CW:

Um... mention of a murder. Awnya POV! Conversations about soul-death and rotting things.

The manor whispers a quite of urgent call as I move from enjoying an evening meal with Nelops through its halls back to get a nap.

Help

A crash, a hiss of fury, and I’m already running toward my lover’s chambers. When I arrive I find her slumped against the front of our desk. Hands grasping at her face, tendrils limp and worryingly still.

Delicate books and some magical contraptions have been tossed about the room. I reach back and pull the door shut behind me, knowing full well that Tretion would not want an audience for this.

Over the past few years we’d relocated almost all our freed souls to the manor. It… it’s now so full to bursting! Easily almost two thousand people wandering about in what was now a village sized maze of life!

But… It’s also a little claustrophobic at times.

So, we’d coaxed huge rooms from the manor. Worked tirelessly to feed it whatever nonsense it needed to forge and twist wonders forth. We were even making progress on getting more plants to grow here, trying to create… what was Tretion’s words for it again?

“A cyclic self-sustaining ecosystem. One that can theoretically support a static number of souls here indefinitely if needed.”

Honestly? No idea. But it sounds like she wants to create a sort of mini forest within the manor so that we can grow our own food.

So… yeah! Totally throwing my songs into that!

I carefully move over and kneel in front of her, lay hands gently on her knees. “Hey… I’m here love.”

She doesn’t look up at first, just… lets out a few shaking sobs.

So I just… scoot closer and offer a little hug around her knees and wait for my lover to share any sorrows she deems me worthy of.

After a while she glances up, is frozen by my tired smile for a second as tendrils rise to reach forward, then looks away. Ashamed and wiping her eyes. Immediately I’m wrapping legs around her and scooting closer.

She trembles. “I… I thought that… That I wouldn’t…”

She pauses, takes a breath, glares past me at the scattered books and broken things she’s knocked from her desk.

“Selfish, stupid thoughts.” She finally huffs and her tendrils wibble about, lost between a desire to curl close or reach for me.

I smirk, “We all have those. Wanna share ‘em with me?”

Tretion nods. “Don’t tell Nelops, okay?”

“Of course.” I gently take one of her hands. Kiss the knuckles.

Tretion takes a deep breath, then begins to speak. “So… For years I thought that the reason Lenelope didn’t want to leave was because her new soul bound her to the manor.”

I nod. She still gets so worried when I leave, and… and while she’s never anything but supportive of Tretion’s research into stabilizing their Amwella for outside travel… we can both see how much it pokes her with anxiety.

“So… I just assumed that… That my own desires would change too. That like her I would grow to fear the outside.”

I pull her closer, kiss her hand a few more times.

“But I… I want to leave. Want to explore the wider Rifts so badly.” She growls as new tears begin to fall. “Ever since that day out with… with Lyra in Hedrin. When we got to meet my cousin. I just… I wanted to coax her into traveling with me. But… but I didn’t push anything because I needed to be here for Lenelope too!”

I fight to keep from wincing internally.

“But now she has hundreds of new friends and half a dozen lovers and she’s so happy and I’m… We’re so close to finishing the grove that will make sure they can live here forever if they want to! But… but my soul is still stuck here and I HATE IT. I’m sick to death of this place!”

She’s growling and hissing the words now. “I’m no closer to understanding why my soul rots in the wider dream and what could help it endure for more than a few seconds. And that’s if I could even Riftwalk from this… this…”

Sobs overcome her, and I drag her into a full embrace now. Kiss and nuzzle her tendrils as they reach up to curl about my face and hair and shoulders. Murmur love and affections through a song woven to help her release this pain.

It’s so wrong how… How even a few years ago I would have thought smothering her agony with a song of joy was the way. But… after enduring so much with her I understand now! Through countless nights of shared weeping and thrashing sobs I’ve learned to weave songs meant to… to encourage and clear the pathways within our souls.

Chart healthy outlets for our pain to pass over and through us while causing as little harm as possible.

Melodies that let us feel and endure, rather than mute and hide away.

Because the pain of the past cannot be contained. Only ignored. Sometimes it fades on its own and we can manage it better later on. But other times… Other times it can fester and poison us.

Dreamer’s Tits I wish I’d known all this when Lyra was alive. Wish I could’ve help her heal even a little from the past so few were willing to face with her.

“But you are closer.” I murmur as my song fades. “Even I can see that Tretion!”

She sags, tendrils squeeze me tighter. “I… You’re right in that I understand more about my soul but… Nothing to explain why my body can’t shield it from the rot of the outside!”

I let her snuggle into my chest.

