I felt an angel's silken wings enfold me with pure love

And felt a strength within me grow, a strength sent from above

********

The first time Priscilla felt the undead's arrival in the Painted World of Ariamis, she almost wept in frustration.

Why?

Why could the outside not leave them in peace?

Did they not understand that this was the only refuge for the discarded and abandoned?

Did they not know that the denizens were no threat and only responded to invasion?

The crossbreed felt the intruder as soon as he stepped through the painting.

Much like others of his kind, he had gorged himself on the souls of others. They permeated his flesh and spirit, blazing like a bonfire to her senses.

This one was powerful.

The most powerful to have ever invaded.

He was merciless and intense, slaying all who attacked him and growing stronger with every kill. He only fell a few times, not that it stopped him. The invader would be reborn, curse a bit before calming down and repeating the exact same phrase to himself. "Don't you dare go hollow."

He would then set off with a grim determination every time he rose, never making the same mistake twice.

The dragon girl felt a pang of sympathy for every one of her neighbours slain, though she knew they would return in a few weeks. They were hollow, so it took them longer to reform than those still blessed with wisdom.

Still, they were mortal; thus, undeath's curse would not allow them to perish forever, unlike herself and her kin.

Altogether, the invader was stronger than most but of no genuine concern. Her scythe would claim him if he continued his rampage. No different than other undead who ventured into her refuge.

So long as he did not attack her and simply left, she would not be forced to fight.

Priscilla hated fighting.

Then she heard him sing for the first time.

Before Ariamis had completed his work, the draconic child had been hidden away in the labyrinthine halls of Anor Londo, not allowed to attend the great gatherings with others of the godly courts.

Eons ago, she had heard minstrels and bards in the great theatres. Snippets of music had drifted to her ear, bouncing along the cavernous halls of Anor Londo, and she had followed them as best she could, invisible to all.

She had spied upon the greatest musicians the world had to offer as they wove their songs and dances for the joy of the gods.

They all paled before this one undead.

He sang when he was alone.

He sang while he fought.

He sang as he arose from death.

There was no music accompaniment, no instruments except the clashing of blades and the grunts of pain.

It was the most beautiful sound Priscilla had ever heard.

He sang of love and loss.

He sang of battle and blood.

He sang of places she had never heard, using unfamiliar words.

He sang in languages she did not know.

Rarely did the undead sing the same song twice, though he did have favourites he returned to. Hundreds of songs left him. Unique beats, unknown genres.

The undead knew not of her presence.

It was just him and his music.

Over the weeks he spent exploring the painted world, Priscilla followed him, invisible.

It was a guilty pleasure of hers.

While she hated the violent invaders, they were also the only new stimulation found in the Painted World.

And he made such beautiful music.

But all good things must come to an end.

The undead approached the ruined bridge that led to her home, felling the Tower Knight who defended it easily.

He crossed the threshold fog, the barrier a manifestation of her power that kept the mindless droves out of her quarters.

She was ready.

"Who art thou? If thou hast misstepped into this world, plunge down from the plank, and hurry home. If thou desire to join our refuge, I would ask thee to cease your violence with mine neighbours." She declared as regally as possible, imitating the likes of the nobles of Gwyn's court.

Please let that be true.

Please let him want to stay.

"If thou seekest I, thine desires shall be requited not." Some undead sought her out specifically. Whether at the urging of the other gods or on their own, the crossbreed did not know. They sought to slay her, to end the threat Lifehunt posed to the world or to purge the stain upon the honour of the other gods.

Priscilla gripped her scythe tightly.

Should he choose the path of violence, she would show no mercy. More than one undead had hollowed on the blade of her Lifehunt.

Besides, the undead needed no limbs to sing so beautifully.

She would take him below to her chambers.

Where he would be safe.

Forever.

It would be best if he stayed willingly.

The undead stared at her for a few moments, possibly in surprise. Did he not know of her, or was the undead deciding whether to attack?

