feeling twenty-two, acting seventeen

(Note from the Editrix: Because these are mounting, sadly, I'm going to start generally indicating when they were written, as opposed to published. This one was written on the 28th of July, using pictures taken on the 26th, and...it's the last full picture run I took. This may be the last of the cycle.)



it's what you do, it's what you see
I know if I'm haunting you, you must be haunting me

The one thing I do not doubt is that I'm thought of. The one thing I know for a surety is I hold him in mind--along with my dominant, along with my RL loves, along with the wandering Duke. My head may be constrained by blood and bone, but my heart has always been bigger on the inside. There's room.



it's where we go, it's where we'll be
I know if I'm onto you, I'm onto you
onto you, you must be on to me

Was it just that I had a specific goal for this set? I wanted dieselpunk, or its nearest equivalent, and while I didn't exactly find everything I was looking for, I found enough. And for once, the quiet streets, the empty houses didn't bother me. Things are by no means peaceful at this point, but...some of the screaming has died down.



my haunted lungs, ghost in the sheets
I know if I'm onto you, you must be haunting me
my wicked tongue, where will it be?
I know if I'm onto you, I'm on to you
onto you, I'm onto you
onto you, you must be on to me

Can I make peace with something I don't want to make peace with? If it's important, if it's required, I can, and I will. I will find a way. Will it be yet another regret on the unsteady pile? Oh, yes, very much yes. But I have so many already, what's one more?



you want me? I walk down the hallway
you like it? The bedroom's my runway
slap me! I'm pinned to the doorway
kiss, bite, foreplay

Finding the Black Sun Tabernacle's sim marks the second place I found I intend to visit again. The Deathlands I've already returned to once, but it's that feel of desolation, of abandonment of the old, forging of the new, that draws me there. Black Sun is...different. And it may not end up being more than an occasional visiting spot; in these charged times, any link to Nazi symbolism is something to be wary of, but...nothing I saw loudly proclaimed alt-right, fascist, or even, necessarily, Germanic belief sets, so...I will keep my guard up, but I will visit again.

And it is most definitely an Adult sim, with a very specific angle, and it is not an angle I've ever had. (Outside of one brief tryst in Lumindor when the new-born succubus emerged with a lass, and I discovered apparently the succubus was fertile...)

(Which, in less RP terms, was the absolute last time I played with organic attachments that more naturally belong to other genders, because that whole ensuing melodramatic pregnancy scenario? Nightmarish start to finish.)



my haunted lungs, ghost in the sheets
I know if I'm haunting you, you must be haunting me
my wicked tongue, where will it be?
I know if I'm onto you, you must be onto me

If nothing else, it's a very pretty spot to sit by the sea, or to drink a glass of wine while perusing the news. I could see returning for that alone, at least until the Nazi angle is discovered, or decried.



it's what we see
I know if I'm haunting you, you must be haunting me
it's where we go, it's where we'll be
I know if I'm onto you, I'm onto you

And maybe there's nohwere left to go. Maybe the decision is what it's always been. Maybe it's not. Either way...I'm declaring an end to obsessing, at least for now. It may not get better, but at least it won't get worse.



onto you, I'm onto you
onto you, you must be onto me

I won't lie, there are times I miss my brief stint in Babbage, too, but it's never called to me as strongly as Caledon. Or Winterfell-turned-Rosehaven. But there is something absolutely unique about Babbage's mix of heavy iron and ethereal fog, and even in the places where there is more light, more life, this is what I think of when I think of Babbage: the overcast docks, still but for the sound of washing waves, and distant ships' bells as they move ponderously down the coast.



on to you, I'm on to you
on to you, I'm on to you

But, now we're here. Over a month of analysis. A lot of kilometers covered on the grid. A lot of heartache, a lot of confusion, some few tears. Some nightmares turned dreams. But along the way, good things happened too: work picked back up in a good way. The wandering Duke returned, and while he may not bring Armada back, or Gearhaven, due to (if nothing else) the current ban on region sales through the Lab, something else may happen.

Some fences were mended. Many discussions were had. That other heart bought me a horse, and...I won't lie, I never thought of myself as part of the riding set, but...it's really fun. Far more fun than it has a right to be.

And while I've said I've started to heal before, there was always a chance the bandages would tear, the stitches would rip, and some did. But now, I think, there's been enough recovery that I can honestly say--I may still be bruised, I may still be hurting, but I'm not actively bleeding out from another soul wound. That's not nothing.

And even the dreams are more comfort than agony and yearning, and...that's not nothing, either.

I can work with this. I've had less to work with as a restarting point. From here, at least, I can still see support, I can still see affection, I can still see I'm not alone. And sometimes...that's really all we need.

(Pictures were taken at Cassandra City, Black Sun Tabernacle, the 1920s Berlin Project, the Theriomorph Emancipation Association on the Babbage Canals, the Trocadero Club and Carmen's Art Deco Ballroom. Lyrics from Beyonce's Haunted.)

how will this pan out? search and wish, so loud

Tuesdays are prime for wandering, because I'm a massive fan of the 25LT sales group. While the initial group of designers started out with a decided Gorean bent, they've since expanded to anything that can be considered roleplay or fantasy based, and now have several merchants that offer things suitable for medieval wear, Gorean RP, and rustic home decor. I've been very pleased with how they've grown.

How'ver, since it did start out as a more Gorean-themed sales event, there's a lot of kajira, Free Women and warlords who wander, as well. So--while I am liable at any point to pull profiles if I'm curious--I tend to emphasis it on Tuesdays, because I'm the curious sort and it's convenient.

Of course, I don't always get the answers I expect, and...frankly, that's part of the fun.

From a random profile:

Unseelie Code:
Change is good
Glamour is free
Honor is a lie
Passion before duty

Changelings are creatures of dream, a fae soul trapped in mortal flesh, easily able to shift between a mortal seeming and their fairy mien. Born of two worlds, they live in the mundane, but truly exist in a world of fantasy, mists, and dreams.

Changelings experience the world as a magical, mystical place filled with amazing and exciting things. They are travelers of the dream realm, masters of illusion, empaths and manipulators of emotions. They feed on the musings and emotions of others to inspire and power their magic.
http://www.angelfire.com/ms/changelinginfo/kithain.html

So, I went off to read the link, and...it strikes me as more White Wolf/Changeling: the Dreaming general roleplay, than anything, but I am intrigued that--without specifically knowing about this page of 'kith breakdowns'--I had initially set myself up in Lumindor as a changeling phouka.

From the page:

Pooka (POO-kuh):
The shapechanging tricksters. All pooka are tied to a specific type of animal, and in their fae miens will have aspects of that animal (whiskers, scales, feathers, ears, tails, etc.). They are able to shapechange into that animal, if unobserved. They are also great listeners, and can often persuade people in conversation to tell them some of their most protected secrets. They have a problem telling the truth though. The truth simply isn't interesting to a pooka, and they feel that they must always improve on it in some way.

Ah, improooovements. Well, I won't say I've ever been committed to portraying any one fixed "truth", and I do like to think--whether true or not--that my sense of honor and personal bent towards honesty are firmer than this description...I have in the past and likely will continue telling truths that don't necessarily mesh with the rest of the tellers out there, simply because I see things so differently at times.

