Arc 3: To Break a Blight Weaver

CW:

Welcome to Arc threeeeeeeeee! Tretion POV followed swiftly byyyyyy Awnya POV! WOOPS!!! Talks of abuse, trauma, and salacious snuggles if self-deprecating. Thoughts of child abuse and eventual murder, disabilities, and trouble talking.

The first thing I notice about my guardian when she enters the workshop is the hand-shaped bruise marring her otherwise perfect cheek.

“Duenna Raska, Is everything alright?” I ask as she pauses at the corner of the worktable.

Cerulean eyes flicker up to mine, and she tilts her head in confusion. “What?”

I point to the side of my cheek to match the mark on hers.

She reaches up to touch the spot, winces and curses in her Blaze’s secret language, and waits as her flame dips down to weave the minor wound healed.

Everflame magic has been such an interesting thing to idly discover the details of. Each Cinderkin who claims their spark, which in and of itself takes an irrational guile, must then slowly and deftly coax unique incantations and words from the newfound Blaze. The sparks themselves are alive and quite intelligent but… limited in their perceptions until they are mantled or mantle a Cinderkin. Often trading memories or Amwella for them, and even sometimes control of the body and soul they now inhabit.

“Apologies.” Raska rasps and looks past me.

I sigh and stand up from my work to regard her. “Anything you would like to talk about?”

“It’s not a threat to the manor.” She shrugs and looks away.

“I assumed not, otherwise you would have told me straight away.” My headstalks wriggle in consideration of her mood. “But this seems to bother you quite deeply. I’m simply offering to listen if you need someone to speak to. It’s not like you to leave a wound unattended.”

Her flame eyes dance and blaze in a tangle of emotions I’m only just barely able to read.

It took barely a month of time, and meeting her ‘girls’, for my fury at Raska to dull and dissolve to comfortable companionship. Pair that with her quick wit, raw charm, and quite impressive skills with her Everspark and I can regard her with nothing but gratitude. She is the kind of guardian that my own Grandmother would have sputtered in disbelief at one of her brood gaining the absolute loyalty of.

It... also doesn’t help that she is so much like my Beloved Bound. A girl born in the wrong flesh, and filled to bursting with nothing but compassion and furious love for those that accept her.

And also, I think, a little like me. Raised by those who pushed and drove us to not only indulge, but drown in cruelty and malicious hunger for evermore power. Only… we turned against that. Now spend our everything to instead try and heal the blighted spaces left by our elders' cruelty.

“No…” She huffs, and her little flame even wiggles in sway with the motion. “I just… So… Remember how I asked you not to tell my girls about Lyra being here?”

“I do.”

Such an odd request, but made clear when I remembered that Raska mentioned that Lyra had gotten close to a few of her companions. Can easily surmise how both parties might find only pain if they tried to seek her out.

“Well… I guess…” She curses again. “Fuck. I guess this is something I should tell you anyway. Sorry just… Still working through it.”

“Take your time.” I offer and move around the table. “Or better yet, take a seat. I’ll get us some drinks while you gather up the words.”

“Thanks, Matron Tretion.” Raska nods gratefully. A noticeable stress draining from her limbs and flame.

I’ve considered asking her to drop the title, at least in private, but… No. As my first duenna we need to keep this formal. At least for a few more years. I can’t allow anything beyond this to risk forming. I’ll not let wild affections muddle my judgments.

Once we’re settled, and Raska’s taken a few sips of the Springwine, I carefully poke at what I’ve puzzled together. “One of your companions saw Lyra.”

She takes a deep breath, and nods. “Yeah. Sorry. She… she’s wanted to get away from me for a while now. But… back in our old Rift there wasn’t really a safe place for her to go to. But this manor is nothing but safe. So, she up and moved like… two days after our arrival here. I didn’t even think anything of it at the time since Lyra was still staying in your corner of the manor.”

“But now my beloved is exploring,” I murmur.

“Yeah, and… Sevy saw her. I’m not sure when, but… when I went to check in on her she told me and was upset enough to… um…” She points to her face.

“Ah.” I pause to consider my next words. I’ve not felt the need to sting Raska with them since those first few weeks, and I’d rather avoid carelessly adding to what is obviously an emotional storm inside her. “What is her regard toward Lyra?”

Raska slumps, hard. “She loves her. Was… She’s been so mad at me ever since I fucked up. Never once… Matron, I don’t think she’s forgiven any of us for… for what happened. Especially me, that’s obvious, but even the others. Hates them for… for not trying harder to stop me from hurting Lyra.”

I let my Headstalks shrug for me as I lean back. “Then… well… Lyra knows of your companion’s presence here, and so long as none of them mean any harm then there is little to be done. Lyra hasn’t mentioned running into anyone who upset her, and if this girl seeks her out… It’ll hurt. But she’s fast as the wind and isn’t likely to find herself cornered. If Lyra decides she wants to interact she can on her terms.”

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Raska takes a breath, a sharp thing but… I can’t help but wince at what those last words have prompted in her.