So many tests. Little and big experiments regarding Amwella, Soulwaste, and even the nature of the Dream.

“Tretion you are so smart and clever and even the people I’ve shared you notes with are just… blown away by your work!” I start pecking at her little wigglers as they continue to nuzzle my face. “This… this is really impressive and really hard stuff. But we’re getting close. You’re getting close.”

She huffs, tendrils floop out to mimic her annoyance. “I’m not explaining this well. I’ve learned a lot over these past eight years, yes. Even my wretched grandmother would shit herself at how far past her ignorant understanding of things I’ve gone. I’ve… um… developed the framework that could be used to craft some very nasty spells or magic items if I had the tools and interest in such things. But…”

I sigh with her. “Destroying a thing is easier than building the same.”

“Exactly!” There is such… joy in her tone that I adore when she feels like I get this stuff. “And right now I have all the tools and incantations to rend almost any soul I wish to shreds.”

I can’t help but feel a rush of pride at… at just how confident she is of that.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“So… what’s the current issue?”

A calm focus returns to her eyes, “I’ve ruled out it being a problem with my own soul. As odd as it looks after all these years, it’s normal. Identical in every single way I can measure. So… that means it must be another problem.”

I nod. “Something outside is different from what’s in here.”

“Yes. But… the old blueprints for the manor are long gone or just… never existed. And every single test I run shows that everything inside this manor is identical to the wider dream. Mine and Lenelope’s souls are the only ones that rot when we leave. We’ve even had Ofeta, that girl whose been sweet on Nelops for over six years, step outside just to see if her consumption of the manor’s soul woven food had somehow altered her soul or body. But… no. nothing. She was as comfortable out there as in here. No changes or degradation.”

I nod along. She’s working very hard to keep this all in simple terms and avoid the more… detailed parts.

“So… there must be something out there that only appears when a soul like ours manifests within a body. A… a reaction exclusive to our soul that just… seems to be normal rotting.”

And here it is. The problem that haunts her soul.

“But to even begin to try and observe that I’d need to go outside! And… and every second out there could be years of soul growth torn away. And that’s hoping the rot isn’t infectious and will even stop spreading once I return!”

“So… let’s figure out how to do that without you or Nelops needing to go outside!” I encourage her.

“We have!” She huffs. “Remember the soul cages? The… the little plants I had you take out and explain their rotting while viewed under Amwella sight?”

I wince. “Yeah. Unpleasant but…”

She glares past me. “Nothing. No difference. Normal rot as if the souls were just… open and exposed. Despite all my incantations and protections. It’s like… Like the dream senses we’re dead or… or gone and burns us away like a mother protecting her clutch.”

“Huh… So we need to figure out how to disguise your soul then?”

She begins to shake her head but… slows. “Awnya… What’s that bird called… the one that drops off its eggs in other nests to be raised by another mother. Will even knock the original eggs out to make room for her young to fit?”

“Oh uh…” I pause, smile broadly. “OH! No idea but… Yeah I see where you’re going with this!”

She snorts, “I’d hope so, it’s your idea.”

“Nope! I was just… letting my mouth yap and honk about my watcher’s good ideas. You were already thinking it.”

“But… ugh we’ll argue over it if it works.” She pauses, then turns to me. “But… Awnya I know you’ve given me a brief telling of your Fae lore and beliefs on this Dead Dreamer but… honestly I took it as more allegorical rather than literal. More comforting than Watcher teaching on our ancient gods and matrons but… If it’s true. If we’re all just… figments in some goddess’ dream and the blight at the edges of the Rifts truly are her body or mind or… or whatever rotting away then… then…”

“Then… what?” I tilt my head. Now completely lost.

“That could explain why myself and Lenelope are just…”

She trails off, her mind’s fire an eternity ahead of her mouth. I smirk and just… bask in her renewed vigor.

“What if that’s why we rot? We’re not like… broken or dying. We’re being attacked. Like a body fighting off disease or a mother sensing a snake in her nest. Whatever will is left over by this dead Goddess thinks we don’t belong and seeks to remove us!”

I feel the blood drain from my face at those words. Sort of… of a wash of horrid shame and guilt and worry and… and an eternity of other things as I consider words of a Fae woman about her beloved daughter.

About what she saw wailing in agony over twenty years ago outside the cursed wood.

Tretion is shaking me, calling my name.

“I’m…” I let out a little thrum of song to steady my mind and breathing. “I’m okay just… debating if I should break an old promise.”

Tretion’s brow furrows. Thinking I mean one of my oaths to her and those within this manor.

“Not… not to you but… someone asked me to keep a secret. To never sing to a soul what she told me. Demanded I take this to my Dream’s end.”