What largely influenced me, setting up my little fae for Lumindor, was the Phouka from Emma Bull's War for the Oaks, as well as both Irish and Welsh mythologies concerning the concept. At the time, running around Lumindor, I had my standard, very short, pale fae for Court functions, a black-furred Tiny rabbit avatar, and a black anthropomorphic horse (and later, with some given relational controversy, a dappled grey four-legged horse). At the time I kept looking for a black four-legged goat avatar, as well--I would've settled for an anthropomorphic goat, even--but at the time, I never found one.

Still, me being me, other things crept in, and felt natural to express. Antlers, or other forms of horns; wings; and cat ears, tails and whiskers. These aren't precisely part of the phouka mythology, but...they felt right, so I didn't overthink it.

And by the time I joined Caledon, wearing these little extra details had become second nature. Even now, I feel more comfortable in a set of horns, or cat ears and tail, than I ever do in purely human guise.

I still refer to myself as fae when asked. I still think of myself as Unseelie. I don't think I precisely match other Unseelie on the grid--the Unseelie in Laurell K. Hamilton's Merry books would say there's too much Seelie in my makeup--but I'm always amused to find someone else drawn to the Winter Court.

Something else from that same gentle's profile I fell in love with:

➊. If I like it, it's mine.
➋. If I saw it first, it's mine.
➌. If it's in my hand, it's mine.
➍. If it looks like mine, it's mine.
➎. If I had it a little while ago, it's mine.
➏. If I can take it away from you, it's mine.
➐. If there's more than one, ALL of them are mine.
➑. If you have something and you put it down, it automatically becomes mine.
➒. If it's mine, it must NEVER appear to be yours in any way.
➓. If I get bored with it or it breaks, it's yours.

Ah, cat rules. I recognize these.

My cats on the grid aren't quite this grabby, but on occasion, these behaviors have surfaced, for all I do my best to play the lady, and not the gutter-kitten.

Profile-pondering is fun.

and you may be acquainted with the night, but I have seen the darkness in the day

Today is International Talk Like William Shatner Day (in honor of his seventy-eighth birthday). You must see that, if you're any level of fan at all--because it's five minutes of everything! It's got instructions on how to talk like William Shatner; it features anecdotes on his career; it has instructions on how to talk like Orson Welles! It's five minutes of everything!

Go watch. We'll wait. (And thank you, Edward, I would not have known had you not sent that to me!)

Now, then. We pick up more or less where we left off yesterday, today with a comment from Yumi Murakami on Cory Edo's post:

The basic problem is that so much of this plan is unstated so far. We don't know:
- what the guidelines and borderlines for content that must absolutely be moved are going to be;
- what responsibilities avatars and landowners on the PG grid are going to have.

For example, "having a sex bed in your house will not get you moved" - well, that sounds OK - but a sex bed, plus a few emotes, becomes a rape scene. A medieval castle with a set of stocks outside might have them used for sexual purposes or might not, how will LL decide? Will it be based on the wishes of the landowner - which might not be respected by visitors, so a user could still encounter adult content on that land?

It's all in how things are used, isn't it? Say you have an attractive pose bed. It has fluttering curtains, a simple linen counterpane, spiraling mahogany posts. It sits at the top of your house, where one-way glass lets you recline upon it and look out a clerestory window.

You bought the bed because it had full functionality, but now, most of the time you use it for cuddling with your sweetie, or just--as some avatars, including me, occasionally still do--laying down to sleep before you log out.

You do nothing untoward or sexual on that bed now. It has everything, but it's not being used.

So. You're off somewhere far from home. Maybe even far from the grid. Some newb hustler and his blonde bimbette of choice break into your house (not that hard, even locking the doors won't stop some people) and find your sex bed. They start writhing on it with their oiled skins and screaming OMG YES THERE OH at the top of their lungs. One of your neighbors gets ticked off, cams in, sees them--and ARs you.

You weren't even home. But now you've got the abuse report team notifying you that your "adult" equipment needs to go, or you need to move.

Is this plausible? Likely? That's the thing, we don't know. And I'm sure discussion is all well and good, but at this point, shouldn't the Lindens have some idea of what they want done?

Cory Edo fails to get the point again:

Again, Blondin said personal stuff in your own house isn't subject to this. Its a moot point to freak out about. And how do you know the people that don't want to live next to an extreme sex club are in the minority? Compared to the people that actually make a living off the extreme sex scene, I'm pretty sure they're not.

All right, let's take your average Jane Rickshaw (apologies if there is an actual av with that name out there, it wasn't intentional). She's maybe calming down from her days as a surfer blonde, she's looking for new property because her beach house rezoned into a dance club, and part of where she likes to walk along the surf takes her into their music range, and she's just not that into "getting jiggy with it".

Someone tips her to Caledon, and she wanders around for a few days, and talks with some of the residents, and decides the land and the people are just adorable, and she must move in. She buys a little parcel in Mayfair, next to someone's mini-castle, and she thinks she's found her home on the grid.

One day, she's out flying (in a hot air balloon, it was just so cute she had to buy one), and she rises maybe a bit higher than she should, losing sight of the ground below. At 900 meters she comes across a square of dark-pigmented stone hanging in midair, someone's skybox. She accidentally (or maybe not so accidentally) cams inside and sees stocks. And stretching racks. Things with rings and cuffs attached. She's so very shocked, she stands up and plummets to the ground.

She promptly ARs everyone she can track down, and for good measure complains to the Guvnah. And she tells everyone she knows about how shocked and horrified she is.

1. Is Miss Jane wrong to complain?
2. Is Miss Jane complaining about an extreme adult situation that needs to have the owners of said skybox give up their own parcel of Mayfair and move to Pervistan?
3. Does Miss Jane need to move to a more PG-friendly area herself?

Before you answer any of those questions pro or con, for those who don't know, all the sims of Caledon are private estate lands. In fact, the big names in the sex industry--which isn't what Caledon is in the least--nearly all have their own estates at this point. Private estates will not be affected by this ban/relocation plan; the Lindens have said that much at least.

Let me say that again because it sounds vaguely important: Private estates that feature adult content will not be moved, only "adult-themed" mainland ones.

So what's "adult-themed"? To Miss Jane, that skybox--though clearly above 750 meters, as is currently the restriction in Caledon for adult activity--is far beyond what she thinks she should have to deal with. To anyone else, though? That would be everyday happenings in Caledon. If you don't want to potentially be offended, don't be nosy, goes the thinking.

And again, private estates will not have to move. Necronom VI, the Doomed ship, Toxia (originally started, amusingly enough, as a reaction to the factioning and off-balance roleplay in Lumindor), Midian...none of these places are on the mainland.

So what are people complaining about? Escort services, I'm sure; the tackier of the free sex areas that don't have their own islands as well; strip clubs where noobs wander asking for sex and it's a grind and a half to get tipped. But they mentioned violence as well--and that has to go beyond Jessie's redneck elves, doesn't it?

People continue to wrangle, and Cory Edo continues to wrangle back, for the next ten pages or so; there were some fun comments on either side, but in the end, I decided not to go with quoting either.

What I will say about the various parry-and-retreat sessions going on is this: Cory doesn't get it. He's fixated on what the Lindens have said in these five various threads, which all boils down to Stop worrying, stuph in your home isn't a problem, it's just the stuph that goes way over the line, okay? Like rape and killing and stuph. What we all know is something people just don't want, right?

And therein lies the crux of the problem.

Perceive this clearly: I am not playing advocate for damaging places. I don't care who you are, no one wants a rape for breakfast. That being said, however, that's not what those of us against this plan are really most upset about. What we keep coming back to--and what the other side keeps not hearing--is that the definitions for "Adult" and even Mature are iffier than we want. And perhaps more than a few of us are coming to the realization that the definition for "Mature"--in place years now--has always been iffy.

