CW:

Plurality. Talk of smothering Headmates. First.... ever.... RASKA POV!!! AHHHH. Mention of Fae songs luring people into actions without consent.

Endless jabbering of the five flames within our Amwella causes a ripple of pain to lash through our blaze of a soul. Division and fury and general grumpiness pulsing between them in some disparate argument.

[Smother yourselves!] My first flame, Pevatorii, roars. And then follows up with a quick slew of words I can only take to mean [Or I’ll devour your will and shit out what remains in a few weeks!]

The cacophony of disputes fall into subtle grumbles of discontent and I thrum quietly into our soul to him. Thanks Peva. Focusing to Remain impassive and quiet when I see the two that enter Tretion’s workshop.

Awnya and Lyra.

One of the five flames, maybe… number two? She’s never given or chosen a name, hisses dark threats in a private slithering tongue I lost patience trying to decipher over a decade ago.

The Matron embraces her two lovers, and my soul thrums with malice at them due to the second’s fury, but… it’s easy enough to drown. Especially with the aid of Peva.

Keep calm and focus on just… remaining as non-threatening as possible. I assure myself as I take a deep breath. We’ll be asked to leave soon. No creation work today and this seems a sudden and private thing.

“So…” Awnya pushes ruffled hair back, then turns to Lyra. “Did you want to ask or should I? We’ve kinda considered how this might happen but…”

Lyra huffs and nods.

Have to keep my senses focused elsewhere. It’s hard since… like… my eyes aren’t really things of flesh anymore. Kinda can absorb Amwella pulses and echoes from all around.

And Lyra’s soul? It was always such a gorgeous thing to see her Amwella flicker and dance. Cute little soul tails wriggling about and always wanting to reach out and touch but… too seared by my flame unless I pulled her into bed to…

[Ember Yourself.] Peva pulses through our soul.

Right. Sorry. I huff and turn a bit to face the door. It doesn’t help but… the gesture is there.

So much harder to ignore now. Her new soul. It… it's like this great big flame of weaving and bobbing life that… that even teems with odd little bird looking things! If I ever get to talk with her again I… I’d like to ask her about them! She’s not an Everflame so asking won’t be seen as like… a threat!

That… makes me pause.

The distant hope that someday I’ll meet someone that I can share this with.

“Usete.” Lyra murmurs without a stammer or stutter, eyes and soul glowing with confidence her voice fights so hard to match.

Her sibling? The one who betrayed her and... and threated to take away her body and magic?

“Ah.” Tretion nods, her headstalks writhing in what I’ve come to understand as ‘wanting to be supportive of her Fae’s nonsense but is actually anxious as all the Dead Cinders’. “You want to help them.”

And now the fourth flame can’t stop gurgling and growling, but… she knows better than to push me just because the girl who killed her last Everflame is standing in the same room as us.

Lyra nods.

“Alright. Let’s… sit down." The Matron agrees. "We have a lot to speak about.”

This seems to confuse Lyra a bit. Makes her Amwella change its flickering patterns, but she follows her lovers’ lead and moves to sit at an empty table generally set aside for shared meals. Wrapping a tendril around both their souls.

“So… I’d like to understand what you want out of this.” Tretion starts, reaching out with soul and hand to make contact with Lyra. “In your own words. You can take as long as you like.”

“Oh.” Lyra mumbles.

“Not because we’re not gonna make this happen.” Awnya interjects. “Just… We think it’s important that we’re all on the same page.”

Lyra huffs and looks down, scratches sharp talons across the hard table before finally murmuring. “R– re– remove. C– c– comm– ands.”

Tretion nods. “That’s kind of you, but… what then?”

Lyra pauses. “N– None. J– j– just le– let th– the– them li– live fr– free.”

Awnya and Tretion share a quick glance before the Fae sighs. “Yeah. So… There’s a problem with that."

Lyra jerks up to look between them, such worry and fear writhing through her soul.

“So… Last we understood Usete was in the Morning Court of the Fae Wood, correct?” Tretion asks.

“Yup.” Awnya nods. “Staying with Yuna and two others she raised.”

“So two problems arise just from that.” Tretion lets out such a breath. “A Riftwalk will not take Awnya directly to them due to the odd nature of that Wood. It’ll be… what? A week of travel to reach their home?”

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Awnya raises her hand to give a ‘so-so’ gesture. “Less, since I’ll be moving at speed. Three days. Four at the most.”

Tretion nods, and her tendrils continue to shape out her own worry and annoyance in subtle patterns. “Then a return trip at their pace. All workable. But… the afterwards is what worries us, Beloved.”

Lyra winces. “Br– bring h– h– here. Th– they c– can re– re– c– come b– back.”

