She woke up, naked, in a bed.

Something told her that this was wrong, that she should get up and out of the bed, start searching for a weapon and call upon her swarm to defend herself. But when she started to move it was as though weights had been tied to her body, every motion making her heart thud faster in her chest and a wave of exhaustion washing over her.

So she called her swarm, the millions of creatures that should have been around her, waiting, willing to obey her because she was... because she was her.

A few hundred heeded her call. That was all, not the millions she expected. They were hers to control, yes, but they were also wrong, something tugging at them to continue what they were doing, even if that was just flying aimlessly in circles, constantly on the hunt for prey that wasn’t there.

Her vision through their eyes was warped and confusing, a sea of jagged, stony outcrops bathed in purple light, patches of black oozing liquid that made her heart beat erratically when she focused on them and places where the ground itself was on fire.

Then she brought them around, her tiny swarm buzzing as they approached the only building in sight. It was a tower, a monolith of black stone that rose out of the ground like an accusing finger, daring the skies to protest its intrusion. Crimson light spilled out from open windows. It took only a moment for the smallest of her swarm to slip into the building and race down its many corridors.

She was lying with her eyes closed when the swarm found her room. They fluttered open and for the first time she saw the creatures she was controlling with her own eyes.

They were wasp-like, with a bulbous tail hiding an inch-long stinger and six knife-tipped feet that pressed into the blanket of her bed. Red and black wings beat at the air hard enough to make the whole room vibrate as they hovered above her.

She called one to her, the rest moving towards the walls and ceiling and floor, covering embroidered carpets and hardwood furniture that she had paid little mind to. It, the smallest of her swarm, landed gently by her side, the white bone over its face shifting as it tilted its head.

Slowly, with more effort that it was worth, she dragged her arm out from the cocoon of velvety blankets and laid a hand on the wasp’s head. “What are you?” she asked.

“It is a lancer,” a voice said from the entrance.

A woman stood there, tall and regal, clothed in black robes with fine red trim. She stepped into the room with little care for the creatures, the lancers, scuttling by her feet. She didn’t need to, they moved out of her path of their own volition. “Lancer,” she repeated while her thumb stroked the wasp’s head.

The woman paused by the side of the bed and followed the path of the girl’s arm to the lancer she was caressing. “Are you not afraid of it?”

“No,” she said.

“And you can control it?” the woman asked. Red eyes locked onto hers, and although she felt no hostility from the woman, the gaze still made her want to shrink back into the bed.

“Yes,” she replied truthfully. “It’s a bug,” she added.

One delicate eyebrow perked on the woman’s head. “And not the others?”

“Others?” she asked.

The woman gestured towards the door. They only had to wait a few heartbeats before another creature stepped in. This one was tall, long arms ending in sharpened bone-white claws, a dog’s head with teeth as long as the girl’s fingers and a body covered in coarse black fur. “This is a beowolf,” she said.

“Okay,” she replied easily.

“Can you control it as you do these lancers?” the woman asked.

“It’s not an insect,” she explained.

Another eyebrow joined the first. “How very specific,” she said. “And you’re not afraid of it?” she asked, still gesturing towards the beowolf.

She took a moment to inspect the black creature again. It was large and intimidating, teeth bared as though ready to take a bite out of her at any moment. “No.”

The woman made a noise in the back of her throat that might have been a laugh. “Most in your position would be terrified.”

“Is there anyone else like me?” she asked. Her hand dropped away from the lancer’s head, every finger burning with the fatigue of overuse.

“I don’t know,” the woman said.

She yawned, jaw cracking and eyes watering with the action. “What’s your name?”

The woman tilted her head to one side, still inspecting her carefully. “I am Salem, queen of the Grimm.”

“Okay,” were her last words before the darkness of sleep overtook her.

***

Salem watched the girl-child as she rested. Her injuries were severe, or they had been before she deigned to heal her of the worst of them. Still, the blankets of her bed were wrapped around a too-thin body and bunched up on the side with the missing arm. By height, she seemed about Cinder’s age, though she seemed far too thin for that.

She looked away from the girl-child and to the infestation of lancers occupying the room. They were docile, more so than they would normally be, even when in her presence. The one the child had been fondling wrapped itself into a tight ball by the child’s side, claws held in so as to avoid hurting her.

It was disquieting, unnerving. So many years had passed since anything of interest had happened, since she had seen anything truly new, that she wasn’t sure how to react to this sudden intrusion.

She could have just killed the girl, get it over with and protect her domain. But was that truly what she wanted? She was Salem, queen of the Grimm. She did not need protecting from a mere girl, not even one that shared her features.

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“Watch over her,” she ordered the beowolf in the room’s centre as she spun around and walked out of the room. “She is interesting.”

