Fantasy Tethered ( ellarose & Syntra. )

[ellarose]

"Oh. That is an interesting point, although I was not discussing the usefulness of blankets." Faline considered, tilting her head. Hm. Did having a favorite color make one selfish? She had never heard of that perspective on the subject before. Matters of preference were simply matters of preference. Wasn't everyone entitled to acknowledge their favorite things? It was just like having a favorite food, a favorite song or perhaps a favorite time of the day. In a way, the fact that Cyrra did not have a favorite color made her quite sad. But perhaps she valued all of the colors equally? She supposed there was nothing wrong with that, either. The whole rainbow was just as valid as any one color plucked out of it! That wasn't a path of discussion she could venture down at this point since Cyrra and Atropos began speaking with each other quite passionately. (It was good for them to communicate, for the development of their friendship was very important. So she wisely left them to their own devices. Also... she was, admittedly, much too distracted by the sight of the large pool to pay much attention to the actual words that they were saying.) She walked where the islands connected and peered into it curiously. "My! Endymion, look at that. Isn't it pretty?"

"Oh joy. A big body of water." Endymion did not sound nearly as enamored. The cat sighed. "Fascinating."

Faline blinked confusedly when Cyrra took her into her arms all of a sudden, effectively breaking her trance. Oh. Um. Why was she holding her like that? Her cheeks turned a faint pink at the warmth and she sincerely hoped that she would not be dropped again. "Cyrra, I believe the dance is over now. Your innovation is very much appreciated, but--" Wait, what was she talking about? Training? Fish food? Key? A tidal wave of questions crashed through her mind and yet it seemed there was no time for her to ask a single one of them before she was tossed towards the water, crashed beneath the surface and sank down below.

The view underwater was quite beautiful. Faline admired the way her dark braid floated prettily against the blueness of the water and the tortoiseshell rays of light that swam over her hands like ethereal wisps of starlight. Wholly unprepared for this turn of events, however, she did not take a proper breath before she went under. Oh butterscotch. The fact that she couldn't properly breathe quickly took precedence over the sights... and she ended up doing precisely what Cyrra said not to do and gulped in a lungful of water. Oops. Silly, ninny Faline! Oh fucking butterscotch. Perhaps she was not ready for the sea after all? (Although it was not a part of her plan to go swimming until she learned how.) At this rate she might never see the sea. Envisioning herself as fish food, she frantically thrashed and flapped her arms around, hoping she might find something solid that she could grab onto to pull herself back up. No luck. She just kept sinking deeper and her world was steadily growing darker and darker.

Blue was Faline's favorite color. (Not that anyone was wondering... but she liked to remind herself.) The soft blue she was surrounded with now, in fact. Blue was also the color the other Cyrra would not gift her in a bouquet because it symbolized constancy. But blue was the color she would have wanted to receive from a friend or love who knew her well.

Before Faline closed her eyes, she noticed the glimmer of the yellow key nearby and grasped it tightly in her hand. Key. That was right, Cyrra told her to retrieve it. Somehow, it was comfortably warm to touch. At least she was able to do one thing right?

"Cyrra!" Meanwhile, Endymion breathed the assassin's like a curse as they approached the water their mistress was just thrown into. They jerked back slightly whenever it splashed too closely to their paw. If it was not clear before, they did not like water. Not a one single bit. "You ought to have used your question asking Miss Kairos whether or not she could swim if you were going to do that." Irritatedly, the cat nipped at Cyrra's ankles as if they were hoping make her fall in case she refused to jump in herself. "The depths of her experience with water goes as deep as the water in a bathtub. She cannot swim! Go help her."

At the same moment that Faline touched the key underwater, the sparkling white door reappeared on the surface. Curiously enough? This time around it was surrounded by an arch of blue hyacinths.

 

[Syntra]

The plan was flawless. It involved a) Cyrra not really doing anything substantial, b) her reaping the rewards regardless, and so it really could not have been better. What a master strategist she was becoming, right? …or, well, it would have been perfect, if Faline had learned how to swim. That was a big fucking if, though. An enormous if, even. “What?” the assassin asked, perhaps in hopes that her ears were deceiving her. “Who the fuck doesn’t know how to swim? Isn’t she a little irresponsible for a future sailor? Someone should explain to the whelp that flapping her gums alone won’t keep her afloat.”

“Cyrra!” Atropos howled. “You are not only your own worst enemy, but that of everyone else as well. Are you trying to kill her on purpose, or is it just some unconscious habit of yours? Go! Save her!” And, really, despite her not having any great love for the snake, the assassin had to admit that they had a point. (The world would be better off without the witch, of course. From every such corpse, a new tree sprouted-- a tree bearing golden fruit, with the power of healing locked within them. The greater good had to wait, though! Mostly because Cyrra did not wish to find out what would happen once she got stuck in that nightmarish realm, all alone and helpless. Most likely surrounded by some positively furious familiars, too.) “Stupid whelp,” the assassin cursed. “Can you imagine letting water threaten your life? Water, from which all life is born in the first place? Fucking amateurish, that’s what it is.” Removing her clothes would have been the most practical way to do this, but there was no time. So, instead of that? Instead of that, the assassin took a deep breath and let the depths swallow her, sinking into its cold, wet embrace.