The question. One she is Oathbound from resolving without my explicit permission.

She doesn’t speak it, but the wound it’s leaving on her soul flares so hard even her flame wriggles in fury.

‘Can I speak to her? Can I apologize to the girl I… I loved and betrayed and abandoned and burned?’

I reach out and take up my first guardian's stone laden fingers, giving them a squeeze. “No.”

“But…” Raska whispers, voice more of a rasp than I’ve ever heard. “She… Could it help? Even a little? She… for her to know that… that she didn’t do anything wrong and… that I’m…”

“We’ve told her all this, but she still doesn’t want to speak with you.” I reply softly but firmly. “Even being in the same room with you is such a strain.”

“I… what I did…” Her voice is such a pained growl now, but not at me. “Wouldn’t hearing it from my lips be better?”

I sigh and squeeze her fingers again. “She’s still healing from so much worse than what you did. What happened was simply… a calculated trauma laid upon her after years of horrid abuse.”

She seems to sag further as her shoulders shake in sadness. “Yeah… I’m sorry. We’ve been over all this before. I shouldn’t ask. ”

“Duenna Raska,” I sigh. “You can ask me until Dream’s End, even though you know I’ll tell you the moment she’s ready.”

“But…” Such a haunted look overtakes her face. “What if… what if she never does? I just… What if my words could crack something? She’s still not healed the burns. Even after restoring her tongue.”

I know my Headstalks wriggle in worry and sadness in mimicry to my duenna's words. She’s also left the bitemarks. Such… such wretched and ugly things left riven across her burned flesh. I… I’ve pressured Awnya not to bother Lyra about them. No matter how much she desires to.

I sigh and shake my head. “That’s not how this works. Even if you're right, the physical wounds are… symbols. Almost… almost precious to her in the horrid way only a former slave can value their scars. Right now she’s scared of you, terrified and guilt-ridden and horribly confused. What she needs, we think, is to be angry. To turn that self-hatred for what she sees as her mistakes into fury at what you did to her. Then… I think, she’ll want to speak with you. But it won’t be to let you apologize, it’ll be to scream and rage at you for what you did.”

Raska smiles in such a painful way. “I… yeah. I hope she gets there soon. She deserves that.”

Those words crack something in her, so much that she takes up her drink and begins to sip thoughtfully.

“I… Thank you. Matron Tretion.” She eventually murmurs. “I don’t deserve any of that, but… thank you for offering it.”

“You’re welcome.” I reply and release her hand, taking a few more sips as well.

We sit for a few more heartbeats, and just as I consider rising Raska simply blurts out.

“Is she like that with Thendra?”

I quirk an eyebrow as my headstalks sway in consideration. “Angry?”

Raska nods.

“Sometimes, we think.” I murmur, settling again. “It comes and goes.”

We… Still sometimes find her at the gateway. No matter how much I try and have the manor steer her away. But… Now she’s more growling and hissing than weeping to the Rifts beyond where she would escape to. Seems to only offer little melodic sounds to the manor for not budging these past few times I found her.

Raska nods. “Good. Good. I still struggle to like… get how that cunt even got to Lyra.”

I shrug. “It’s simple, really. When everyone you love abandoned and hurts yo–”

Raska waves her free hand to stop me. “No, not… I get that. It’s horrid but… it catches. I mean how did Thendra get to her in those Blighted Woods Awnya told me about?”

I huff in honest frustration. “I don’t know. Lyra said it looked like she just… Riftwalked there.”

“What, by the Dead Cinders, is she?” Raska hisses, more to herself. “My moms said she was just… some mercenary. A cunt from a pack of really dangerous Soul drinking types. But… then she got to this manor like it was nothing and… and somehow wandered into Lyra’s home in the middle of a forest drowning in Blight?”

“She…” I pause, Impressed that she stumbled onto this same worry I have. “Even the Fae considered her a simple brute. Still hold that opinion as far as Awnya knows.”

Raska shakes her head. “It doesn’t make sense. You’d think someone would’ve like… noticed. What with how well-connected she’s gotten over the years. Was even tangled up with Furthonois there at the end.”

I pause, not even trying to hide the anxiety my headstalks betray with their motions. “One of her greatest weapons is that very thing, we believe. Everyone thinks of her exactly as what she wants them to see. And by the time they begin to notice that maybe this brute of a woman is more than she seems…”

“It’s too late.” Raska finishes when I trail off. “She’s gotten what she wanted. And you’re left none the wiser, or dead.”

A longer pause.

“So… then what did she get from Lyra?” Raska whispers.

I shake my head. “That’s my greatest fear. I don’t think she’s gotten everything she wants from my beloved. And I am haunted at the things Thendra may still try to extract from her should they meet again.”

* * *

Her hand in mine, we walk down some quiet connection hallway between a couple larger communities. On our way to a wonderful breakfast cooked by a dear friend after sleeping in when she speaks more clearly than almost ever before.

“Usete.” She whispers softly, and I slow to a stop. Turn to watch her.

