jerk at that, as if slapped. “But… He hates Lyra. He’d never–”
She’s shaking her head furiously now, tendrils flopping about. “No! Awnya. Please. The curse… It pushed him to do more than just follow commands.”
By the time she’s finished telling me more horrid truths I am standing and… and shaking. I hold up a hand to stop her while I whistle a tune of Fae shaping to help calm my mind…
But it only barely helps! Doesn’t… doesn’t seem too…
“I… I need to go back. Need to tell them that she’s… that Lyra’s gone and…” I’m stammering. Fingers gripping my blade’s hilt so tight It hurts. “You… I don’t want to leave you alone here. I… I know a better place for you and Lenelope to heal and rest up. Have some friends who... who might be able to... like help your soul or... something.”
“I…” She bites her lip. “That’s kind but… We can’t.”
“I get that.” I growl, but not at her. “I wouldn’t trust any Fae after… not after they–”
“N– No I… I would love to go with you. Honestly. But…” She looks down to her soul. “We’re stuck here. If we try to leave we’ll die.”
That jerks me from my spiral. “Why?”
She smiles so sadly. “Our Amwella is built from the Soulwaste the manor has collected. If we leave it will fade just as any other dead thing’s soul would.”
* * *
I’ve wanted to ask her this for so long, but… just as the courage arrives It sputters as I spot this new thing in her soul.
A little glimmer of radiance within her mass of Naranggas. Shimmering violet tendril dancing among the grove of waving limbs that spread from her soul. I reach for it, touch it with just the tip of a single one of my own soul tails.
A flash, a… a wash of strange echoes and… and reverberations?
Curiosity surrounded by a muck of pain and empty sorrows and the fading afterglow of body breaking mind numbing sex and–
I jerk back, push off her chest to fix my gaze to hers.
“Wh… What is that?” I whisper as her eyelids open lazily.
She smiles, such a cruel and wonderful thing. And… and all the answers I’ll get for now.
I huff, the wince as I look over to see that yes… she did in fact bite my shoulder so hard to tear flesh and crack a bone.
“May I sing?”
She purrs a command, then lets me take a few moments to aid my shoulders workings. I… I don’t know why it didn’t heal like my wounds from before. And like… My talons are nearly perfect again. Left is devoid of all but fingertips of black rot, while the others are kept to just the three digits and palm. But… I think it might have to do with a lot of things that Thendra will need to teach me about being a soul-drinking Reaver?
My song fades at her word, and we’re left in a raw silence.
I turn, look back to meet her gaze, and shove a single tendril toward the core of her soul. Committed to getting my answer.
She catches it easily, and we just… stare at each other for a long moment before she purrs out a simple. “Ask.”
I take a deep breath, and call such pain and terror into the air between us. “Do you love me?”
A rumble of… somethings. Thoughtfulness?
“Like the humans did?”
I jerk, nearly pull away from her. “Wh–what?”
“The ones who abandoned you?” She purrs, but not… not with anything but curious regard.
“They did once. B– But I never told you about them. How do you—“
She hums, nods, “What of your mother then? The Fae who gave you your songs, only to abandon you to rot in those cursed woods? Does she love you?”
I do try to pull away then, but with a firm grip of flesh and tendril she keeps me straddling her legs. So I can only glare down and away.
Thendra growls. A demand to answer.
“I… I think so. She… she shouldn’t though. Not after what I did to Usete and… and how I–”
A single finger to my chin, a lure to draw me back up to become ensnared by her angry Jade eyes. “And your lovers? Where are they now?”
A flash of… of guilt and pain and horrid memories paralyzes me.
“I… It doesn’t matter. Just… forget I even asked.” I force out so quietly it’s barely a whisper.
Another soft demanding growl, more angry this time.
Answer me.
“Awnya is going to hate me and Tretion is… is…” I hiss back, tears starting to form. “Dead.”
Jade eyes flare with such anger. “Those humans loved you, your adopted mother loves you, even your Fae and watcher mates loved you. But look how that love hurts you. For cruelty and spite and even by careless regard they have broken you time and time again.”
“So have you!” I spit, “That… isn’t that just… a part of it? A part of love?”