“I… Why is this bothering you now?”

I swallow. “Yuna asked me to keep it. She’s… she’s Lyra’s mother.”

Tretion’s eyes go wide, hands tremble as tendrils freeze in place. “Wh… what?”

“It was years ago. The night after I first met Lyra. She told me her past up to Theradas and needed to sleep, so I went to chat with her mother. Try to fill in some gaps and answer some odd questions.” My mouth is so dry as I speak the words just this side of breaking my promises. “Lyra had said that she’d been living in the Dead Dreamer’s wood for twelve years. Which… I mean for most things that’s just asking to get blighted. But to a Fae? The… the place is guaranteed death. The blight and rot there just… burn at us like flame touching parchment.”

“So… How could Lyra survive that?” Tretion whispers.

“Exactly my question! I just… assumed she meant something else. Confused a scary forest for the actual Cursed Wood. Or… or a slightly blighted place for it.”

Deep breath.

“But then she mentioned that her mother found her wandering in and out of it back at the start. When she was still human.”

Deeper breaths.

“So I sat down with Yuna to chat it over. But before I could get into the weeds of it she told me that her next words would need to be kept secret. Made me promise in song and swear it up and down.”

“Awnya, Will this hurt you to break?” Tretion asks, pulling me a little close and tendrils move to wrap and touch whatever they can reach.

“It just… Promise songs can only be sung when those weaving them actually believe their words.” I clench and unclench my fingers a few times. “But… Like If we change our minds or… or were tricked we can break them.”

“Then… why does this seem to be so hard for you.”

“Because Fae don’t change, Tretion. Or… or we shouldn’t.” I sigh, “Our best healing songs literally weave us back into exactly who we were the day we first became Fae.”

“But… you keep your memories. Your bodies may shift but–”

“Exactly, but it’s still… like… I’m not sure if it’s like this for you Tretion. But we Fae just… our memories don’t always feel like they belong to us! Just… new songs we learn and can use but… we don’t… But they are always so fresh to us! Not a perfect recall but… always vibrant.”

Tretion nods, and I can see in my brilliant watcher’s eyes that she understands this so easily.

“You're caught between the two memoires. To break this promise you have to embrace the understanding and song of wanting to keep this secret while also your current desire to share. The new is more fresh, but the old is strong and has context.”

I nod, let out such a sigh of love. Have to…

“Tretion… No matter what, don’t let me stop.” I hiss out. “Don’t let me distract us with how much I want to drag you to bed right now. Dreamer’s Tits your just… SO gorgeous when you're untangling my thoughts.”

She huffs, caught off guard and… and obviously tempted. “It’s important. Yuna may hate that you mean to share this, but… I think if she knew that this knowledge could help someone Lyra loved she would want you to share it.”

I nod, grasping onto her logic and using it. “We also really don’t like the other Fae and would never tell them this. That was one of her two big worries. That either the Fae would find out and stop at nothing to act on that knowledge, or that Lyra would find out and um... be really hurt by the knowledge.”

Tretion smiles so sadly then. “Neither of those are possible now.”

“Exactly. So unless Yuna cared more about her own reputation or… something. She’d agree to this.”

Deep breath. And then I’m shattering the promise song apart.

Sharing with my watcher the memories of Lyra’s mother and the end of that first night I met the wonderful Fae girl...

“Okay so…”

“Promise me. In song.” Yuna demands.

“Like… Okay? But I’d like to know why before I agree?” I tilt my head.

She narrows her eyes across the table we sit at. Her home was suddenly very still and quiet.

I raise a hand. “I’m not saying I don’t trust you, just…”

She lets out a huff, looks away. “Either sing the promise or be content with what you already know. I’ll not risk this hurting her.”

Yuna is nice but… really… It's easy to tell that she prefers her own company. Just this past hour of sharing little bits of Lyra’s past have set her on edge.

I sigh, “I’ll trust you in this Yuna, and I apologize for implying otherwise. You’ve a right to protect your daughter.”

That loosens her. And as I weave the song of promise for her she relaxes so obviously she seems an almost entirely different Fae.

A long pause passes.

“So Lyra mentioned you found her wandering in and out of the Cursed Wood.” I start. “I thought she was just… confused. Mistaking some spooky forest she’s been hiding in for the real thing.”

She shakes her head. “It was the Dead Dreamer’s Wood. Both then and… and for these past twelve years.”

As my eyes widen in surprise I feel her words rising up now… prompted by my questions and settled by my promise song.

“She… Did she tell you about her… about the humans? The ones that raised her and what happened with them?”

I grimace at the sudden shift in topic. “Yeah. Said they chased her off. Tried to kill her.”