His armour was damaged from his extensive battles, though she knew he cleaned it regularly. Clad in heavy steel and tattered cloth, he would be an intimidating sight to most, though she towered over him.

He raised his weapon, and she tensed only for him to flip it and drive its blade into the stone below. He then hung his shield on the Black Halberd's shaft. Reaching up, he unlatched his helmet and set it onto the pommel.

At some point between his last rest at a bonfire and arriving at her gate, he had used a fragment of Humanity to return the illusion of his mortal body.

Priscilla knew not why nor when.

She had hurried home to be in a presentable state for their meeting. She barely had time to brush her hair and tail.

Her clothes were still wrinkled, for Gwyn's sake!

Still, she relaxed a tad as combat did not seem imminent.

"Pardon the intrusion. I am Mikael," the undead spoke, even as he brushed snow from a step and sat down. "Your, uh, neighbours attacked first, and there are not too many friendly faces around. To have found one is a welcome change. Especially one as beautiful as you."

Priscilla knew she could not flush.

Her skin remained the pale white of fallen snow. She still fought off the smile that threatened to grow on her face. He was flattering her. She had never been called beautiful before.

It was nice.

"Prithee, tell me who thou art? Thou art foreign to this land?" She noticed he had stopped looking up at her, now staring behind her. She turned to look at what had caught his attention as subtly as possible.

Her tail had betrayed her.

The traitorous appendage swept back and forth in the snow, clearing an area of stone in its excitement.

Clearly, the flattery was more effective than she thought.

The crossbreed cleared her throat, drawing the undead's attention back to her face as she focused on keeping her tail still.

"Right, sorry about that." He bowed. Though he spoke as a lowborn, she was pleased he still maintained manners. "I come from a faraway land. Not even the gods have heard about it. Are you familiar with the problems of the outside world?"

"To a degree. Thou speak of the accursed dark sign?"

"Time and space are fracturing as the undead curse spreads." He explained. The hybrid actually knew about that. It had begun while she was still young. While she had been sequestered before the worst, the painting acted as both prison and fortress against the worst. "I appeared in the Asylum one day, cursed. Possibly due to the fractures, I was foreign to this land and its people. My companions remain safe but trapped on a faraway island. I seek to free them and learn more about the events leading to my undeath. My path has led me here."

"A noble goal." Though she approved of his motivation, it meant he would not remain here with her. "Thy quest must be harrowing. Why not rest with this one for a time? Thy companions would not begrudge you a repose."

"You've never met them." Mikael chuckled in good humour, but that only soured her more on these distant companions. They did not treasure this Bard as he should be. Not like she would. "I came here searching for help, and then I will be on my way."

"In what manner?" She asked warily. While putting Mikael in her debt would be nice, it was unnecessary.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Feelings would naturally grow over centuries spent together.

"As I said, I am cursed to wander while my companions are trapped," Sir Bard explained, smiling gently up at her. Priscilla's tail, the traitorous appendage that it was, started drawing symbols in the snow. "I have tested many things to discover more about the nature of the curse. One thing I have not been able to test requires the aid of a willing participant. I would like to see if I can free you from this prison with your permission."

"Free?" She asked, not comprehending his intent. Though all his talk of tests put her off, it reminded her too much of her father. "This one is not imprisoned. Ariamis' work is a refuge, far from strife and violence."

"I should probably explain more," Mikeal pulled out a box, one of those bottomless ones the enchanters liked to create. He rummaged around in it for a moment before removing a familiar doll. "This is what led me here."

"May I?" She asked before he continued, reaching out to the worn object. She hadn't seen it in centuries, a token of her childhood. Emotion welled up in her as the undead passed it to her, though it did not show on her face.

She would have been willing to do almost anything for Sir Bard for this token alone.

"The world outside is ending," the undead minstrel explained as he put away his box. "It will be reborn eventually, only to end again and again. This cycle will continue. Rise and fall. Until the flame is snuffed out completely. Gwyn has doomed the world to eternal twilight and the undead curse in his attempt to continue the Age of fire. Should my test succeed, you would escape that fate."

