CW:

violence, attempted sexual assault, violent sex followed by murber. Awnya POV, then Furthonois POV, then Awnya, then Furthonois and ending wiff Lyra. Much woops as that sounds more complex than it really is!

“I hate this.” I growl as I kneel to set Lyra on the soft carpets.

She’s… she's still the same girl I knew. I’m sure of it! But… over the night I got to watch and begin to understand just how deep her scars must go.

A small twitch at any unexpected touch. Or a twisting of her lips into a pained grimace when one of us would whisper after a long bout of silence. And… and a withering within her soul’s song when her name might be murmured with love.

And all this was when she was unconscious!

“I know.” Tretion whispers back as we finish settling Lyra next to the outer gate.

The manor’s bubbles draw close around our lover as she stirs again, her hissing and growling fits growing worse by the hour.

“I hate this.”

“I know.” She replies without even a hint of annoyance or disagreement as her fingers brush through Lyra’s hair.

Only my song of calming for our lover stops me from repeating it for the hundredth time.

“I can wait beside her, just… just in case something goes wrong.” Raska begins to offer.

Again.

My watcher does sigh then, but doesn’t offer the Everflame even a glance as she replies. “As I said, Duchess Raska, while I have complete confidence in our manor’s ability to contain any blight or backlash, leaks are possible.”

“But–”

Tretion rises. “I will not have your flame spark out to protect you and cause damage to my manor, the shield of Soulwaste it will use to protect us all, or my Beloved Bound.”

She stands patiently as I wait for Lyra to settle before ending my song, placing long and soft kisses across her burned shoulder, cheek, then hair.

“I–”

My watcher continues as if the Everflame was not even trying to speak. “And if that wretched woman breaks her oaths to me and somehow enters our manor, your strength will be in long distance flame magic, not a close quarters brawl.”

Oaths from that Reaver seemed… solid. I’d seen her keep them when she might have otherwise benefited from breaking. And we’d gone over the wording of it all a dozen times.

Tretion will enable her to speak through the glyph and Lyra will get stung by her curse.

If the blighted woman was correct, which… Tretion seemed to fully believe, then it should shatter some weird egg or cocoon thing around Lyra’s soul and let her wake up. That… We’ll handle all the things that might imply later. Tretion knew we’d have to do a ton of research into it, and how this mantle might change Lyra.

But… one thing at a time. First thing was to make sure Lyra survives this!

Thendra said in no uncertain terms that if Lyra did not wake soon that the mantle would consume her, and what woke up would be… incredibly horrid.

“The mantle holds old malicious and hungry things deep within.” The cunt had told my watcher. “If her soul does not crack free, all that will remain will be a mindless husk of all their old bitter hatreds trapped in Lyra’s rotting corpse.”

And the final promise, the thing that we’d insisted beyond all other things.

“You will end the command when she is awake or one of us demands it. You will leave the moment you speak that word of relief from her curse’s sting. You will go back to Theradas or whatever blighted Rift of your choice and never return.” Tretion had demanded.

Thendra barked a cruel laugh, “I agree to your terms. I’ll only return if the mistress of this manor calls me to return.”

So… with my dagger in hand, I join the other two back in the entrance of the hallway. As close as we dared venture at the possibility of a greater wash of whatever horrid hunger spilled out from her before. Apparently both Tretion and Thendra agreed that this will be the worst yet, and might even happen multiple times before she is free of whatever thing traps her Amwella.

“Alright, It's time. Prepare your workings.” Tretion murmurs as her staff growls and murmurs in hunger, ready to strike a soul death to anything that could appear.

I draw my dagger, but keep from channeling Amwella into it yet. Focus on weaving an incredibly complex and focused song of Soul warding. Something that takes me minutes to bring to a symphony that I believe will hold against even a god’s strike.

Raska hisses her flame up behind my song, twists it's form to fill any gaps and support the working.

Deep breath from my watcher, and she murmurs the words to allow Thendra to speak through that glyph.

* * *

“Fur– Furthonois?” Stammers the servant who answered the front door.

The wash of… of wondrous smells and cool air that slips from my Mistresses home nearly drowns me. But… I am a woman of the Six Ways, and well groomed to maintain my expression of polite composure.

“Yes, I’ve returned.” I smile, and effortlessly hover past her as she continues to stammer out this nonsense or that. She was a young girl and barely above a pillow slave, and beneath me in my lover’s home.

I do giggle then at the thought as I twist myself up the steps, able to fly above anyone I wish.

It’d take a few dozen more souls, and the cracking of my other fang free on a rock, to show me just how much more I can be for my Mistress. Filled me with delight as I imagined her expressions at this returned Keshada. How I would pull her into the winds, twisting and writhing in pleasure and–

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

I get to her door, to her bedchambers. It’s early in the morning, and she must be so lonely after sending me away. Perhaps she purchased a new pillow slave to fill a small part of the void I had left in her heart, but no matter.

Her lover has returned, and I am ready to be her everything this time.

Deep breath, quiet my smile to a smaller thing, and open the door.