She’s nearly shaking with rage then. Eyes alight with a fury that I can feel roll over me. “I do nothing by mistake. Every torment I leverage shapes you into a thing of my design. I will never inflict something as careless as love upon you, my Lyra.”
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I flinch back, rocked and quivering in sudden agony at her words. At… how they echo my own thoughts from so long ago. Old discovers as I glared at the family who would steal my songs and form.
In a flash I fear a Waking Nightmare will strike, but… it doesn’t. No shadow rises. These are just… normal horrible agonies.
“So... tell me. Which do you prefer?” She releases my chin, and then my Naranggas. Spreads her arms.
An offer.
I just… stare down at the wretched talons for a while. Shaking and crying furious tears at the truth my dark goddess has blighted me with. But… I’d take her torments and the shape they mold me into over the broken forms the rest of the dream would inflict upon me.
So I lean forward, wrap as many of my Naranggas around her core as I can, and bask in the raw emotions of Thendra. At first nothing happens… not…. Not like silence but… a wash of emotions and nonsense I can’t understand. But then the little thing my dark goddess left within my soul wriggles and pulses. And suddenly her musings snap into focus!
A storm. Vast and furious and pitiless, and beneath it are no allies or family or lovers.
Only tools.
Things to be used and nothing more. There is no love for the tool the storm holds as its face is shoved into the grindstone.
Flesh and soul and will be ground down and sharpened into the perfect edge to cleave and rip and serve.
I know I’m sobbing, and part of me wants to pull away. To run. To escape this storm that means to twist me into horrid shapes. That cares nothing for love and happiness or this little Fae’s desires.
But… But the tool is not abandoned if it is good?
So long as the purpose for which the storm lifts it is done, she will be properly kept. As safe as the razer in a panther’s claw.
And my dark goddess knows well of this little tool’s worth and potential.
My soul sings at that. Flutters in… in such cooing joy as my mind balks in horror at the scene Thendra’s soul shows me.
“Pleasure and Purpose.” I whisper, almost… almost feeling that old curse’s sting at my words.
“Or love, and all the aimless agonies it brings.” She purrs, a hand moving to carefully dance over the curse at my flank. “You cannot have both. This is why you are plagued with Waking Nightmares, my Lyra.”
I shudder. Examine the memories of… of all those who have loved me. Weigh the pain and misery of my time with them against the future she offers.
And one at a time… I’m tossing them aside. The humans are the easiest. My Fae mother though… well… She probably hates me now anyway. So… I cast aside my love for her.
My golden eyed Fae is… so much worse. I weep and clutch at my memories of her. Almost… almost try to hide her away from this raging storm. But… Thendra’s core lays a truth plain.
Such a thing is a weakness. An infection that will tear at the soul and mind the more I cling to it. So I let her go too.
The last… should be the easiest of the group. She’s dead. I already killed her.
My Tretion, my watcher! My… my bound beloved.
I dwell for a long time over the year we spent together. Over the… the cold soul that clung so tightly to mine. Filled me with such clear truths.
She loved me. And she didn’t hurt me. I… I’m the one who ruined that.
Who killed her.
I… I just… I can’t love anyone ever again!!! Else I’ll inflict the same careless agonies on them.
Better to be a tool of this storm!
I gaze back up into my dark goddesses eyes, but she only waits with a hungry victorious smile. Knowing my answer before I’d even moved, the little piece of my soul she’s taken sings a perfect resonance to my own emotions.
“Pleasure and Purpose.” I demand.
And her smile thrums with the promises she intends to keep.
* * *
I can’t keep the glare off my face as I step into the chamber. A decently sized home with a slightly bowled central area so that anyone sitting in the back can see the discussions happening in the middle. It also bears a plethora of colors amidst the wildly cultivated flowers and fruits freely growing in the room.
Fourteen Fae sit in a loose circle on the floor. Idle chatter and song weaving comes to a halt as I enter. Various looks of surprise, some of annoyance, others of worry or curiosity.
“Awnya!” calls an older woman from the back. “It’s good to see you finally answer our calling after so many weeks.”
“Opherity.” I reply flatly.