And we're suddenly feeling a very deep unease, because on the one hand, we're being explicitly told--by Lindens--that skin shops and sex equipment in homes won't label anyone "Adult"--but their very own rules say otherwise. It's confusing, it's frightening, and it's angering.

Ananda Sandgrain sums it up nicely:

How would I measure offense? I have no idea, that's why this is such a troubling issue! Better to allow easily-offended folks to move into a gated community at their own option rather than engage in what could be an enforcement nightmare and encourage witch-hunts all over again like we had with the "short av omg age-play" debacle.

And let me tell you, since I was forefront in most of that, spending a large number of days at that time as a short--but I thought mature-looking--doll--trust me, I got everything from warnings that there would be warnings, to death threats--and no, I'm not kidding. Because I had a key in my back and was under seven feet tall, people took time out of their day to IM me and say I should be ashamed of myself for "being seen like that" and should just kill my avatar and get off 'their' grid.

You think segregating "Adult" businesses and individuals--under any definition--will help this situation? What are the Lindens really trying to accomplish?

While, I likely will continue this off and on, the nail in SL's coffin for me was hammered in by Jeska Linden:

Let's be clear here - this change is not about deleting content or controlling behavior. All of the same content will still be available, just located in a different "virtual" location (and still a teleport away!).

This change is about enhancing Second Life for all Residents by giving them greater control over their inworld experiences. It should help to allow a greater granularity of control over what Residents see, and provide the best available method to make Adult content accessible only to those who ought to (and who desire to) access it.

Let me be absolutely clear here: while all of the advertising, media stories, and interviews that have come out of Linden Labs trump loudly and victoriously about Second Life being the place where we can truly live life again--making different choices, doing different things, and by that same extension, connect to more people, expose ourselves to new ways of communicating and interacting...the Lindens do not believe this.

Listen. Listen carefully. The Lindens do not believe that their game is anything more than a game.

Like WoW. Like Runes. Like PSO. Like Ragnarok Online. Like LoTR Online, City of Heroes...

Hello Kitty Online.

Gaia.

There.com.

Do I even need to continue? We are living in a world that its creators do not believe in. "What's the fuss all about?" they will continue to say. "It's just a different port." I mean, it's not like moving matters, it just means you're shifting to another server, right? It's not like you matter, either, right? I mean, you could still be you, in Second Life...or Ultima...or World of Warcraft...or...any other game, right?

It doesn't matter. Here, there, it doesn't mean anything, so why get worried?

If this is really what they're thinking, I can't think of a single reason other than the friendships formed to stay playing their damned "game"! If it's not more than that, why are any of us in there day after day? Though I did give up my premium membership over their complete and utter mishandling of the Homestead situation, I was contemplating reacquiring it. Now, I can't think of a single reason, including those friendships, why I would.

This is a very bitter place, and I'm going to get away from it soon, because it's very much like bathing in acid while eating tin foil, sharp and disturbingly painful. But right now, all I can think of is--why are they even bothering asking our opinion, if this is what they think of their game? Why not just eliminate adult content entirely, one mouse click, and they can have their "better world"? I mean, it's not like it matters in any way. After all, none of us are real...

When Runes of Magic loads, or one transports within the system to any other location, there is a transit screen with a bearded, strong-thewed Nordic warrior, the scantily-clad lady mage behind him casting powerful bolts from her outflung hand, as monsters encroach. They use this screen to pass on handy tips from the company, as SL does with its load-in screen.

One of their tips is in the nature of a reminder, to remember that every player we see and interact with is a real human on the other side of the screen, so be polite. Be nice. Remember what may seem like a mortal slight or a grievous emotional injury here may not be read in the same way by that other human, so keep it in mind.

I think the Lindens have forgotten we're real people on the other side of our screens. I think they've lost all perspective that we're not just little plastic people with fake names, animated by whimsy and will.

And that, if nothing else, is what will kill this "game". Because if it's just a game, then there's no real need for any emotional--or financial--commitment to it. After all, there are more games out there, aren't there? I mean, none of this actually matters...it's just pixels.

But to some of us, it matters. It matters greatly. Too bad the Lindens aren't listening...yet again.

I picked up the pieces of my broken ego

((RP mode...ish.))

Had a desperate need to see less in my inventory, yet again. So very long ago, I swore to go down at least 10,000 items over the course of a month.

Well, it took me a month and a half, but I went from a bit under 47,000 to a bit over 35,000, which isn't bad, really. Realistically, that's fairly impressive.

Then, several hunts happened, and much freebie-gathering, and a bit of building here and there...and I slowly crept up again. Down to 32,000 and change at one point; back up to 38,000...back down to 35,000...

Finally I found myself at 37,814 and said enough. And started making storage prims.

Frocks. Pretty little minis. Furniture I didn't want to get rid of. Scripts I had no clue--yet--on how to use. One prim. Two prims. Three.

The fourth? Photographs. And therein, we hit the snag.

So afraid to open your eyes
You know too well that which awaits you
Something undefined there in the halflight

The exes. The loves departed. The loves nevermore to be.



The man-hater. Gone, both bitter and sweet, never to return. Never could get around that one obstacle--that she hated more than I loved. Gone and gone and away from the world.

Do you still hear their laughter
So hard to describe
You never forget the faces that haunt you



The kitten. Gone, but not forgotten, never forgotten. Still catch words through the aether, now and again, but it doesn't lessen missing him. Glad for him, glad he thrives in lands beyond, but...I do, I do still, miss him here.

Can you remember
a day when it was not, not like this?
Unsure of yourself, unsure of your thoughts
Unable to know if what you think is right or wrong



The vampire. Gone, dead and gone. Mourned and gone. Nothing left of the Warrior I knew, so long ago now.

Like someone pushes a blade through your mind
There on the edge where no-one will find you
Still hearing them laugh



The misunderstood. Gone, and never to understand again...and so much with him.

The demon without
The demon inside to plague and torment you



And gone, my Raven, gone, in some battle I can't even lay name to, some ridiculous border conflict that claimed him before I ever knew to miss him. Gone and gone, gone as the land we held so dear.

Nothing is wrong
The demons they have left you
You were not left behind



And gone, the demon, gone, in so many ways...gone and turned, and gone and bound against, and riven even from his own skin, gone from me--

So long ago. All of them, so long ago. So why does it still hurt? Why do I still hurt for their loss?



But there's a change...finally, a change.

Though whether it bodes well, or ill...that, I don't know.

Yet.

And...down to 35,453. It's a start...

(Snips of VNV Nation's "Left Behind" used.)

he's the bafflement of Scotland yard, the flying squad's despair

((RP MODE))

Yestereve, I attended the wake of one I'd known briefly, but I thought, moderately well, for all of that. A mage of great skill, a Drow of honor that the Winter Court esteemed highly. One to whom I turned, in time of distress, for the healing and affectation of a warrior woman who had, alas, grown gravid with child.

Mine, for all that she was female, and I was. Being a shapeshifter of such diverse skill is not, always, the greatest comfort.

She had grown hysterical with the need not to bear what I had, all unknowing, placed within. Amongst her people, such children were abominations, and she would not see past but that I was evil, and she would be, would she allow this babe birth.

I had left the matter in her hands, to decide. I have a woman's heart, and in most respects, always a woman's form, and I could not take the choice of her own heart from her hands. And she chose to end the life within.

