CW:

Murder of Nightmares. Panic attack. Realizing obvious things about your namesake. um... yeah. mhm. yeah.

Everyone inside us, save one, is shrieking.

This wasn’t what She wanted.

Within, the little spirit and big spirit howl in despair as without this duenna holds us close.

Used and broken and rotting She… She just wanted to fix Her mistakes! Not hurt anyone! Was ready to seal off Her magic from even her Sun Spoken to stop them from becoming like him.

The World Song sways and buckles and burns around us as no melody leaves our lips.

But then he killed our gentle Inamatorii. The girl we promised to spend our final days with. And the Weaver lashed out just before Her Dream’s End came.

This duenna is trying to say things. But we can’t even begin to care about her words.

The goal and outcome of the spite woven all through everything? To bleed endless suffering for everyone who wished to bear the same mantles as he did.

Stone and glass and snow and more still begin to crack.

Soul Peeler.

The Song and Ocean and Flame and Soil and Storm and Glyphs and Amwella wrapped about our World screams louder still.

Spirit Breaker.

Duenna is shouting now.

Song Consuming Nightmare.

But not letting us go.

Man.

Just… weeping her own endless apologies as everything without pays the price for our pain.

Everything she never wanted to be, and the Weaver promised her she never was.

That causes the songless Dreadthing we’re screaming to hitch and crack. The echoing shadows of shred memories flashing through our mind of the girl the larger spirit longs for more than anything else… save Her smaller spirit.

W– wait. What?

Like a clump of dumped snow the world snaps back into place like nothing happened. Only a ringing in our ears and vague feeling of razor thin cracks left about.

She was like me?

The little spirit blubbers as the larger reels from the calcified memory. Everything stilling as we try to avoid division at the sudden and hard discord of focus and thoughts.

Born in a body and role she never wanted? Transgender? Made to give up her happiness for others?

Then we’re laughing at the smaller’s sputtering broken emotions.

“Why am I so fucking stupid?” The little spirit titters through the tears.

The larger spirit chides her but… can only huff in loving exasperations. Of the two of us, that should have been a fact I recalled more easily. Shared with you. Tried… tried to dig through the muck to understand better.

“Ina?” Zigdara rasps.

We freeze, terror spiking at how cracked her voice sounds and stiff these movements are and the trembling that rolls through her like the storm under a sea. Horrified at the idea that we wounded our protector in our maddened pained fury.

Jerk around to see…

She’s okay. Not a scratch on her body or soul. Just… face all muppy and covered with her own tears.

“We’re so sorry…” We trail off as we messily wiggle around her embrace to wipe at the mess on our face. Then reach up to try and help clean away her’s. “That was a lot. And we realized things and like… We’re sorry. We’re so so sorry!”

Zigdara pulls us close again before we can finish. “No. You’re… you’re not responsible for what was done to you. And I should not have told you this here. We should have at least been below. Among your lovers. At most waited until we were home. Safe and warm and not surrounded by expectations and duties.”

We sigh and lean into her against the cold. Grumble softly. “Yeah well… We demanded it.”

She trembles, and our duenna chokes out another heart-tearing sob as she whispers. “I’m sworn to protect you both, and… and that means from words and memories. This was a mistake. As… as was my doing nothing for you before. For any of them.”

“Zigdara…” We huff out and trail off.

Try to find all the words our lovers and other much smarter sorts have told us. Find the memories of our late-night talk with Redrogal to help lay everything in a messy row in our mind.

“There are poisons. In Arudia and Lyttoral.” We start. “Ideas and roles and like… stories we’re all taught. Things we might feel are wrong but don’t have the words to push against. And even if we did, everyone else would rather do anything but admit that the things they’ve consumed their entire lives were hurting others. For us… we had little power to change our life, and so these poisons choked us. You, however, did have power. But we think that’s because you were someone who those that gave you that power ensured accepted those poisons. Kept them close and made certain all others did too in deft and gentle ways. And would have lost everything to try and change even a little bit of the mixture.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“Inamatorii…” She whispers. “That… That’s no excuse.”

“No. It’s not.” We agree, wiggling free of her firm embrace enough to find her face and touch foreheads. “It’s just… understanding. Explaining how we think that you, such a gentle and even-tempered woman, were made to uphold something you see as so wrong now.”

“So… We can hopefully sway others?” Our duenna asks.

“Maybe...” We murmur and trail off. Consider for a few long moments before finding the right words. “It would be nice, to have others see and change more willingly. But this is for you, and us. To help clean away the muck so we can understand the wounds beneath.”

Zigdara swallows, and nods. “Yes. That’s… that’s good. I agree. And… I wanted to speak with you about something. A thing I should have realized sooner. But not now. Later. In warmer places, and with steaming mugs with your lover’s close. Either one or both spirits present.”

“Of course.” We agree. “Anything you need. If you think it can w–”

But a smell catches our attention.

Sweet, but fowl. Like rotting honey but acidic. Burning.

“Dreamer's Tits and Rotting Cunt, our… our nonsense lured them here.” We hiss and finish slipping free of our duenna’s arms. “Nightmares.”

Them. More than one. Like pests to a corpse they smelled our wails of pain and slipped from Dreams into the real.

“Where? What can I…” Zigdara trails off and rises too, even reaching back to grip at the dull bronze blade she insisted on bringing.

But she knows the answer.

Nothing.