A form of black feathers and owlish eyes rises, taking a step toward me. Melivias, my old mentor. “It’s good you’ve come. We still have so many more questions and would love to–”
I hold up a hand, the most polite way I can interrupt her. She respects it, but I can see her eyes narrow in worry and frustration. Already reading my anger.
“I didn’t come here to answer or aid. Not anymore.” I drop my arm and let my fingers play at the hilt of my blade, and a little trio of stone scales that now hang on a little string from it. “I came here to say my final peace before leaving the Fae Wood. I don’t expect to return for… well as long as there are rifts that could use my help I mean to stay away.”
That gets such a humming and grumbling of responses. Melivias’s face twists between pain and regret… but her annoyance is still there.
“Awnya,” Murmurs a Fae layered in white fur and big blueish cat ears, Yelkan. “You can’t just… walk out on this. Not after your father’s sacrifice and–”
A hard glare from me makes the Yelkan flinch and jerk back, and the room goes quiet in surprise.
“My father, from all accountings, admitted his mistakes at the end.” I turn my gaze to Uldra, the Tiller.
She huffs, looks away without answering.
Many songs sung, so many stories shared and confirmed by the truth of the tunes.
Weeks passed explaining over and over that… yes.
Lyra is dead and gone from the dream.
Yet… This gathering still refuses to believe what was laid before them!!! Would rather shape something wrong and horrible than… then just… embrace what could have been and remember her well!
“Many here never thought she was inherently spiteful, simply... dangerous.” Melivias tries to placate the brewing thing that boils between us. “Needing to be contained, else she blight the dream.”
I snort. “What’s that old story about a dumb goose nibbling at a bear's butt? How does that end for the bird again?”
The room murmurs, there is at least one chuckle. Opherity rolls her eyes and speaks up. “Please take this seriously Little Sp–”
“I am.” I cut her off and just… let my anger and pain and Dreamer Blighted disappointment rise up. “And it’s honestly so infuriating that I’m the only Spark Gifted Fae to see that. That here I am, in a room of some of the supposed wisest and oldest of our kind, and yet… none of you spoke up for her. None of you even considered that maybe, just maybe, this young amazing Fae girl could teach you something new about the Dream.”
A long pause, uncomfortable and startled and probably filled with ruffled feathers.
“The Blight Weaver? What could she possibly teach any of–” Yelkan scoffs.
“Her name is Lyra, you Dreamer Blighted Cunt.” I hiss, and the room goes very very quiet. “And she knew more about the rot than even Uldra or my father. If she was only given the chance to explore her affinity for it. She could have brought us into a new century of creation and purifying of the Rifts.”
Uldra shifts uncomfortably.
“Which is why we had her brought to one of the Tilling Grounds.” Opherity says, without a hint of guilt or shame. “To give her time to heal and learn if her talents were–”
“No, you bound her to Uldra’s will and whims. Enslaved her.”
That word. Such a… a horrible thing to accuse a Fae of doing. Beyond an insult. If the room was shocked into silence before, it is broken into one now.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” I demand, turn my glare at each and every one of them. Very few meet my eyes. Especially Uldra, who can’t even hide such a tormented look as she stares down at her own knees.
“Little Sparrow.” My mentor steps closer. “Four Fae cursed, four dead. She had to be contained!”
I growl, “Many twisted souls have set themselves as gods over the rifts. Dreadweave, Ukalon, and Furthonois. We make peace with them, for better or worse. Would never even consider harassing them despite the thousands they torment!”
“That is so very different. To war with one of those blighted gods would endanger the remaining Hearthfires.” She’s lost her patience with me now. “And they are not Fae!”
Good. Let her feel this pain.
“Which means you have less excuses.” I turn from her. “But I’m not going to try and correct my elders’ mistakes anymore. Doing so is as pointless as chasing the wind. I mean to walk and sing where I will.”
I’m at the door before a question stops me.
“And if she isn’t dead and gone from the Dream?” Some old Fae prompts, Vundit I think.
The painful hope of their words makes me want to grind my teeth to dust.
I glance back over my shoulder. “She was sucked into an ocean of rot, who here has met a soul of fire who can survive that?”
My promise to Yuna plagues my mind then. Of… of what I’d sworn to keep silent till the day I’m gone from this dream.