A single mound of flesh in bed, lightly twisting at the sound. I murmur her name, begin to–

A young Keshada, barely sparked, sits up and stares blankly at me. I freeze, still hovering closer to the head height than the normal torso for our kind. She pulls the sheets close, eyes widening a bit as she takes in what must be a wondrous sight.

I can’t blame the girl, I’ve changed so much in the months since I last left and now look like no Keshada I’d ever seen.

Longer than ever, easy three feet gained. Scales now immaculate regardless of the weather or sands. Hair a perfect twisting of glimmering midnight hues, and my eyes… I’d only glimpsed them in reflected pools along my path, and in the eyes of those I consumed for delicious soulfire.

Crimson, and brimming with joy and hunger.

Perfect.

“Who… Who’re you?” She whispers.

I tilt my head, still… trying to…

“Furthonois?” Exclaims a woman from the side washroom.

And I turn to see the heart of my everything, my oasis in these horridly cruel lands.

I give her such a loving and tired smile. “Mistress, it’s good to be back.”

“B– But… Delvia… she…” My lover stammers, just… staring. “You’re meant to be reclaimed and on your way to Theradas!”

I sigh and frown, annoyed she isn’t overwhelmed with the joy I feel, but… know it’ll simply take time.

“No more.” I smile proudly showing my new fangs while letting myself hover just a little higher. “I’ve returned to take my place at your side, your woman in all things.”

She closes her eyes, fingers at her temple in... Frustrations!?!

“You… The first delay would be a thing of annoyance but recoverable when the god saw their prize.”

My joy stutters, falters at her hesitation and frankly hurtful lack of joy at seeing me returned.

“I… What?” I tilt my head. “Mistress… I returned to… I’m better than just… just some sacrificial toy for that demented thing. I’ve grown beyond even what a woman of the Six–”

“Stupid girl!” She spits, “I’ll be lucky if She doesn’t ruin my house after this!”

I jerk back, “Wh– What?”

She looks up to me… nearly… nearly glares. “Where is Delvia? On the road behind you somewhere?”

It takes all my will to not return that look, but… I only sigh. “I left her to feed the desert and rot. She was a poor servant, unfit for her place in your house.”

She groans, “Wonderful! Now I… I’ll have to find a new woman I can trust to deliver you.”

That does twist my face to anger. And from my Mistresses sudden flinch I know it must be a horrid thing to bear. “I’m not going to Theradas, lover. I am yours.”

My eyes flit over to the bed. “And pardon my words, but this… girl, Dreadweave’s Gaze, she barely seems old enough to finish her grooming. How did you finish your training so early?”

The girl squeaks, but does not answer.

“She… Furthonois this isn’t…” My mistress stammers, then finally regains a composure and pride that befits her. “It doesn’t matter, she fulfills my needs well. But no, you are not mine. And by coming back you might have ensured the death of my house.”

My eyes narrow as I turn back to her. “What?”

“That god demanded you, specifically.” She huffs, “Soulless prophets know why, but… with these delays and… and your return… It’ll seem I stole you back. I…”

A fear claims her eyes. “I’ll most likely need to run unless that thing deems to show uncharacteristic mercy. Escape this desert Rift and hope they let this insult fade from memory.”

I hiss angrily.

She steps back as I bare my fangs, her fear now plain. “Furthonois. I… I didn’t…”

I close my eyes, let my training soften my expression, then look at her again. “Is there nothing else you could offer them? No other boon they may desire in my stead?”

She shakes her head. “You are the boon they called for.”

I look down to my wonderful body… shaped by my trip through the desert into a lithe form of perfect grace. The shape I thought would… would enthrall and entice and reweave our love into new and wonderful shapes.

But no. She… she can’t! To embrace me would mean her death.

“Then I’ll go.”

“Wh–” She begins to speak, but flounders as I glide down to her, taking her soft cheek in my hand.

“I will visit this cruel thing’s throne.” I whisper. “And unlike your worthless first guardian, I will not quiver in fear of the wretched thing that awaits me.”

“I…” She softens then, a… hope glimmering in her eyes.

“Either I die the horrid death that thing wishes to ravage upon me.” I promise her. “Or I will return to you, a free Keshada and worthy of a place at your side.”

* * *

I’m not sure any of us hear the command, but from Lyra’s sudden twisting of agony, we can all see her reaction. And watch in horror and terror as her body writhes and twists and…

And no song escapes. No gurgling wail or scream of agony woven into a melody as she ignores or fights the command.

My song turns so desperate and pleading. A call of love and life as much as a shield to guard those beside and behind.

C’mon Lyra!!!

Come back to us!!!

FIGHT TO LIVE!!!

* * *

I can’t help but giggle as the god of Theradas ravages my body this third time.

When I’d entered this temple of butchery and slaughter, smelled the stench of blood and weeping soulfire, I’d found myself repulsed and truly terrified for the first time since I’d killed Delvia.

A muck of mindless hunger and useless agonies at the heart of our desert.