"In what manner?" Priscilla asked as she hugged the doll to her chest. The revelation about Lord Gwyn did not surprise her.

Even in her short time at his court, she understood well the nature of most gods.

"You would teleport to the Island on which my companions are located. It is a paradise. Their every need is taken care of. You would be trapped with them until I can free them. It is my hope that linking the fire will do so."

"Thou would have me imprisoned?" She asked, though not harshly. "Thou seek to fell the four lords, 'tis no easy task."

"There would be benefits," Sir Bard hurried to elaborate. "My companions would treat you well. The Island is much nicer than this place. You would also receive various blessings. You would grow in power and control. You would be able to make the most delicious food, sing the greatest songs, and never worry about safety again." Though the crossbreed was not tempted by the power or Island, she would be lying if she said she wasn't interested in eating food again.

To be able to sing as Sir Bard, that too would be a prize.

More than anything, the promise of companions almost had her agreeing. Ariamis' world was peaceful but oh so lonely.

She had more conversations in the last few minutes than in the centuries hence.

Still, from his words, Mikael was unsure of the success of this enterprise.

"I would demand a price of thee first." She said, trying to once more imitate the imperious tone some goddesses possessed.

"And that would be?" He asked warily.

"Thou must sing for me." Sir Bard was clearly surprised at her words, though he recovered admirably.

The crossbreed fought not to fidget.

She had meant to ask for more information, for guarantees of conduct and safety.

The words had slipped from her mouth without thought.

If Priscilla could blush in shame, she would.

"Sure, though if I am to pay such a steep price, I will demand one of my own." The humour in his voice eased her worry, though his following words shot a different kind of worry through her. "Let me pet your tail. It's been too long since I've had any floof time, and I am going through withdrawals."

"Very well, though I demand a song fit for a god." Priscilla kept her scythe in hand, just in case, as she approached his seated form.

Her tail betrayed her once more while she raised her robe slightly to sit appropriately.

It lay in his lap without command, shaking in excitement.

"Sure," he agreed readily. His hands started to pet and stroke the sensitive skin on her tail.

Oh.

Oh, gracious, that was nice.

He knew precisely how to stroke the fur above and scratch the scales below. As Priscilla melted into the ground beside him, his hands danced along its length.

Then he started to sing, his voice deep and smooth.

"Lay down

Your sweet and weary head

The night is falling

You have come to journey's end

Sleep now

And dream of the ones who came before

They are calling

From across the distant shore."

A lullaby, how lovely.

It reminded the hybrid of more innocent times.

When a kind voice would help ease the pain of loneliness. When the Painted World was new and bright. Someone would sing to her from the outside, and they, too, had a beautiful voice.

Sir Bard was superior, and the song was better now.

Fit for a goddess.

Not a filthy crossbreed like her.

As his fingers and voice eased her more than ever, lulling her to sleep, Priscilla did not feel the tiny prick of the bite.

********

Conscious returned to Priscilla slowly, dredging her up from the most restful sleep of her life.

She lay on a bed of silver, silken sheets falling from her body like water as she raised herself to sit on the side of the bed.

Someone had stripped her bare. She hoped it hadn't been Mikael.

She would hate to reveal her disgusting form to her Bard's eyes.

Standing, the crossbreed evaluated this new prison.

It was of a size with her own room in Ariamis' Painting, though much better appointed. Strange creations were against the far wall, metal and crystal rectangles.

Television and game consoles the hybrid somehow knew.

Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with innumerable thin books. Two doors lay to her left, both appropriately sized, while a smaller one was to her right. Dark drapes covered the windows beside her bed.

The first door on the left revealed a lavatory. It, too, was well-appointed. Priscilla did not understand the strange shapes and symbols. She understood the large tub was to be filled with water for bathing, and the smaller ones were to wash her hands.

The hybrid would have to ask the staff of this residence to bring some hot water at their earliest convenience.

Then she realized the nobs would release water at the temperature she desired.