And the little hope refuses to die. That… that one she could maybe come back to us...
“What other Fae has ever bled rot?” The reptilian Fae continues. “It could be possible. But what will you do, Awnya, if your lover returns from that sea between the Rifts?”
I adjust my backpack. “Beg for forgiveness, and never leave her side if she’ll still have me.”
“You’ll stand against your own kind.”
Not a question.
“If you mean to threaten her freedom, form, or songs, then yes. Of course.” I shrug. “I was taught to stand against slavers by my Old Goat.”
And I leave, and am whirling an annoyed murmur of song and stepping through a Rift.
Then three more. Using every ounce of my training to ensure none can follow me.
* * *
Tretion’s manor is quiet, so I weave a soft song of warmth and greeting into the halls.
Hello.
It rumbles back, and I can’t help but smile at how much better it sounds now. Took me weeks to get it fully healed. To weave songs together that could coax mending from such a strange leviathan. Was lucky my harmonies could even help.
I pat a wall and proceed to the open door at the end of the hall.
Tretion waits at her desk, head in her hands and tendrils still hanging limply.
I end my song and rap a knuckle on the doorframe. “Knock knock.”
The watcher jerks up, and I can tell she’s been sobbing. “Oh, Awnya I… I’m sorry I–” She stands and wipes furiously at her eyes.
“Hey hey, no, don’t be!” I approach quickly and pause just a few feet away. “I get it. Don’t… don’t apologize for needing to just stop and cry it out. Dreamer knows you’ve let me fall apart more than once!”
My own eyes prickle. At the loss we both feel and… and the loss unique to me.
I… It’s wonderful to know that my Old Goat saw Lyra as she was at the end but… Dreamer’s Tits could I use his stubborn love now.
She sniffles and nods. “Thank you, Awnya. I… I don’t think I would fare very well if you’d not come to check on me as often as you do.”
I smirk at that. “I eh… Was going to ask you about that. Actually.”
A flash of worry, a stiffening in her muscles. I even see a ripple pass through her eyestalks. It’s small, but… gives me hope that maybe someday I’ll get to see them dance again.
“I’m sort of… homeless now.” I grimace. “Kinda just told the Fae to eat a bucket of sand and that I intend to stay out of the woods for a while. Was wondering if… If I could stay here and–”
Her eyes go wide, and her normal reserved nature just… cracks. She closes the distance and pulls me into such a desperate wonderful hug.
“Oh… Please, yes!” A shudder, and I know her tears have returned. “Thank you for… for not just leaving me here to… to fade and…”
I hug her back, enjoying the cool texture of her scales.
We’d bonded these past weeks. Over our shared grief as I sang her manor back to health. This hug isn’t a new or rare thing, we’d both needed our fair share of them as the memories of our lover crashed against our hearts in random and overwhelming waves.
“Never, Tretion.” I whisper. “As long as you’ll have me here. I’ll always come back.”
She pulls me closer. She’d insisted that leaving her manor was never something she enjoyed… but… over this past year Lyra was the center of her life.
And now that center is gone.
We just… enjoy this embrace for a long time. But as I hear little Lenelope enter with the evening's meal I pull back. Not a lot, just enough to see her face. “And actually I eh… wanted to ask something else.” I look between them as Lenelope sets the tray down on the desk. She pauses and regards me with a friendly demeanor.
Tretion’s brow furrows and… and I wonder…
“You can sleep anywhere you’d like, all rooms are open to you.” And I can feel her eyes fight to not flit over to the large soft bed here in her own room.
“Careful! I might just take you up on that.” I laugh, and Dreamer’s Tits does it feel good! I’ve not laughed since… oh it’s been too long. I’m not sure I can even remember the last time I…
She blushes a little, but… doesn’t back down from her offer as her big smoky red eyes meet mine.
“But! That wasn’t my question.” I smirk at her. “I was… Okay so It’s kind of a whole thing and I don’t really know where to start!”
I reach out to Lenelope and move our little group to sit on the floor to enjoy the meal together. The little woman seems to be… I don’t know. Tretion mentioned that her soul was crafted as well. But… that her memories were lost.
She seems to adore this watcher and with every day I come back she seems so much more… I don’t know… alive. I guess.