Though this grieved me dire, I let her words stand, and sought one who could help with such a thing. And found the mage, the Drow, who was stern, as he should have been, but ultimately, understanding. And in a rite of no small terror and great confusion, he took the babe from her in a burning orb of green balefire while she screamed that she was dying, and I was killing her.

I bowed my head and let it happen. She had asked for this. I had allowed it. My child--my neverborn girl child--never drew air in this realm and perished.

Weeks later, when the woman finally fled Lumindor, and my touch, never to be found again, she left the husk of the babe at the base of my tree, and I dug the bones deep and enspelled myself to forget where they rested.

Lo, these many weeks, months, years later--longer by my memory, of course, than by the world's--I heard of his passing. But not as Drow.

It seems his secret life was led amongst more mortal lives, and he was a guardian of Caledon's skies. Something untoward had felled him; the wreckage of his flying craft was found beneath the waves; I never ascertained precisely what, and truly, it is not my place to know.

It was my place to travel to the site where his widow grieved his loss, and pay the respects of the Unseelie, both the Winter Court's and my own.

I do not know how all attendants viewed my presence; I do know many had never seen me invested in Unseelie flesh, they had never seen my tricolor eyes, my Sidhe scarlet hair; I make no bones about being shapeshifter, being occasionally fae, but in Caledon, at least, I am not generally seen as such.

But it was worth such revelation; it was a necessary thing, for me, to wish the passing of this one be held with honor, and wish all life's blessings to come on his widow.

The Wheel spins, and life goes on; we call and count our honored dead. Let this memory lessen grieving; and fell light shine again when it may.

I breathe deep and cry out: isn't something missing?

((RP MODE))

I knew I'd been gone for some time. I knew that. I knew time spent in the fae realm (where I'd only been briefly, on probationary permissions, since the succubus had--for all appearances--left me) passed, on frequent occasion, both slower and faster than time in the world.

I'd known all that, and known Lumindor was changing.

Even so, the changes startled me.

Yet again, I recognized nothing. I arrived to what had been, what had always been, the slope above the bathing pool, even when the pool itself had gone, the hot mineral springs that fueled its magics dried up and diverted. But nothing else.

Not Gallows Hill. Not the village. I could not find the camp of the Rom or the unhallowed graves of the slain my succubus so vividly remembered. I did find the tower, radiating green and red light, and running with lava pools beneath snow that nearly burned with cold. I veered from landing there, shaking my head.

Then...there...in the distance. I saw...something.

Something I might know.



I hovered over it, tossing my head. These were the shapes I knew, but the very stone of the sithen had changed. Our sithen, so drastically altered...How? And by seven stars and seven holy oaks, why??



Impatient, I wished myself inside, as I had in the days when the sithen fought my entrance. I ended up near where I'd last seen my lost Raven, deep in his madness, fighting the demon changing his blood. I recognized my Queen's lilacs, but saw nothing else but the odd green stones. I did find a ramp down, and my feet sought it out.



My lip curled. It smelt of humans here, of draconic energies pleasantly, but not the dragon to which our Court was allied. Of other things. My fingers scattered the books on the table as I shook my head.



I could make neither heads nor tails of the names on the map. I dismissed it and went to where I heard the waters call below.



Finally, the heart of the sithen...as I...

Well. Nearly as I remembered, yes, but...not exactly. The portal rock was no longer missing, true, but now it was boarded over by a gate. Marked with vampiric sigil! My eyes narrowed, and I stalked around my former beloved home.



My touch still opened the throne room door. I stalked in, head high, and my eyes grew wide at the dark basalt dais supporting yet more human-built, hewn-wood furniture. The Queen's lilacs and willows still grew, but whose was the banner behind the dais?

I feared I knew, all too well.



I sat for a bit, on rugs that fae feet had never, apparently, trod, contemplating futility, the unchanging-in-flux that is the paradox of faery, and the perfidy of humans. I didn't have the time for such musings, I had to be away.

But oh, my heart held such questions now. The largest of which was--could it bear, could I bear, ever to return again to ask them?



I wished myself out again as I'd wished myself in, another small bit of my heritage laid to rest the sithen would guard against, in future. But i'truth, I could find no other way out for me. And me, my wide eyes, my injured heart, my inkspun wings...we needed to leave. Not the least of which was, I began to tire of flight.

I flew unsteadily back to what passed for a home now, flicking droplets of ebon behind me as I overflew the land. I cursed my curiosity, my fetish for nostalgia. My lost changeling mother, my elfstruck illusion of a father, absence and weakness.

Mostly? I just wanted home to feel like home again.

Maybe it had changed more than I had; maybe I'd changed too much.



All I knew was, this evening I missed it with a pang, and I had no one to blame but myself.

well, if you wanted honesty, that's all you had to say

((RP MODE}}

See it as she saw it: wounded fae fluttering too near the winter span of branches. Not paying attention the way she should have been. Backdraft knocks her out of the slow orbit she'd been in, trying yet again to figure out where she was, how she got there. Wings now tangled hopelessly in clawed barked tree-fingers and she's tangled.

There's a metaphor in this, she thinks.

She patiently untangles her bright butterfly span, watching them tatter to shifting shreds, sighing as she realizes how she'll be getting down. She reaches out, seeing if there's anyone she knows from the Court in the area.

It's a long shot, these days. The Court is so scattered. So many have left, and the Queen has not yet sent out another Call. She hasn't been back to the Land since...since...

Since the lad from the East left, she thinks, and feels him. Somewhere. Close by.

'Close' being relative...

She swallows, the thought sent nearly before she thinks to think it, and feels his attention turn to her, stuck fast in the winter tree. He is wary now, her Eastern lad. She has made him wary, then? She waits, tearing through glimmer and dust, freeing another section from another branch, pain now in the motions, in the tearing, and hears him, listening for her.

Only...not her. Not her, no longer. Listening for chimes in her sent 'voice'.

She sighs softly. Works at the last branch holding her fast.

"There are no chimes," she sends, even her mental voice quiet. "She's left me."

There's a pause at that, distracting her--does he mourn, a little, as she does? Does he wish her succubus remained? Is he relieved? The fact she cannot tell bothers her.

A moment of distraction is all it takes, and even knowing she'd end up this way, she cries out, annoyed and surprised as she tears free of the last branch holding her, and subsequently falls, dark waters below the tree closing over her head, chilling her intensely.

When she rises, she's blue, literally--hair, eyes, skin. Spontaneous change from fae to...whatever, the wings absorbed back into her form as useless, until they heal. She staggers across the stones of the abandoned keep, goggling faintly at the huge winged statues she finds, blinking near-ice water from her eyes as she stares at an arrangement of chairs, on a raised dais.

She curls up on one, thinking, any punishment, she'll accept, but she'll at least die warm, tucking her hands underneath her arms, pulling her legs up against her torso, shivering for a long moment. When she can think again, she unkinks, wringing out her hair, and switches, form to form to form, keeping the blue but changing hair, and digging out an emergency outfit she keeps near at hand.

She changes while she considers what else to say. They send idle quiet thoughts, back and forth, and then he asks. Of the Land, of people they knew, of the Court.

And she can't find words to answer at first, but finally, she sighs once more, pausing against one of the giant, windworn statues.

"I haven't been back to the Land," she sends, "since..." She thinks. She casts her mind back. When was the last time she was in Lumindor?

She sighs again. "Since...you went...wherever it was you went," she sends softly. Gods. So much time away from the source of magic, of life...no wonder she's finding it hard to breathe.