Lyra’s looking down at first but… quickly turns eyes up to meet mine. Violet hues burning with focus and confidence. But… Her soul tails writhe nervously against my Amwella, nearly almost bumping the little one who’s nuzzled close to my flame and waking them with what I can only imagine to be a slew of deep anxieties.

“Yeah… Okay.” I nod and can’t help but sigh. “I… Are you sure?”

She nods, and whatever kept the name of her sibling steady leaves like so much smoke. “W– wha– want t– t– to h– h– he– h–” She stops. Takes a breath. Moves past the word, just like we’ve encouraged her to do. We’re pretty good at guessing what she wants to say. “Pl– pl– plese.”

I fight so hard to keep my heart from breaking all over again. How… how for a while I thought her difficulty talking was more to do with getting used to the old limb. But… after these months Tretion and I had come to such a horrid conclusion.

She struggled to speak when she was a child.

Had to fight through it to try and tell the humans about her being a girl. Was… was probably beat for it too. Hurt for something she couldn’t change. Made it easy for them to just… call her broken before eventually killing her and solidifying in her darkest thoughts what happens when she tries to speak her soul’s songs.

“Of course.” I give her my most confident smirk and let it feed back into resonating and amplifying the spark of it within my soul. “Let’s go find Tretion after we get that meal Kutipa promised us and…”

But she’s shaking her head, speaking with clarity for a word even. “No.”

“Now?”

She nods.

I shrug. “Sure. But… Kutipa will be pretty sad if we skip out on her offer again.”

Lyra huffs and thinks for a moment.

“I’m pretty sure I know what Tretion’s plan will be, and a quick breakfast won’t speed anything up.” I assure her.

“Oke.” She whispers quietly.

I squeeze her hand. “But… Just want to say that I’m proud of you. Lyra. Really.”

She looks down and away. Murmurs. “M– my f– f– fault.”

I would snort if a sudden wash of anger didn’t need to be smothered right quick. “It is not your fault, Lyra.” I very nearly hiss. “They… No. It’s not. You did your very best with what you were given. They betrayed you. Broke two or three promises, at least.”

She sighs. Very obviously disagreeing with me.

It’s not fair! From all angles this is so Dreamer Blighted Horridly Wretchedly UNFAIR! That… that she should be able to talk and work through this and SCREAM her fury at all the cunts who hurt her but… she can’t.

Because some wretched souls taught her that no one wanted to bother listening to her.

I run fingers through my hair, work to settle my fury before I wake my little soulfire sleeper. “And… honestly I’ve half a mind to talk you out of this. Usete is… they’re hurting. Sure. But… so are you. More than them, and that’s for certain. And there is an entire discussion to be sung since you both seem to want to fix things but… Dreamer’s Tits Lyra they wanted to unweave you. That… that’s…”

I’d spoken with Raska. She’s told me more about the pains of feeling wrong in one's own flesh. Something I could relate to a bit but… only in the context of my own early shiftings to Fae! I adored being what I was, and dreaming of what my dad promised I could become. Was drowning in love and support!

But her? And all those girls Raska’s been protecting? They were hated and scorned and even used by Monsters and Fae.

Dreamer’s Tits I hope Lyra eventually is comfortable talking with them all again. Is… is able to enjoy the company of people who understand her trauma in that so well.

“Da– d– dan– dangerous.” She murmurs. “M– mon– m– monster.”

I tilt my head a bit. “Really? Are you now?”

She freezes, a blush rising on her cheeks. And her tendrils wiggle with very different memories and emotions at my warning.

“Because… I’ve been very clear how we test that.” I purr, dumping an unfair amount of sultry fury into my next whisper. “And while I’d hate to disappoint Kutipa again… I’m dedicated to making sure that every single time you call yourself those words, you’ll think of little else but what I do to you when you consider it."

She sputters a bit. Considering my warning and offer.

“All things, be they animal, Fae, or Bug… will fight like it's the Dream’s End when put in enough danger.” I remind her. “And girl… you’ve been in nothing but danger for so long you’ve come to believe it’s the normal shape of life. When it’s not. You’d been fighting to just… find safety that some cunts keep trying to steal from you.”

She bites her lower lip, and it might just be the cutest thing in the Dream if not for the pain behind it.

“I…” She whispers, then pulls my hand up to her lips. Nibbles on my fingers while her violet eyes wander back up to mine. Little tears prickling. “R– rr– rrrr– real– really?”

I nod, and move my other hand to weave through her hair. “Really. You… Lyra, you are dangerous. Of course. All Fae are. And you’ve been pushed to violence. But… a monster? No. Not that. Never.”

She sniffles, and takes a few deep breaths. “Th– thank y– you.”

“Of course.” I reply, then… lean down a bit closer. Whispering softly. “But… I still have a promise to keep. Kutipa is going to be really annoyed with you for making us miss out on her cooking again.”

She smiles, and moves hands to trail up my arms, across my chin and neck, then up into my hair. “W– ww– woops.”

I can’t help but giggle a bit as I lean forward to pull my lover into such a delightful kiss.