“So… In my search for this manor I ended up bouncing between a ton of bad places. Cities and rifts a lot like Theradas.” I explain as we eat. “I ended up freeing a ton of slaves and other desperate sorts and relocating them to better rifts. But… I could only do so much. And… often I had to just… drop them off and hope their new home turned out okay.”
Tretion’s clever, and her eyes are already glimmering with understanding. “You want to bring them here? Or… find more safe spots and use the manor as an in-between resting place?”
“I know I… I’m a guest and I don’t want you to think that I’ll stop living here or visiting if you’re not okay with this. I just… after Lyra and… and what I’m realizing she went through as a slave and… And I don’t even know half of half of how bad it got! I just… I want to–”
Tretion touches my hand, turns to Lenelope. “This is your home too, would you be comfortable with this?”
Lenelope nods. “It’s always been too quiet here. Company sounds nice.”
Then the watcher turns back and nods. “Then yes. We’ll help.”
“Dreamer’s Tits… Just like that?” My eyes are watering. I’d honestly expected to… to find doubt and worry in their eyes. Agreement tainted by fear of me leaving them but… No.
All I see is resolve and focus.
“I’ve…” She grimaces. “Before my grandmother died I was… I couldn’t even consider having guests. And then Lyra found me and… and she needed my everything. But now I’d like to turn this manor’s purpose toward providing more of that care to those who need it.”
I nod. “It doesn’t have to be permanent. Just… give people a safe place to heal and rest while I find good spots to settle them in.”
“Theoretically this manor can have unlimited rooms.” She waves a hand dismissively. “The real problems will be in supplies. The food it produces is… odd and we’ll need to find better ways to keep other resources topped off.”
I just… fall back onto the carpet and let out a massive sigh. Overwhelmed by just how possible this is now! “Dreamer’s Tits! Thank you, Tretion. I… This… Yeah. I’ll get you whatever we need to make this work.”
I’m vaguely aware of Lenelope rising after a pause and little giggle. I glance up just as Tretion moves to lay on the floor beside me. Takes up my hand in hers after a few heartbeats.
“I have one condition.” Tretion murmurs.
I laugh. “Yes, I will give you the Amwella dance of your life if you ask nicely.”
She sputters and laughs, real and wonderful and so perfect that I can hear a few sobs crack through it. Squeezing her hand tighter I prompt her. “But, that aside, what’s your condition?”
“I… I can’t leave here. Won’t be able to help if you need to escape a bad situation.” She whispers. “I want you to promise me to protect yourself more than anyone else. No matter what. Because if you're gone anyone you save will be stranded here.”
I sigh. “Yeah. That… I get that. But… I also mean to… Okay so I can’t promise anything and don’t want to get your hopes up, but I mean to search for a way to help you leave here.”
“That… I’ll be looking into that as well.” She squeezes my hand back, “But… I mean this Awnya. Be safe. Even if we find a way to stabilize my soul there is a good chance I won’t be able to Riftwalk.”
I wince. “Oh.”
“Yes, Oh. And there are such dangerous things out there that would love an excuse to hunt a lone Fae. I will not have such things stalking you through the Rifts.”
I laugh, and don’t try to hide my nervousness. It’ll help show her how much I really am scared of that. I… I’d already probably begun to attract a few terrible things’ attention. “Yeah. No thanks to that. I’ll be keeping my face and nature as a Fae well hidden.”
She lets out a deep sigh. Still worried, but… trusting. I think. I turn to face her. “Thank you Tretion.”
She nods, looks over to meet my gaze. “Of course.”
“Not… not just for this, but…” I know my face must be such a mess of pain. “But for… for giving her the love and healing that I…”
My words trail off… Couldn’t? Didn’t?
Tretion reaches out and touches my face. “She adored you so, Awnya. You’ve no idea how much. She never stopped loving you. Without your… without what you gave her. I don’t think she would have been able to love me. I… I only wish we’d been able to draw you here sooner.”
And then we’re crying again. Ugly and horrible and oh so needed. At some point a litany for our beloved is sputtering from my lips.
A tune of pain that acts as a balm for our aching souls.