She hears him sigh, and she hangs her head, impressions drifting through her of his form trudging through snow, ice on branches, lowering clouds in a darkened sky. Feels the pain of it as his hands press against the spikes implanted under his flesh.

She listens to him send apologies, and her eyes open wide. Her Eastern lad, apologizing? For...what 'had to be done'? What had to be done? What could possibly....

"He was growing so...loud...Things needed silenced," he sends, and she reels a bit, back pressed to one dark-carved wing. This lad, this boy...she'd unthinkingly dismissed on occasion...had severed his tie, his supposedly life-long tie, to the incubus within him...and...then...

What?

She turned the thought to him, but could no longer find him, his mind out of reach of her weakened abilities. She slumped to the ground, mind whirring in off-kilter patterns. Her demoness had departed, separating from her while they both still abided in Hell, all that she truly remembered of that mad time, until she was forced back to the surface, back to the light.

While...somewhere, at some time...her Eastern lad had found a way to do the same thing, to his demon. How...And more to the point, why...

She shook her head. No, it was too much for her to comprehend, just now. She drew in a shaky breath, forced her body's limited resources to grow a new set of wings, and shot up like a sail caught by wind, freed from tether--miles above the ground before she managed to slow down, gasping in the thin air.

She had to press on, she had to find shelter before dark. Those were her imperatives now. The rest...

...the rest, well, she'd think on later. Depending. She'd regrown bone of leg, of arm, and lost enough blood to turn her ice-white; she'd survived (very well, with help) nigh a dozen iron-tipp'd arrows piercing her flesh. She could manage to survive the cleaving of one soul.

After all, she was fae. Unseelie, Sidhe-sided, shifter true...wasn't that what she'd always said? What's one soul wound to one such as her? She wasn't supposed to have a soul anyway...

...Mayhap that was the problem, she thought, as she flew off towards what passed for home. She pressed a small hand against her chest, breathing. For was it soul that bled and hurt for the loss of the thing she'd never asked to be? Or was it her? In which case, the wound was physical, not metaphoric...wasn't it?

Starshine glittered across her wide eyes as she flew, horizon line dipping as she struggled to fly true.

Wasn't it?

the world's a rollercoaster and I am not strapped in

((RP post, of historical note. Staggeringly long.))

She moves to the bathing pool, in Lumindor-that-was, a mood slowly growing she cannot find means to dispell. Perhaps, she thinks, the water will soothe her cares, or at the least, the mineral scent of the springs, the cool green breeze, will distract her somewhat.

She walks, climbing over the rocks, and stops, pinioned by the gaze of a distant friend, dragonchanger, seeker of knowledge, fellow shifter. Not Sidhe but something else. She nods carefully.

"Hmm."

"Hello," he says, and she nods once more.

His presence stops her not in removing her garments, and sliding her pale form beneath the waters. The dragonchanger sits on the rocks, then slides in, keeping to the far side of the pool.

"You'll wet your clothes."

"It's all right."

She makes idle, drifting conversation with him while she smoothed water down limbs, over torso. Her attention was not on the changer, to be sure, as she hears her once-love approaching. She also hears long knives ring against each other in the night.

"I hear swordplay about."

Her love walks into the clearing.

"As do I," the changer says, "but my eyes are elsewhere."

That earns him a guarded smile, but her eyes soon turn to her love. She greets him, watches him grow closer. He seems, if possible, more tense than she.

"Hello dragon", he says, then greets her, and sighs. "It is almost time."

"Almost..." she says. She shakes her head slightly. "Oh, you're not..."

"Aye." He gives a grunt of pain, bending forward slightly, as the change he was now used to, overtakes him, distorting his frame, realigning sinew and strand, bone and blood.

The Sidhe in the water lays flat on a rock outcropping, pillowing her head on her outstretched hands. She peers through them, watching her love transform to the full demonic.

"This is getting...tiresome."

She nods. "Aye, but at least you can speak, now."

The configuration of his teeth previously, a mouth full of knives, practically...she remembers, shivering.

"That's something of a change."

"Aye..."

The changer urges him on. "Getting more control, good sir."

The Sidhe shakes her head. "Just...always meeting you at night...changed or changing..." She sighs. "Mayhap I'll take up religious orders."

The demon blanches. "...Do not even joke about that!"

"It's not entirely a joke! It's been..."

Her eyes narrow, looking at the changer. Her demon notes the look.

"Hmm?"

She shakes her head, turning her eyes away. "I should endeavor to be more patient."

"Yes, and nay," he says, while her demon watches. His voice grows dark.

"Forgive me. Was I intruding?"

The changer shrugs. "You were destined to be here. As fate dictates, our lives."

She does not answer, or at least, doesn't answer him.

"Yes, o Dragon, but destiny seems to leave me in a place of...well."

The demon watches her. "Hmm..."

She turns her gaze back to him, shrugging herself now.

"Again, my circuitous nature has made me subtler than usual."

She moves deeper into the water, standing, letting the warm drops sluice over her limbs. She catches a thought from the demon that he wishes he could join her, but will not. She shakes her head.

The changer makes a move to withdraw. "As I said, respect...I will leave thee be to relax."

She merely shrugs. "As you wish, sir, though you are always welcome to talk."

"Heh," the demon laughs, faintly. "Since when have Sidhe cared who saw them naked?"

The changer looks around. "I wish to know more of these customs. As I am a Seeker."

"Which ones?" she asks.

"All," he says.

"So, customs of the Sidhe as well?" She smiles faintly. "We are not a body-conscious people, o'erall. The body shown, the body observed, it means little. It is the body shared, that makes intimacy."

"Yes," the changer says, his tone musing. "I remember the bonding of you and another some time ago."

She smiles. "Ah, and do you remember who it was?"

He shakes his head. "I but remember your voice, distinctly. I do not remember the other, I never saw his face."

"Mm," she says softly. She cups water in her hands, lifting it, pouring it over her dark hair. "There is no one here, now, who was not here, that day."

"Ah, so your lord, here, then."

"Even so." She looks over, frowning. "Considerably less entaloned, though."

The changer's eyes grow soft. "Ahh...he had you in ecstacy..."

Her eyes drift closed a moment, remembering. "That he did..."

His tone turns curious. "But form is not what lies beneath. It is a shell, as you said."

"True," she says. "I do not hold his current form against him." She glances over, her gaze falling to his hands, those talons.



"But some injuries, even to my flesh, are harder to heal. Full demons, I've learned this, to my sorrow."

The demon shrugs a bit, feeling excluded. He thinks of withdrawing, that his place is not here, and again, she catches the edge of that thought. She wonders how strongly she would have to shield to bar him from her mind at all. She begins to wonder what his place is, this eve, if it is not at her side.

The changer senses the rising tension, moves to soothe it, and she waves his words aside.

"Nay, sir, I am...taking things, this eve, perhaps more personally than I should." She relaxes back against the warm, wet stones, breathing deeply, centering; it comes with difficulty, and she blames her current...distraction.

The demon's eyes narrow. "You are...comfortable, then?"

She answers, her eyes still closed, still breathing quietly.

"Currently. Why do you ask?"

"Because it concerns me when you are uncomfortable."

She shakes her head. "Ah, love, it's my issue, I will find means to understand it. It is nothing of yours. You, yourself, have said there's naught you can do."

The changer lifts his head, staring at them.

"It is not just you..."

She opens her eyes, leaning up and out of the water slightly. "Hmm?" Her eyes again narrow. "I may require more of an explanation of that statement..."