Yuna lets out such a sigh of relief. “Oh thank the Blighted Dreamer for that at least.”

“What?” I flinch at that. “How… how is that a good thing?”

“I…” Tears bubble in her eyes. “If that’s the worst she remembers… then I’m glad I made you sing that song. Please… Awnya. Don’t… you can not tell her this. Not a WORD!”

I push aside the empty mug and touch her hand right quick at this sudden rise in panic. “I don’t mean to drag out or dig up old things she may not remember. Just… Help her find happiness in the now.”

She nods, and seems to calm, but returns my grasp with double the force. “She… They…”

Her eyes close as she takes a deep breath, her entire body beginning to tremble in agony I’ve seen in so few Fae.

That, more than anything, sends a wash of cold through me. Real fear I’d not felt since I was a little bird still trying to figure out Fae songs and forgot how to fly for a bit.

“The humans did not chase her off.” She whispers. “They killed her. They killed my little girl.”

I feel the blood drain from my face. My next word is a quiet hiss. “What?”

She growls, “Left the body to rot and her soul to wander.”

The phrasing… the… but that…

“What I found trying to enter the Fae Wood was not just a human girl, but… but a light of stubborn Amwella thrashing to tear free of the Rot and Ruin.” Her next words escape like a rush of a furious river. “Broken, wailing, and begging for her parents not to hurt her. Pleading for… for someone to help her. So how could I not!?!”

“But the Dream would not let her pass beyond those woods for long. Not without…. Without trying to wrap her in a human body that I only later realized she hated. I… I could feel the Dead Dreamer stirring so I finished the work and took her home. Expected to just… I don’t know. I didn’t have a plan for my little girl. Just that I would help her.”

“It wasn’t until I bathed her and she screamed at me for calling her a boy that I realized what the Dream did to her, and… why her parents killed her.”

Her grip on my hand is so tight, and I’d have pulled away if I wasn’t also needing to cling to something as my mind spirals and eyes gush tears.

“So… I decided to fix mine and this blighted Dream’s mistake. Teach her the songs to weave the body we owed her.” She smiles then, such pride in her voice. “She took to the melodies so well Awnya. Mastered the Fae shaping in barely four years.”

I choke at that. “Wh– What?”

The shortest I’d heard of ANY Fae mastering that song was… like… Ten years. Minimum. Took most of us closer to twenty or thirty!

“But… you said wander. Not… How did she survive the Blight and Rot? Souls break apart in the safest part of the Dream. But… Yuna are you sure that… that she wasn’t some… some…”

Blighted thing that swims through the Rot and feasts on the Dead Dreamer’s corpse? Just… hungry for the sweet blazing Hearthfires at the center of the Fae Wood?

My implication doesn’t shed even a hint of her pride.

“My Lyra was thrumming with life when I found her. So much that the Blight just… passed over her. Burning away as droplets of water flicked into a roaring flame. Her Amwella a… a blaze of furious will that could not be quenched.”

I feel my eyes go wide.

“You… Yuna you can’t mean that she’s…”

Her eyes shine with… with pride and love. But… also fear. Fear that her next words might lead me to break my promise.

“Lyra is the most Fae girl you or I will ever meet.”

* * *

Then… Later. As I was dropping Lyra off but just before I left to go back to Theradas…

“You two seem… close.” Yuna murmurs as Lyra steps out to relieve herself.

I smirk. “We are.”

Yuna nods, her smile an echo of my own. But… then a little bit of worry creeps up to sour it. “You… you haven’t…”

“I’ve kept my promises to you.” I assure her, then add. “But… I think you should tell her before I get back.”

Her eyes darts to mine, smile entirely gone.

I shrug. “She’s not brittle, Yuna.”

“Why even… why would I inflict that on her in the first place?”

“Best case, she goes a few more decades without it being something that matters.” I meet her gaze, pour all my worry into it. “But worst case? She’s either alone or… or with a person who might use it to hurt her. It’s better she be told by someone she knows loves her and can help her deal with it.”

Yuna looks down, bites her lip. “I…”

“Look, I told Lyra three days. But if things are as bad as I think they are, this could take a week. And that’s if my Old Goat has shown up to help.”

She nods slowly. “I… I won’t force this. She’ll need to be in the right mindset and… and I’m not even sure what words to use!”

“That’s fine. Feel it out.” I touch her shoulder. “Worse case I’ll be back in a week and be here to help you get through it. But… honestly Yuna I’m not sure my presence will do much. Your love and pride for her will be all the good things she needs to handle this weight.”

Yuna nods. “I… I’ll try…”