“Exactly.” Tretion nods, “And… if they wish they could go back to the elders of the Fae. Tell them you're alive and where to find you.”

“Oh.”

Awnya speaks up then. “And while the manor should keep anything and everything out… I got in. And even if they can’t replicate that then this could keep us sealed here for a long time. Which is fine. We’re like…”

But the Fae trails off when Tretion’s headstalks twist to weave furious patterns. “No. No it is not. I will not have our future restrained by anyone. Especially not ones who’ve hurt Lyra. Any other Fae who enter this manor will either remain, or have additional commands laid to stop them from returning without our explicit permission.”

A pause, and Lyra’s eyes go wide at the implications.

“I… Dreamer’s Tits. You know I get it. Have no sympathy for them but…” Awnya looks back and forth helplessly between her Watcher and Fae lovers. “Asking her to curse more people feels… a bit wrong. Love.”

Tretion huffs, but locks her eyes on Lyra. “I will give you my everything, beloved. Would burn the Rifts entire to naught but blighted ash to keep you safe and healing. But… never again will I let you risk your life or happiness for those that endlessly have wronged and hurt you. If Usete is to receive this gift from you, they and any others who visit will choose between those options.”

Lyra’s soul is such a mess of emotions as she stares at the Matron. Whispers so softly. “If I w– w– won’t?”

Tretion replies without hesitation. “Then their only option is to remain here.”

“I’m… I’m going to tell them all this first.” Awnya assures both of them. “They’ll make their choice before we even leave your sisters’ home. Full understanding of what their future will hold if they follow me back to this manor.”

A long pause, then Lyra nods and whispers. “Nn– no c– cur– curses.”

Tretion finally lets out a sigh and her headstalks slump. “That’s perfectly reasonable and… and what I think is best too. Usete’s curse seems to be mostly in regards to their speaking about you. So if they want to remain apart, then so be it. But if they want to reconcile, well… they’ll have to earn our trust by living here. On your terms.”

They talk a bit more. Work out that Awnya will leave in a few days, and… never dismiss me. Which means I can only speak when Lyra has left with Awnya.

Else half my flame will start leaking from me like blood from a wound, and the five soulmates will get very hard to restrain and ignore…

Tretion is tip-tapping the table while headstalks wiggle in contemplative patterns when I come to take a seat across from her.

“So… why?” I leave the question open. There are plenty of ‘whys’ to answer here.

Why keep me around for this very personal discussion?

Why risk the manor’s safety in regards to a person who hurt Lyra so much?

Why not wait a few years or a decade for things to settle?

“Because… I’m a fool.” She murmurs, peering longingly at the door her lovers left through.

“Not sure anyone who’s met you would agree.” I reply. “What makes you say that?”

Headstalks bounce back and forth in disagreement. “Because roughly five years back Awnya proposed this very thing. I had the chance to welcome Lyra’s family into this place. But I refused her. Let my own anger stop me from claiming the aid of not one, but three Fae.”

[Flame stealing wretches, burn and bite and smother and devour!] Peva seethes, his anger and mine becoming a thing that the other four slink away from. Gurgling in agreements and placations.

Not wanting to suffer a smothering again for taunting us.

I snort, letting bitter mirth ease some of the pain. “Or you were just… Being smart. The Fae could have easily used you and tossed your hollowed out corpse to the ashes.”

Tretion eyes me, headstalks stilling a bit. “Awnya mentioned you had a bad history with the Fae.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” I crack my neck and let Peva vent a bit of our rage through our nostrils. Huffing a small spark of blue flame. “She didn’t tell you anything else?”

Tretion shakes her head. “No. It was shared in confidence, and did not mar her trust in you. However limited it was at the time.”

I sigh and urge my first flame to calm himself. Peva thrums fury but… relents. Understanding that such anger will not aid us at the moment.

“Fae have rolled through some Rifts me and mine lived in a few times. Took whatever they wanted and left us… me… afterwards. Never made efforts to help anyone. Just... used their song magic to lure people into… into things they would have otherwise said no to.”

Horrid memories war like cold winds against Peva and mine’s fury. But… we smother them together. Focus on the now.

“I’m so sorry.” Tretion winces, headstalks actually leaning toward me a bit.

“It was years ago. But… it’s why I made a point to…” I trail off, sparks eyes flicker toward were her lover's left.

[To burn the last three Fae who we found in our domains. Drove them off with flame and fury unbound and wrothful and NevEr LeT the HoRRiD CUNTS USE US EVER AGa-]

Tretion looks to the door, face openly pained. “Ah.”

“Yeah.” I huff while smothering our fury the second Peva calms a bit.

A long pause.