"...Me as well."

He looks at them, one face pale as moonlight, the other dark as a night without a moon.

"I have mentioned my travels...and in all of them, the Love, it is something I cannot begin to understand. It...hurts me, somewhat."

She blinks. "You cannot...feel Love?"

The sudden spike of rage, from her demon's mind to hers, disorients for a moment. Her brow furrows, her breath catching, but she speaks not. Still, the changer reads their emotions as if they were written in formal script.

"Touchy subject for all parties, it seems," he said quietly.

The swirl of pain, anger, confusion, from the demon sets her off, somewhat, and she flicks a leaf from the surface of the pool with force enough to spiral it away into the night air.

"I am Sidhe," she says, tossing her hair, biting off the words. "I love whom I will. Or not. As I choose."

She looks down, muttering balefully. "Are we not known for our inconstancy?" Her eyes close for but a heartbeat, then open, staring piercingly into the eyes of the demon by the pool. "So you would have blunt human words from me? Is that what you wish?"

Her demon looks back, his eyes attempting to look soft. As if he wishes her not to see his rage. She narrows her eyes to slits.

"You...dare. You DARE be angry with ME."

He shakes his head. "I am not angered with you at all."

She cocks her head, puzzled, then sighs. "Ah, then, it's the nature of things, now."

"Perhaps it was I," the changer says softly, and she shakes her head once more.

"It could have been anyone, no one. It is not you."

Her expression grows bitter once more, though, thinking on it.

"Blunt, then, my lord, and hear it now, for I will not say such again."

He closes his eyes, her demon. "As you wish. What do you wish to speak of?"

"I miss you. I miss holding you close, I miss you inside my body, I miss the challenge and the sweetness." She slaps her hand down on the surface of the pool. "But I will not spend the next four days, after any encounter with your talons, recovering! Even one such as I have limits!"

The demon stops breathing, just for a moment. Then his eyes flare.

"...Do you think I enjoy this?" he hisses. "I despise this form and all the rage that comes with it.

She drops her head. "...I know this, love. I do."

"Do you think I do not lust for you? That I do not wish to hold you in my arms and caress you as I did?"

She sighs. "I...am sorry you have to put up with my ill mood on top of everything else."

He only shakes his head. "I cannot risk hurting you. I would never forgive myself if these talons drew your blood. I would kill myself." He thinks for a moment, a quirk of his old humor pulling up his lips. "And likely half the town as well."

She shrugs merely, remembering. "The bruises faded from my throat. You have bitten me before and drawn blood."

"That...was different. That was sweet pain."

She shrugs again. "Truth be told in this place, you've done worse, and I have yet survived it. Others have, and I have lived."

His gaze darkens. "Aye...and that is why I cannot, and will not allow myself to touch you."

She nods vaguely, lost in memory. "I was many days recovering from his...attentions..." she murmurs.

"Aye...and if you ever slip your tongue and tell me his name as well, he will die."

She looks up, meeting the demon's eyes. "Don't tempt me." Her gaze turns dark. "I am yet upset with him."

"I am tempting you. I will kill him, at your behest, my love."

She looks over, her breath catching again, her gaze intent.

"I know that you would..."

For a moment, it might as well be just the two of them standing there, moon-dapple shadows racing over the waters.

"As I will kill any that stand in your way," he says finally. "But please...please, my love. Wait just a bit longer, and I will be with you again."

Such a confession loosens her tongue, her eyes blinking largely. But she must look away before her next words are spoken.

"Here is the rest of the truth, then, my Raven love. It is far easier to wait for sweetness to come, when there can be sweetness with others." She sighs. "But no one has strayed to my side. And I...I am made snappish by this."

He nods. She splashes the water in pique.

"......It is me, isn't it? I scare away those that would find your side and please you while you wait."

She stares at him. "Do you?"

"I...do not, on purpose. But it would make sense. Considering my penchant for...violence."

He looks down. "I deprive my lover of what she desires, and cannot give it to her myself....that is not respect. It is an insult."

The changer speaks, their gaze drawn to his; in their urgent communication, they had nearly managed to forget his presence.

"You are in need of something neither she nor I can give you. Once you find that then you may have some comfort."

She cocks her head, thinking. "How can he best find it?"

"Perhaps you find it a curse, but also somewhat a blessing, that your form has given you power over your enemies." He looks at the Sidhe in the water. "But if he cannot be in the arms of his love, can that be called a blessing?"

"Eventually, I am going to control this. A little longer," he says softly.

"He..." the Sidhe begins. She wraps her arms around herself, looking into the waters, whispering.

"He...could. I...could allow it."

"Allow...what?"

She still whispers. "But...he has the capacity to hurt me grievously, and..." She swallows, shivering, even though the waters are warm. "But I could allow such. If he thought it would help. I would..."

She looks up, meeting the changer's eyes. "I would risk that, for him."

The demon looks from the dragon's still face, to the Sidhe's strained one.

"What on earth are you talking about...?"

The changer raises an eyebrow, and she shakes her head, sliding under the water for a moment, wetting her hair. When she surfaces, the changer meets her gaze.

"Speak your mind, do, since we have come this far."

Only her eyes can be seen for a moment, above the water. Then she sits up fully.

"Would it matter?"

"It might."

"What are you speaking about?" the demon asks, mystified. "Yes, it would matter."

She seems to ignore him.

"Would it only enrage him further to have a close target?"

The changer shrugs. "I would take the target..."

"Venting his rage," she muses. "That would not empty him of the capacity, it's part and parcel of his nature."

"...and be the target..." he continues, and she cocks her head.

"I believe I was the sacrificial lamb under discussion."

"What are you speaking about??" the demon cries.

"To cure him is to sacrifice his reason for controlling himself."

She thinks on that. "Then what is your alternative?" she asks.

"I cannot give an answer, because i know not what he is fully," he says.

"I am rage," the demon says, darkness in his words, sadness in his thoughts.

She shrugs. "I know half-Drow."

"Incarna," the demon adds.

"I know half-demon."

"Demon is a general term for many forms," the changer says. "Evil beyond forgiveness."

She shrugs again. "I do not know what strain, or from what Court."

The demon blinks, looking from one to the other. "Of a lesser court, not as powerful as some..."

"Interesting..." the changer says, watching him.

She turns her gaze to him as well. "So and thus," she whispers. "Rage. Incarnate. As he said." She cocks her head, wondering. "What to tempt that rage to expression?"

The changer smiles softly. "But you soothe his rage, lady."

She shrugs. She seems full of shrugs this eve.

"Even if not at all times, you do more alive, than in the spirit."

"I know not how. I've never understood."

The demon makes a small sound, as if her words struck him.

"...You do not know how you soothe the rage?"

She looks over, her gaze softening for the first time.

"Let me take that back, then, my Raven. I know how. I only wish...that I could do more."

He nods, and extends a taloned hand. "Come with me, my love."

She cocks her head, but stands, and makes her goodbyes. She slings her garment over her shoulder, and follows, nodding her thanks at the changer as she goes.

"This way, dear," he says, and sets off for the sithen, and they enter by the secret way, climbing for the heights above the Queen's chamber.

He steps towards a large outcropping of granite through the basalt, taking his seat beside another pool. He folds himself, beginning to breathe, chanting a language she only barely knows. She takes a seat beside him, but it is cold, so cold. Her fingers trailing through the water almost instantly chill to pain, and she growls softly. He looks at her measuringly.