As I flowed above the amassed denizens, and my eyes focused on the god over it all, I doubted my path. Worried that maybe even the hundred souls I’d devoured would not empower me to kill this horrible thing.

The soulflame of a goddess draped through and around her. But… Not as a mantle of wondrous power or shimmering beauty. But of the lazy abandon of one careless and without refinement.

A huge mass of fur and muscle and horns. Fat in her gluttony of souls and flesh. Eyes almost too heavy with her most recent feast to rise up and meet my own.

Is this truly what lay at the end of the Oldest Road in the desert?

As a woman of the Six Ways. A Keshada slave born and groomed to embody the beauty and elegance of service and sacrifice I could not help but scowl in disgust as I settled onto the floor before her throne.

Our god is too stupid to understand what true beauty and majesty look like.

I openly sneered as I presented myself to this useless thing. My apologies loud and mocking as I bow and spread my arms wide. In the end I let out my most enthralling purring hiss after giving such disingenuous excuses for my late arrival. “So… Goddess of Theradas, Come and claim your boon.”

And of course this big stupid thing could do nothing but want me.

Just… thinks me a stupid slave to break and devour as it drags me up to her altar, tears my wondrous silks away, and pins me to the old rank stone as she shoves herself into me like some rutting animal. Soulfire fumbling to wrap around mine like some untrained pound of flesh from the market.

Doesn’t even notice till our second feeding that I’m not screaming in pain, but excitement.

And now she pauses for the first time to truly regard me as her third round of pleasure settles, a lazy gaze searching my eyes and soul for the fear she craves as my laughter fades.

I smile so sweetly, whisper back. “Would you like to have me again, lover?”

Then I get her fury. Like some desert mongrel dog she tears at my body and Amwella. Biting and twisting and breaking of scales and bone and flesh as her clumsy soul tears at mine.

Too bad the pieces I slurp off her flame are bigger.

I’d discovered quickly that I can not only drink soulfire through my new and perfect fangs, but also through my flesh melting venom. Most souls I’d found along my road were small and consumed quickly. Gone before my venom could touch their soulfire. But a few times I discovered a soul of great strength whose eyes sang with hunger with what they saw. And I’d let them take me. Allowed myself to be captured and used. A dozen times they tried to bind, ravage, or consume me. And every single time I enjoyed a feast that grew my resolve and soulfire into things as solid as any blade one might find in the desert.

Harder and sharper even.

And so through my nibbles and bites and even a spit or three, I watch in glee as the Goddess pulls back. Her face is a thing of such sudden fear and surprise as it begins to melt away.

That’s when she tries to kill me.

Draws huge claws across my throat, and then snaps my neck when I only gurgle out a laugh and spit more venom onto her stupid face. Her own engorged and bloated soulflame fueling my body to restore me faster than any wound she can inflict can end this perfect Keshada form.

And by the end she’s stumbling away, falling and crawling down the steps toward her assembled worshipers as the final wisps of her Amwella are dissolved and drawn back into my soul as I follow above. Cooing and purring such soft murmurs of terrible humor at this pitiful thing.

Then she is dead, and I bask in… in this wondrous feeling of warmth and strength as those final driplets of her soul weave up and into-

No. Terrible shadows are gathering… Wait. This…. This isn’t….

Horrid and wretched echoes that wail in anger for the soul I just drank. Things that would steal my life and victory and the lover I intend to return to.

So with a hiss I spread my arms wide, and invite them to test their souls against mine. They accept my offer, and next I know we are–

“My Lyraaaaa…” Purrs the voice of my Dark Goddess from so far away as her first command is ignored.

And then I have legs, and I feel the thing on my back, fangs and venom and horrid will to devour the Fae that had killed her howling through my soul.

The spirit of Furthonois wraps around my Amwella like a desert snake. Older shadows still rise from her shoulders like a cloak. Empowering and giving her more strength than a single soul should bear.

“Sing these old things off you.” My Dark Goddess snarls. “Crush their will and claim their mantle!!!”

PAIN. The curses sting so deep and horrid, more than ever before! Such a deep pain that just… just is so hard to… to ignore!

But… that’s not what makes me fight.

It’s a song. A litany that weaves all about me and cries of a life and love that remind me of why I chose to throw myself at this big stupid snake thing. How… how I need to finish ending the godthing that would threaten those that I can’t help but adore!!! Solidifies the love I will Reave this Dream apart to keep safe!

And then I’m wailing. Not Fae words… Just… that command given will through my lips, tinted with the wroth of one who will not let those she loves face the death of their happiness!!!

Tearing from my throat like a clutch of angry jellyfish. And in echo to my cry for freedom from what this godthing would do to me, the brand of the Old Road explodes into wondrous heat and revolts at the spirit of the god who gave it to me. Flaring to consume the shadow that claws at my back before fading away entirely.

Freeing me forevermore of all who would enslave me as the curse and spirit of Furthonois is torn from my soul. Amwella cracking and shattering in a final wonderous explosion of cool drowning waters.