***

When she awoke a second time the lighting in her room was different. The sun outside was at its zenith and the purplish haze that robbed the landscape of its colour was at its weakest. She looked around the room, senses extending to her little swarm of lancers.

It only took her a moment to discover that she was not alone.

The woman, Salem, was back. She was sitting on a chair that had not been there before, a book on her lap and her head turned down to focus on the pages. She studied Salem for some time, gaze following the curve of her jaw and the black veins around her eyes. Her hair, too, was bizarre, six strands like ponytails sticking out in two pairs of three from either side of her head, the rest of her hair cascading down to the small of her back in a white fountain.

“Your hair looks like a spider,” she said.

Salem looked up from her book, folded the corner of one page without looking, and shut the tome with a gentle thud. “Does it?”

She nodded. She could feel a warmth climbing onto her cheeks and she wondered why she had let herself speak aloud.

“Should I perhaps change hairstyles then?” Salem asked.

She shook her head. It wouldn’t do to insult the woman caring for her. “I like it.”

Salem made another noise at the back of her throat, one she was quickly associating with faint amusement. “Then I’ll keep it this way,” she said easily. “How are you feeling?”

She paused, moving still-naked limbs under the satin sheets of her bed, letting the soft material murmur as it slid across bare skin. Her arm and legs were still heavy, still tired, but now it was the tired of a muscle recovering after hard exercise, a familiar burning and ache. “Better. A lot better,” she said.

“You have been asleep for three days,” Salem said.

“Oh... I’m sorry,” she said as she stretched her legs under the blankets until they quivered. The wasp nestled by her side moved out of the way with all of the grumpy disposition of a wet cat.

“It is of little consequence,” Salem said. “I had questions for you.”

Something, a little voice at the back of her mind, told her to be careful, to be wary of this Salem woman, but it was easily drowned out by her apathy. She just wanted to sleep again, or maybe to walk around and move? Her body didn’t seem to agree on what she wanted to do. “Okay,” she said, finally.

“What is your name, child?” Salem asked.

“My name,” she repeated. She had a name. She had many names, but at the moment none of them were coming to the surface. “I don’t remember,” she said.

One of Salem’s eyebrows perked. “That is unfortunate,” she said. “I cannot continue calling you child.”

She shook her head. “I’m not a child.”

“Of course not,” Salem lied. She caught it, but didn’t comment. “Then perhaps a nickname for now. Maybe Wasp?” Salem gestured at all the lancers still hanging onto the ceiling.

She gave Salem a flat, unamused look. “That is not my name,” she said.

“I know it isn’t, child,” Salem said.

Her unamused look turned into a glare, but all that did was add a twinkle of joy in Salem’s eye. “I don’t like Wasp,” she said. It wasn’t a nice name. It wasn’t even a real name. And it sounded too villainous besides.

“Very well, we can table that for later. There are more important questions.” Salem shifted in her seat, one leg crossing over the other. “How did you come to be here?”

“I don’t remember,” she replied instantly.

Salem looked at her for a long time. “Nothing at all?” she prodded.

She wanted to keep what little she knew to herself, but then, maybe that wasn’t wise. She had to extend some trust eventually, and Salem had been nothing but kind to her. “I remember a fight. There were lots of us. I had a big swarm.”

“And who were you fighting?” Salem asked.

She frowned, trying to parse the memories, even though most of them were patchy at best. “It looked like a man. He was golden, and powerful, and it took a lot of us to fight him.”

Salem’s interest, which had just been idle curiosity before, sharpened to a razor’s edge. Red eyes locked on her and refused to blink. “Tell me more,” she demanded.

“He... he destroyed a lot, killed so many of us. But we fought him and... and I think we won? Maybe.”

“And then you awoke here?” she asked.

She frowned a little, gaze drifting over to the window. The moon hung close to the horizon. “The moon here is broken. It wasn't before.”

Salem’s breath caught, and for a few long seconds she wondered if something she said had hurt the woman. “I think I see. What else can you recall?”

She frowned, trying to make sense of the fragmented images she still had. “Lots of portals, and a city by the bay. It was... my city. My friends... I.” She stopped and with an effort of will moved her hand up to her face to wipe away some of the tears gathered there. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s fine,” Salem said.

“Where am I?” she asked Salem.

Salem took a while to respond. “You are on what remains of the world. What was left.” With a single graceful motion Salem uncrossed her legs and stood. “I have affairs to take care of. Rest for now. We can talk more later.”

“Okay,” she said. “Thank you.”

Salem paused, eyes glancing down for a moment before meeting hers again. “Akelarre,” she said before moving towards the door.

“What?” she asked.

“Your name, it shall be Akelarre.”