"This...is what I do, every night," he says. "Every night, for hours on end, I sit here. I take over the rage withen me. I do this all for two people. Our Queen, who, I love. And you, whom I love in a very different way."

Her breathing grows slight, her eyes grow wide.

He nods, closing his eyes, and the chill of the stone begins to make her bones ache. She blinks, his words becoming clear. He sits here. In this chill. In this painful place. For hours, he said...

"It is agony. Sitting here. Not quenching my urge to kill...I can hardly stand it, my love."

She watches, thinking, her thoughts like birds. "Does it help?" she asks softly.

He nods. "Every day, I gain a little more control over it, over the rage that looms within me. A part of me."

She swallows. "Hard, what you've asked of yourself."

"For you, and for our Queen, I will do almost anything." He breathes out, centers, the rage she can feel, tangible and thick on the air, quelling. "In fact, I will do anything."

She swallows again, pulling on her garment to stop the shivering. He grins slightly at that.

"I'd prefer you naked."

She smiles ruefully. "I can be naked, if you wish. I was...removing temptation."

"I do so wish, my love. I ask only that you...wait for me a little longer, my love."

She nods. Resolve grows in her, along with the cold. "I can wait, I can. Celibacy pushes me to strange reactions, but...I can wait."

"...Morning. Wait until morning. I will have you then. When the rage slumbers. I have learned to control the rage, during the daylight."

She cocks her head. "A night of this...will not you be tired?"

He nods. "I will be exhausted. Physically, and mentally." He opens his eyes, red-burning orbs, and smiles. "When has that stopped me from pleasing my lover?"

She smiles ruefully, shaking her head. "I do not know that I could ask such a thing."

"My nature is to see my lover happy."

She shrugs. "I try...so very hard...to make few demands."

"You make none. None at all save for demands that a lover should make." He grins. "You simply came at a...heh...bad time, I suppose."

He slowly breathes, she watches him, rubbing the back of her neck with icy fingers.

"Mayhap. It's the way of my luck."

"But it will be over soon. This...problem of mine."

She tilts her head from side to side, rolling her head on her shoulders. The slight chill in the cave is motivating her towards fur, but she represses the impulse.

"Aye, but my Raven, I've felt slightly discomfited even making a lover's demands. You're busy, as am I. We have little enough time as it is. I don't want to interfere and demand more."

He nods, then shrugs himself. "I believe...our relationship is also like a training. We train one another as lovers. How to act, what to demand, what to expect."

She nods, her voice turning quiet. "I am...ill used to such things."

"As am I," he agrees. "That is why I see it as training. And yet, I see it as much more than that. It is..." His gaze falls to the pool for a moment, his moving hands stilling on his thighs. "An adventure," he says quietly. "A dream. One demons are not supposed to be allowed to have..."

She shrugs, looking away. "Demons before you have had such dreams..."

"Because they have them does not mean they DESERVE them."

"Do you deserve your dream?"

"I do not know yet," he says. "I hope so. I truly do."

"...You speak as if we must earn such things."

"You do not. You deserve it simply by living."

She cocks her head. "Then so must you."

He shrugs. "I am...different. As a demon."

"You are not mere demon. You are also Drow. And you are fae."

He nods. He inhales. He looks at her.

"My love...I am going to try and change back now. Before...normal."

She breathes in carefully.

"As you will."



And she watches him change...

the secrets that you keep are at the ready

((RP MODE))

Nostalgia hits at the oddest times, and for the oddest things. I miss Lumindor. Oh, it's still there, but changed beyond recognition--I miss it as it was. I miss the trees. I miss my tree. I miss the sithen, and the sound of wind through leaves, knowing some of those leaves would shiver and turn odd colors at the touch.

The thought of trees going away...saw to trunk, and the protracted slow death of such long-lived things...it shudders my soul. I can't bear the thought of it.

Mostly, though, I just feel loss. Hollowed out from the thought of it, from the feel of such...absence, from the land.



I'm hollowed out for another reason, these days. Coming into winter with empty branches of my own, so to speak. When Lilit heard of the transformation that befell Valruna--again--she brought me out, controlled and barricaded, to see what had been wrought.

When she returned to Hell, I decided enough was enough. I found a mage who wished a bargain. He made one with Lilit. The wording was simple, and woefully foolish on his part: one task, and she'd be free.

Of course she accepted.

We did that one task, our paired hands moving, the world grey for me when it wasn't red. And when we were done, when I raised dripping hands before my face, I felt her leave me.

And I was alone, only myself, for the first time since my young demon hatched his upstart plan.

My first thought, of course, was my Raven. I returned to the lands above to find news I'd never expected to hear: of his death in far lands. To this day I do not know what happened, or how he fell.

But he will not be returning to me. And the lad from the East has vanished to each and every trace I'm capable of casting.

The Court is shattered. Valruna is lost to me, and all in it. Lumindor...I barely recognize, denizens or dells. And Taupo increasingly feels like a dream, fading.

Alone in the world to make my way. It's not the first time. But it will be far from easy this time around, precarious balance hard-bought, Lilit's practicality removed. Oh, I can still wear her form, and I think I will never lose the hunger, for certain things.

And I still have the tentacles...though they begin to fade.

But I am not her. And I must find out where in this world, there is, for me to be.

and you, false love, will weep for me, when I'm gone, when I'm gone, when I'm gone

((RP MODE))

Tch. Little girl so lost, will she ever find her way home...

I remember the ritual that joined us. Her unfortunate once-swain decided to travel homeward, and found someone just young enough, just hungry enough, to make any bargain to get out of the pit. That someone was me, of the Lilitu, demonesses, succubi and sirens, and Lilit serves well enough for a name.

The ritual was arduous, tortuous, convoluted and long. It was meant to empty her, make her a vessel, soul set free and body waiting. But...either she doesn't have a soul, as the traditions understand, or it's bound to her, flesh, bone and skin, because she was not an empty shell when I arrived. She was very much there. And she very much fought back, tooth and nail, and--only through my utter surprise, but still--managed to cage me, deep within her mind, set me to sleeping that lasted years.

I might never have awoken at all had it not been for that spur-of-the-moment curse, so casually tossed from the lips of the departing monk, sent with a breath of his essence and his power. That power called to me, woke me, pulled me up and out to the very limits of her form, and poured my awakened energy, raw and undiluted, into her body, into the body of the young Hunter in her arms, and the strange combination of her shapeshifting ability, and my energy manipulations, compelled to curse him as well, to be partially neko, as she was.

Wonderful. As if there wasn't drama enough in her life.

We fought, at first. Of course we did. She feared me, I resented her...she wanted me gone, I wanted her dead. Of course we fought.

Once in Lumindor, long ago, she'd taken as much pain as she could, been turned from too many doors, been denied by those she adored...She gave up, and I took over, using her knowledge of the world beyond Lumindor's shores to contact my once-love, flying to his side in the deeps of the tunnels he lived in. We shared...what only two demons can share, who are not engaged in battles to the death, but...what I had of his heart had turned from me, and from her, for all my efforts elsewise.

So I returned, and let her live her life. Slowly, the fighting stopped. I maintain I've been incarnate in her flesh for too long, I'm...tainted by her emotional state. But even with that uncomfortable knowledge, I find I do...care...in spite of things.

In spite of everything.

This morning, she awoke under a bush by the garden gates in Lumindor. She heard a voice she recognized but grew distracted before she found him. She laid down by the wooden sign, gently petting baby bunnies on the grass. And Death found her.