* * *
I can’t stop just… staring at the big colorful ocean of wonderfully smelling things that sings and roars up at the storm above! A few of the leviathans and little friends like the ones I’d met in the ocean outside can even be seen swimming about!
The storm seems a bit… mean. But way less than my dark goddess when her cruelty is on display. This thing is a chaotic mess, where she is all precision and grace!
The main room of the place Thendra wants us to visit is… weird. But also filled with books! Pages that seem to preen and coo for me to take a peek.
“Can I read them!?!” I ask excitedly.
She and Bulderii turn to regard me, faces a bit… worried.
“Um… they just… sound really friendly.” I mumble, “Like the jellyfish I use in my curses.”
Rot maggots just… sound so horrible and rude to call them. My little family from the colorful sea. I’ll still have to help them grow tendrils though…
Thendra purrs out such a laugh then, sudden and real and such a surprise, waves a hand. “Sing as you read then.”
I can’t hide my grin as I turn and dart toward the shelves. Pull down a couple of the louder tomes and settle on the cold stone floor to read as I hum an excited tune.
For now she wants to do something with the big pool of eck in the middle of the room. Told me… honestly warned me that this is where she got her Reavers back from. Before I could growl about killing Twital if I saw her again, Thendra purred that they weren’t the same people. Just… might look similar to me.
I… glared down then, and her good mood turned a bit… darker. I think that little piece of me she keeps attached to her soul lets her read my emotions really really well.
Even without touching my core directly.
She reached down, and with a finger at my chin she lured me back up to her jade eyes. “You will not slaughter them. Not unless I demand it. Understand?”
“Okay. But if they touch me, even a little, I'm going to eat them.” I hissed.
So I focus very hard at ignoring the mass of Reavers crawling from whatever that eck is as I enjoy this wonderful book! Can’t stop a giggling song as little vibrant flowery growth… things, spread from the pages onto me and the stones about my legs. I especially love it when they meet the clutch of jellyfish in my soul and ask if they can come in.
Of course I let them! And as they settle and take root in my Amwella I learn their Fae name.
Infest? Ugh that’s the best word for them in this ugly tongue.
As Thendra and her Reavers continue to do stupid things, I get to explore this amazing library and sing hellos to all my new friends! A ton of books are burnt or dead, which is sad. I would have loved to meet the little wigglers sleeping there, but I still find such a wonderful cacophony!
Along with Infest I find a dozen other odd but colorful creatures hiding or sleeping or trapped within the pages. Each is so happy and grateful when I free them and ask to join my little family. Snuggle close and find a home in the little almost soul spaces within my Amwella.
The sort of… maybe songs I haven't decided to sing.
By the time I realize I’ve finished the last book and am placing it back on the shelf, I turn to find Thendra, Bulderii, and the other Reavers just… waiting.
Staring.
Bulderii looks somewhat disgusted and worried, Thendra is… controlled focus. The Reaver’s are just all concerned and fearful.
“What?” I look down at myself. See nothing but a few colorful friend’s old husks still hanging off my chest and legs. I brush them away and look back up. “Did… I’m sorry, did I take too long?”
Bulderii’s eyes widen at me as I step forward, and everyone but Thendra seems to lean back.
I tilt my head. “Wh– What is it? Why are you all so…”
“You’ve gathered power to yourself, little Reaver.” My dark goddess purrs. “Can you control it?”
“Muh?” I reply stupidly.
It takes a second for my dumb thoughts to remember. To connect my colorful sea and little friends to the old memories. Even my talons seem to kind of… shimmer with an odd hue of vibrant midnight colors these days.
Blight. Rot and Ruin. Dream stirring.
“Oh.” My face scrunches up in annoyance at the horrid words. They aren’t wrong just… sing of a language that wants people to hate us. “Yes, they won’t hurt me. And I’ll make sure they stay close until I want to feed them. They're really sweet, honestly.”
That doesn’t seem to calm Bulderii, but Thendra’s mouth splits into such a grin of surprised joy.
Whatever connection to my soul she has showing her the truth and excitement at my new family. Their unquestionable adorations for me and their promises to never hurt me ringing through my Amwella into hers.
Why let love from this dream ever hurt me again when I have a family of little Blightborn and a dark goddess to twist me into new and perfect shapes?