“I’ll act as duenna to anyone you welcome here. Matron.” I assure her. “Regardless of their… nature. Will only burn them if they seek to violate the peace. Just make sure they understand that includes weaving their songs at people without their consent and entering my community.”

She looks back to me, nods. “I expect no less. The magic they can wield should be spun responsibly and without violating the wills and wishes of others.”

I relax at that.

“But.” She thrums, and all her tendrils turn to face me. “No killing. Not permanent wounds if you can manage. If they cross a line they get detained.”

[Seer wretched Fae flesh!] Peva growls, and the four others grumble sounds of agreement. [Smother and devour their Amwella and–]

I grind our teeth in confliction as he growls an entire litany of threats. “My Flames aren’t gentle things, Matron Tretion.”

She waves a hand in dismissal. “They don’t need to be. If something happens simply bar their paths and let my manor or I act.”

That makes us all pause, fury melted to surprise. “What? I… I mean I know it’s alive but… can it hope to handle even one Fae’s Songweaving?”

She grins then, and it’s probably one of the scariest expressions I’ve ever seen on this gentle woman’s face. “Duenna Raska, this manor is a leviathan that swims amidst the most Rotting and Blighted part of the Dream. A sustenance that Fae fear above all else. And we’re currently housed within its clutches. Yes. It can handle an entire gaggle of them with ease, more if it is roused to wroth.”

“Oh.” Is all we can reply.

But then her expression sours. “I’m more worried about her family's… opinions on Lyra. If they… if allowing this is just making the same mistake again. Letting them reject and hurt her for no other reason than my lover's goodwill.”

I tip-tap the table. “Awnya will gauge their demeanor before committing to bringing them.”

She nods. “Of course, but… there is only so much we’ll tell them. The slaughter of Furthonois and… and mantling of their power will be kept secret. Alongside Lyra’s past ten years with Thendra. Fae have a history of considering trauma with poor regard. Best to force them to absorb it all in an environment where irrational nonsense can be easily suppressed.”

I relax visibly. “You’ve considered everything, it seems.”

Her headstalks writhe in worry still. “No. There are too many factors. Even with this only being a trip to the Fae Wood.”

“I would offer to go with her but…”

[We’d burn and smother and bite and devour and–] Peva sparks off a litany of fury. Fortunately a quiet thing I can shove to the back with the rest of the other ones.

“Of course not.” Tretion laughs mirthlessly. “That would just be asking for disaster. My main concern is Awnya either being detained by the Fae, or someone following her through the Riftwalk she’ll weave. It’s never happened but… We’ve never worried about a Fae trying to track her. While more common people would find it impossible to decipher… any Fae who’s mastered Riftwalking could easily mimic the song.”

“Then why risk this at all?”

Tretion’s face twists into a thing of such pain. “Because… Lyra has been practicing their name for the past three months. Whispering it when she thinks we’re not about in preparation to ask us today. It… it gnaws at her. Makes her healing so much harder.”

“But they betrayed her.” I hiss, letting Peva’s anger bubble up to become my own. “Would… would let others take the body she wove, or worse.”

“Yes." She agrees without hesitation. "Because they are fools. And If I believed they still held those opinions this wouldn’t even be an option. But… last Awnya visited all those years ago she said they had changed. That they miss Lyra terribly and regret what they’d done.”

I glare away from her and nearly snarl. “They don’t deserve even a hint of Lyra’s forgiveness. Much less to… to know that she’s alive and healing. Or to see the state they abandoned her to fall into.”

Tretion lets a long pause pass, then sighs. “If love and forgiveness were things we must always earn, and not often gifts given freely, then undeserving people like us would never know of it.”

Our fury sputters, and I turn back to stare at her. “What? I… But… You’re one of the most generous souls I know, Matron. Sharing this manor with… with thousands and–”

“And when I first met Lyra I thought to claim and treat her as a pillow slave.” She looks down then, guilt and shame laid plain. Fingers move up to touch some long faded scar on her neck. “She would have been right to kill me, but… she didn’t. She endured trails and threats and worse to save me. And it was that undeserved kindness that fills me with the will and fury to extend it to others.”

A long pause.

“Even me?” I whisper.

“Even you.” She nods. “And I think, for both your sakes and mine, that we’re all much better off for that.”

Our anger drains like blood from a wound, and… and is replaced by a thrumming of aching warmth for this amazing woman. I and Peva both nearly shaking with it.

Then her hand is at mine. “You’re a kind and gentle soul. Despite a past that's encouraged you to embrace opposing temperaments.”

I nod as long burned away tears itch. “I… If you ask me, we'll go with Awnya. Keep her safe. Restrain our fury and–”

She shakes her head with a smirk. “No. Awnya is smart and quick. She’ll come back to us. Nothing in this Dream or beyond can stop that certainty.”