I knew him, old adversary, and it's no disservice to say even I trembled at his nearness. But he said it was not my time, and pulled away. Then she heard the Eastern lad's voice again. She rose, trembling, and flew to his side, stopping just short of contact, and held herself there, wary, uneasy.

She had never been uneasy around him before, and I could not ascertain why, until the demon he carried smiled with the lad's mouth, enticing her through casual cruelty, tears in the lad's flesh that drew her on with the addiction raging within her. She still remembered enough of plant and leaf, flower and vine, she held back. Until he dripped blood from a wound onto the back of her hand, and...

...I had to take over, the despair in her was too great.

I begin to think Valruna is doing a damage to her, beyond the toxins in the air. I begin to wonder how long she can remain in that tainted land, where time runs faster, where the streets echo with emptiness and faint screams.

I begin to wonder how long I'll have to live her life for her, until she is ready to stand on her own again. I wasn't designed to be her. I was pulled in to be a demon Queen, chief among the clan, strong by the side of my King.

I was never meant to be the little phouka, the shifting fae.

I worry for her.

And I was never meant to feel worry for her. So...I worry for me, too.

fine laurel, fine floral, you've proved all unkind

((RP MODE))

The voices eat at her, the shrill calls, the wails, the murmurs, the growls. The need eats at her too, until she can't breathe with it, and all she can do is clutch the empty vial around her neck. She flees to the shore, breathing in the sharp salt air, shuddering on the sand.

Something must change. Something needs to change. She lifts a hand, staring at it in horror, her attention lengthening the fingers.

She must change. She must have a form that doesn't feel the bite of this need, the pain of this hunger.

She must grow in a new place.



Dimly, she remembers meeting a dryad in the woods. Birch maiden, she thinks it was, and when she tried to imitate what she remembered, she somehow switched trees, and grew maple leaves instead. It was an unsuccessful attempt, and she abandoned the fibrous life of trees.

Now, she has better impetus behind her to succeed. And there's a wider world of life out there than just birches and maples.



She breathes in this form, the voices still there, but acceptable, the greening of her skin making her turn her new petals to the light that dimly filters through the smog of industry. She walks slowly from the shore to the city, and flinches away, choking. Her mind reaches for her lost Lumindor, and in a flash, she finds herself kneeling on the cool grass, panting, and voices from the gentle gardens ahead.




She cannot help but creep forward, listening, and of course the sunflower of her presence attracts attention. Within moments, she's surrounded, and she must concentrate to make the words she hears make sense. But it's good, she's willing to listen, she's willing to be led...at least until the voices she hears lead her within a small building, and hand her a glass of something that is nearly enough for her hunger.

She looks down at the crimson fluid in the glass and sighs. She'll need flesh again for this. And then the hunger returns in force.

But she will remember. She will remember the way of plant and frond, fiber and petal. She will stave this hunger off. She will leave it behind and walk strongly on the streets, be they cobbled or tarred. She will do this. She will leave herself no other choice...

now there’s nothing left between us, as the fear becomes a roar (part I)

((RP MODE))

I awoke, shivering, in the sithen, and the whispers of words I could barely understand drove me from the comforts of that near-home. I sought the heights, but the heights had changed; again, the incursions of the humans, again, the rape of the land.



I fell, and panicked, and my panic propelled me upward, searing my back from the friction as I was pulled up the mountainside. I became wedged, whimpering in distress, between a new stone abode and an outcropping of pale stone. I had to summon all the concentration I had left, burning precious and diminishing energy reserves, to will myself elsewhere in Valruna.



The pain hit when the first wave of fog hit me, dropping me to my knees, hand clutched to my side. Pain of loss, pain of leaving Lumindor, the pain of addiction...nothing was like this. Nothing had hurt this much.



I heard my voice, broken, shaking rasp, whispering on the drifting air.

"...Where, where is he, where is my Raven, where is my gentle lad, where, oh where..."

I turn, the pain not easing, the pressure building, making me nearly scream. What was happening, and why was I alone, yet again?



The whispers crowd in again, and I cry out, striking against them, whispers and half-glimpsed figures, and no, no, stay back, STAY BACK--!

I collapse, panting, last of my energy gone, and where was my Raven, where was my lad, where, oh where...

"Can't trust demons," I whisper, shuddering, "can't trust, why did I, why did I again, can't trust, never trust, never works out..."

Never works out. Never...never...and the cliffside is so cold...



Heart in my throat, I turn, I stumble, reluctant feet scraping over grass and stone, taking me step by step closer to doom. Standing on the crumbling cliff's edge, hearing each grain of sand shift beneath my slippers as if it struck sparks off bone. I hesitate, standing there, leaning forward.

**There is another way.**

This voice is clear, this voice is coherent. Unlike so many, voices of the living and the gone, voices of the present and the missing. This voice, I listen to.

I pause, breathing, listening.



Another way...another way?

**Drink the vial.**

My hand raises, clenching around the enspelled crystal, watching the crimson liquid swirl. I shudder, bone-deep, wracked by spasms of doubt and fear.

But he said... I think. He said it would be dangerous. He said it would increase the hunger.

**It's all you have,** the voice says. And goes silent.

I writhe on the ground, pain mounting again, screaming to the city that cares not for magic, for nature, for aught but seeking its own oblivion. I cannot bear it, I cannot, I am not strong enough for this--



My hand creeps to the vial, caressing the seal. One thin wire between me and what lies inside.

**Yes. Drink.**

No! I cannot!

**You have no choice.**

No choice...

No choice.

No choice.

I begin unwinding the wire around the seal...

((to be continued))

from the bowery to the brimstone I tried to find your heart

((RP MODE))

Word filtered down from the Queen to her Consort, and down through the Court--we had established a sithen in Valruna. I had not been since the last time, shuddering at the tainted odours of the air, the static hum across wires, the fitful flicker of too-bright lights, the metallic grinding sounds of the city. I crept in from the far reaches, moving with slitted eyes towards my goal--one of two places of green left from when the city changed, so drastically.



I shuddered anew once I'd reached it--the human bastards had paved more of the green! They must pay for this, I heard myself mutter, over and again. But true words I spoke--they were violators, destroyers of the land, five times five times over, and they must be made to pay the price of such violation.

After all, the fae know how to exact the cost. I still bear blood on my hands from the last time...



The hard, tacky substance spread out before me, smelling like broken dreams and tortured desperation, thick and oily on the night air. It was repellent. I could feel the small lives in the ground beneath pleading to see the moonlight. I started to twitch, panting slightly.



Dimly, beyond the blackened trail, I can see the waterfall. It yet remains, there is hope, faint and flickering though it is.



I follow the curve of the colored rocks, so like to Lumindor, around until I find the patch that speaks most of magic. I hope, in my blighted heart. I pray to gods I only dimly remember. I touch the rock and withdraw, waiting, my breath held fast.



I exhale slowly when the section of rock fades enough to allow my entry. There is refuge. There is a home. There is our new sithen.



It's on the small side...dripping with moss and grasses, but alight with the life of the small fae, and those forms of fungus that always grow around us, and trees that speak to us, not blunted and maddened and wracked by industrious ways. I begin to relax, my knotted soul uncurling, and stagger to the dark dais.



It's small, the new home, but ours. I can live here. I can breathe here, free of the toxins outside. I can exist here, a spate of refuge, desperately needed.



Yes. I can be here. I can rest at peace. It's good. It's time.

...Now, where the hell is my Raven?!?