Or… at least we’d rather her not try to wrestle one of these broken mewling things into submission while it tears at her Amwella and flesh.

“Keep close, but do not try to fight one of these things.” We demand and step from the little glass plant-home to gaze about the rooftop.

Two spirits melding close as we consider…

The Peeling Shrike. The larger insists.

But… The smaller murmurs as our eyes and ears cast about the rooftop. What about the memories?

The larger spirit curls about the smaller, easily letting the weight of Her fear and fury bring vibrancy to her reply. Those memories are naught but Dead Ash if they come at the cost of ourselves or any of our lovers or allies. And our Amwella is fast dwindling even now. We cannot risk this.

The smaller winces. This costs much less than the Peeling Shrike to weave. Can… Can we try? Please? Or… or you can let me do this and keep me safe? Make sure I don’t make a mistake and give it too much?

A pause.

Once we ensure everyone is safe… Is the growl from the larger. We’ll let our lover’s guide our actions.

The smaller huffs as the smell turns from a light thing on the wind to a stench that overwhelms. Wishing so much to offer the approaching nightmare a soft song and offering but…

It’s already dropping down at us from above like some angry Cretilla.

Backstep, hiss out a snap-quick whistle at what looks like a bunch of weird fish with all their tails and fins tied together swallows the space we were just in, and watch as the nightmare is Peeled from this Waking World.

Without hesitation we step through the ashen muck of the fading corpse, glance back to find our duenna frozen with such an odd expression upon her face.

“Come. This wasn’t the only one.” We sigh and decide to ignore the muddy feelings her twisting of pain and worry cause us.

She swallows, nods while drawing her blade, and moves around the corpse to stand at our side. “As you say. I’ll remain close and direct us back to the others.”

We stride forward after giving her a hopefully confident smile and nod.

No more scurry about the rooftops. Which worries us.

Means… Means they are possibly below and… and hunting the others! The smaller spirit worries.

Emarial and Rahdian will keep most safe. The larger assures while we cross the distance to reach the doorway to the stairwell.

Open it, start to move and–

A howling snarling mess of sharp wiggling shadows lunge, all awash with that foul stench.

Something that draws out our own snarling retort as we easily step aside, pulling Zigdara from its path with strength she’s unprepared for, then snap out another focused whistle of our Peeling Shrike.

Lingering scent reminds us of… something.

But of course we can’t consider the agitated memory as we take up Zigdara’s hand and tug her forward. The little spirit trying to focus on movements as the smell makes our stomach turn over while the larger works very hard to keep their songs crisp and efficient.

Okay. First to find out if the third group is safe. See if they went to meet up with our lovers and such.

“To reach the final group we will go left, then a sharp right at the intersection, after that simply forward till we find an alcove.” Zigdara supplies before our feet touch the bottom of the steps.

We increase our pace at that. Take a few measured sniffs to see…

Two ahead. And a third still trying to bubble through. But… all in a single room?

We quickly find the door, make sure Zigdara isn’t looming like a fool, and crack-snap it open.

A couple more sharp whistling Shrikes, and the two weird ones trying to hide in the shadows are dead. Slumping mucky mess onto the carpets from the walls they clung to. Only leave little scratches on the paint to mark our work. But the third…

A mewling weeping mess hiding in the corner.

We hesitate. Discord rippling through us and threatening Division.

Please. The smaller whispers. Just… Leave it for now? Let me ask after we’ve made sure everyone is okay?

This is just… just a sad song of fear and pain and loneliness and fear and wretched mewling weakness only spewing out because it doesn’t have the power to break us to its wishes. The larger growls.

The nightmare writhes and tries to pull away. To run. Still burping out little things that sound like a tree is gasping for air while sobbing.

The smaller takes a deep breath, and asks a simple question.

Can you trust me more than you fear them?

The larger snarls at that, turns a blazing wroth of everything rotting to glare at the smaller. Wanting… so much to tell her that this question is not just simple but WRONG.

That She isn't afraid of this pathetic thing. Doesn’t find it anything more than a disgusting mess of a wretch worthy of less sympathy then the lowest scum in the pond.

The smaller whispers gently while holding onto the larger through Her fury. Being afraid of what this one could do or take from you isn’t like… unreasonable. Just… Can you trust me? Let me try? Only Peel it away if this nightmare tries to attack or take more than what I offer?

The larger snarls and hissing and spits at the smaller’s horrid demand.

Not a demand. This is your choice, okay? I won’t be angry with you if… if this is too much. The smaller promises. Then nuzzles close to wait. Doesn’t try to push Her to choose something because She was forced.

A long pause passes as the larger boils in fury, but… then she jerks around to leave the room, pulling the door shut behind. Hisses a soft melody to the door that will keep it locked from all others.

Thank you. The smaller whispers as they turn to continue to the alcove.

The larger does not offer any replies beyond not hiding the conflicted mess roiling within Her.

Made worse at how the curse simply rests happily between them.

But… then we arrive at the alcove to find it empty.

“Good. This means they would either be closer to the others or–”

But a rumbling hissing howl through the manor cuts off our words. Like some… weird little storm let out a big burp. We stand a bit confused until we feel the subtle rise in temperature.

And the subtle songs beneath the heat.

“Ah. It seems our elder is weaving.” We murmur and begin to move along the quickest path to the entrance to this wing.

“That means she’s aware of the danger and acting.” Zigdara sighs in relief, then moves to lead us back to the others.