Where was this knowledge coming from?

Priscilla shook off the thought. She could not remember the last time she had a warm bath.

The second door of her size was a closet filled with clothes well-tailored to her diminutive size. She appreciated the thoughtfulness of it, well aware of how difficult it was to work with such minuscule proportions. She had always been too small to be a full deity yet too large to be mortal.

More signs of her repugnant origins.

Not knowing the temperature or environment of the area, she chose to don a robe similar to the one she wore in the Painted World.

Now Priscilla faced an issue.

The other door, likely leading to an exit, was designed for mortals.

Though the crossbreed was much lesser than other deities or their retainers, she still had sufficient power to tower over them.

Priscilla frowned.

She supposed she would have to bear the discomfort.

Like squeezing into too-tight clothes, she shrank. It was not painful, but more annoying than anything else. A common spell that most beings of power learned to use to traverse a world not designed to hold their increased power and the size that accompanied it.

Grabbing her scythe from her bedside, it too shrank as a manifestation of her power, she stepped from the room.

The hall beyond was only dimly lit, moonlight filtering through the window at the end. Priscilla noticed the art, the other five hall doors, and the entrance beyond.

Like when she was a child, Priscilla quietly and invisibly made her way through the night. There was no snow here to indicate her footfalls; thus, her passage went unmarked.

She was unwilling to risk awakening other inhabitants out of fear and politeness. She knew nothing about her Bard's companions.

The stairs beyond the hall led her to the entrance, and her wandering stopped.

She passed through the glass doors without realizing it, entranced by the beauty before her.

She did not notice as she returned to her regular height or the woman sitting nearby.

A full moon shone its radiance upon an island of unsurpassed beauty.

With nary a cloud in the sky, Priscilla had a view unlike any she had ever seen.

The sea, an unfamiliar sight, gleamed like millions of jewels floated on its surface, and the sounds of the surf crashing rang out in the distance.

Below the hill on which the mansion was perched was a field of flowers swaying in the night air. Beyond lay an orchard, fruit she had never heard of dotting the towering trees. Beyond even that was a forest. Even in the moon's light, she could see vast swaths of green that went on for kilometres.

Towering peaks dotted the distance, covered in ice and snow. Over the sound of the surf, the hybrid picked up the sound of insects, birds, and animals from the forest.

The Island was more alive than anything the crossbreed had ever seen. Her Lifehunt let her sense the sheer vitality in the land and sea.

And the moon.

But all that disappeared when she as she saw IT.

The moon, the sea, and the Island were all dwarfed by the being that held it all in its great white claws.

They wrapped around the world as if holding a precious jewel. Five curved talons on each side held it in place. Focusing beyond them as much as possible, Priscilla realized they were pressing the Island against a scaled chest.

The hybrid felt herself grow warm, partly from the thick clothes she wore but primarily due to other reasons, an unfamiliar heat pooling in her chest.

Priscilla would have to reward her Bard somehow, at the same time as expressing her displeasure.

He had undersold just had excellent this new prison was.

"Oh god," a voice sighed in exasperation from beside her. "There's another one."

Turning to it, Priscilla was once more struck by a vision of beauty.

In her youth, the hybrid had seen Lady Gwynevere by chance. It had only been for a moment, but it had stuck with her all her life. She remembered thinking that there could be no one so beautiful.

The woman before her challenged that thought.

Sitting in a luxury chair, she leaned back in leisure. Her blonde hair fell past her shoulder like a river of platinum. She wore a positively scandalous white outfit that showed off her generous curves. Her legs, thighs, midriff, and top of her bosom were exposed for all to see. One hand held a crystal glass of wine, and the other covered her face.

Had this woman had a soul powerful enough to sustain a larger form, there would have been tourneys in her honour as gods and champions fought for her hand in marriage.

"Nope," the woman snapped. She removed her hand from her face, and piercing blue eyes stared up at Priscilla. "I am not dealing with this."

"Art thou Sir Mikael's companion?" The hybrid asked, slightly intimidated by her beauty and glare.

"His prisoner, you mean?" The blonde asked rhetorically. She stood, setting aside her drink. Though she was less than half Priscilla's size, her withering stare made the dragon girl feel very small. "We all are. That madman coned you into it, so you are one of us now. You shouldn't fall for the first pretty voice you hear. Men will make all sorts of promises to get what they want. Mikael, especially."

"I do not understand. My Bard did not lie." He had mentioned she would be a prisoner until he could free her. It had been an attractive idea, like one of the fairy tales of her youth.

Priscilla felt the need to defend his honour to this stranger.

"Nope, not dealing with this," the blonde repeated, setting off into the house, gesturing for Priscilla to follow. She did, shrinking again to fit through the doors. "Mikael is more dangerous than most. He did not need to lie. He made a little promise, sang a little song, and now you are attached to him for eternity. He will free us from this Island someday, sure. But we will never be free from him nor his influence."

"I do not understand." The hybrid repeated as she was led through the building and down some stairs. The halls were no longer made of wood but of well-carved stone. The occasional light source provided plenty of illumination, though she did not recognize their form.

"Of course you don't," the blonde leading her laughed hollowly. It sounded mad, so Priscilla widened the distance between them, gripping the scythe tightly. "Nobody does. I give all the warnings I can, and nobody listens. You will fit right in with these hero types. Gullible, the lot of you."

"I understand thou has grievance against Sir Bard," Priscilla responded as they stopped before a door. DO NOT ENTER was carved along its surface. "He has done me no wrong, and I will not allow a tarnish to his name without reason."

"Of course you won't," the blonde knocked on the door. She suddenly looked tired, like a weight had settled on her shoulders. Priscilla recognized the look of loneliness, though the crossbreed made no effort to comfort her. Not until she apologized for insulting her Bard. "When this is over, I hope you are sane enough to see."

The door opening halted any response Priscilla could have said to that strange utterance.

Framed by the room's light, the hybrid made out the form of another woman of great beauty.

Long purple hair fell past elfin ears, and purple eyes swept from the blonde to her. She was at least dressed appropriately, though her blue dress did not cover her ankles.

How scandalous.

"Emma? What is going on?" The new woman asked the blonde, Emma.

"New arrival. She's your problem now." Emma stepped away towards the stair back to the surface without another word.

The pair watched her leave before looking at each other.

"Apologies, I did not mean to disturb thee this late. If it is thy wish, we can meet again on the morrow?" Priscilla's long-disused lessons on courtesy had her perform a light curtsey, though her clothes were not the most appropriate.

"It's fine. I don't need sleep anyway. You can ignore Emma. She's just grumpy." The woman looked her up and down with interest. Priscilla noticed how her eyes lingered on the scales on her face, eyebrows, scythe, and tail. "I see Mikael's experiment was a success. I'm Medea. Who are you?"

"I am Priscilla," she answered. She had no further title, no land to claim, and no family to call her own.

She was simply Priscilla, the crossbreed.

"She's the one trapped in the painting." A new voice pipped up from behind her. "She appeared a few hours ago in one of the unused bedrooms."

The new arrival faded from the shadows behind the hybrid, her voice calm and without inflection.

Priscilla fought not to attack with her scythe on instinct. It would not do to kill any of her Bard's companions.

"Thou know of me," she asked instead.

"We knew Mikael was going to try to free someone trapped in a painting. Our last contact with him was before he entered." The cloaked woman explained monotonously.

"Raven," Medea nodded at the new arrival before stepping aside. "Why don't you both come into my workshop? We have much to learn."

Priscilla would have balked at the woman's voice at any other point in her life. She sounded like Seath in his more 'curious' moods.

But the hybrid barely noticed, nor did she care how her pointed ears wiggled in excitement nor how this woman's eyes devoured Priscilla's form.

Instead, the crossbreed gripped her scythe tightly, following Raven into the room as she came to a startling revelation.

Were all her Bard's 'companions' beautiful women?