…deeper, deeper, deeper. She had to go even deeper to reach Faline, but time and space stretched strangely down there-- like a spiral that went round and round, instead of traveling from point A to point B. (‘Unworthy,’ bubbles whispered in her ears. ‘Murderer,’ something else accused. ‘Guilty.’ ‘Remember? Remember, remember!’ ‘Her name was…’ Shut up, Cyrra wanted to scream, but she wasn’t stupid enough to actually open her mouth underwater. Nope, not dying that easily! With all of her might, she thought for them to stop, for them to leave her alone, for them to fucking die-- and, as expected? They didn’t. Duh. The cadence of the taunts only grew, drumming against her mind with all the intensity of raindrops during a fierce storm. ‘Won’t escape. Won’t, won’t, won’t. Hands stained with blood, promises broken. Traitor. Traitor, traitor, traitor!’) Instinctively, Cyrra’s arms wrapped around Faline’s limp body, and… ah. Silence, fucking finally. Blessed, blessed absence of anything but the sounds of their breathing, oddly synchronized. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. (Their hearts were beating in unison, too. Don’t fucking ask Cyrra how she knew, but she did, with the same kind of certainty that accompanied knowing what your own name was. That, uh, surely meant nothing, right?) The blue world around them shivered, perhaps even from pleasure. The ground shook, as if there was a monster underneath that was trying to claw its way out, and hey, maybe that was true! Shortly afterwards, you see, the white door emerged from the sand. (Had the assassin had the luxury to question the development, she definitely would have. She wouldn’t have opened the door either, because who knew what horrors were lurking on the other side? What depravities, woven from dark magic? Faline had grown heavy in her arms, though, so her priorities had shrunk to ‘whatever didn’t fucking lead to drowning.’ With her last burst of strength, Cyrra bolted forward--)

--and that forward, as it seemed, led them to a blooming meadow. (A sweet-smelling, stunning sea of green, only speckled with blue hyacinths. Huh.) “Couldn’t you have fucking told me that you can’t swim?” Cyrra turned to Faline. “That’s among the first three things you should tell to new acquaintances, right after your name and preferred means of death. Those are basic fucking manners.” (No, she wasn’t feeling guilty for almost killing the whelp. Guilt was an absurd emotion, and one that she had purged from her heart years ago. Just, what would someone whose job revolved around taking lives do with it? No, Cyrra was just... disappointed. Right. Going after a target this incompetent removed all the thrill from the hunt, because they were just as likely to kill themselves!) "You really should be more mindful of those things." The lecture would have been longer than that, really, but that was the moment she noticed the well-- the well made of white stone, an obvious mirror to its real world counterpart. It, uh, appeared to be weeping tears of blood? The scarlet streams ricocheted down the rough, wrinkled surface, where the ground drank them eagerly.

"Don't come any closer," the well warned them. "It's not like you know how to soothe my grief. Begone, before you make everything even worse."

 

[ellarose]

Faline blinked her leaden eyes open slowly, feeling the familiar caress of grass against her skin. Oh. Odd. She had distinctly remembered the airy feeling of submersion, of struggling and ensuing darkness. Because she had been underwater. And now it seemed she was not. There was an indication, though, that her mind was not playing tricks on her because she was completely soaked. That and Cyrra seemed to be speaking about it. "...told me that you can't swim?" Faline opened her mouth and instead of words, she coughed out a deluge of water. It spilled endlessly, as if she had attempted to swallow the ocean itself. Her chest constricted, her throat ached, her nose burned and she weakly turned over onto her side as it ensued. She shivered, rather unsure what emotion precisely she was experiencing. She only knew that she did not like it. There was pain of the physical sort, yes, but also something that ran deeper. It was like coldness and loneliness entangled and it stung her somewhere deep. "I... I am sorry, Cyrra. I did not know." Did it bear repeating once more that she had not been exposed to humans and did not know their customs on informing each other of such things? She resolved silently that if those were proper manners, she would keep that in mind for the future so she would not mess up the same way in the future. Sitting upright, she rested a hand on the side of her head as if that might stop everything around her from swaying like the lights under the water did. At first it was pretty. Now it made her head heavy and dizzy and she wanted nothing more than for it to stop and allow her time to right herself.

Faline felt a strange disconnect, confronting the fact that she did not want to go back in the water for a very long time. Unfurling her fingers, she remembered the yellow key she'd gripped in her hand. She silently slid it over to the assassin and then redirected her attention to the crying well.

Treading slowly towards it through the field of blue hyacinths, Faline thoughtfully sat herself cross-legged across from it. Poor thing. She truly wished she could help in some way, but...

"You are right. There are a great many things I do not know... and I am sorry for that." Faline considered. Grief. Was that what she had felt, upon waking up in the grass? If not grief, then it was perhaps something very much like it. "In fact, I do not know how to soothe my own grief, either."

"...Your grief?" The well asked with a sniff.

"Yes. I wanted to go to the ocean. I have wanted that since I was very small." Faline admitted. At some point big, salty tears had blended with the water dripping down her face. Her eyes gleamed in the light and she sniffed as well. She and the well could cry together, she supposed. Looking within, she tried to make sense of that grief that held her down the way the water had under its raging surface. "But I came to the realization just now that I have not had enough training to be worthy of the ocean. If I visit it too early out of arrogance, I will amount to no more than fish food. Because I cannot swim." She pawed her damp, reddening cheeks with the back of her hands. "I did not intend to go swimming in the first place. Even so, I feel I do not want to go near the water for a very long time now. And that makes me sad."

"Poor dear." The well had seemed to have taken on a more sympathetic, patient tone now. Even so, it still wept quietly on. "That was such a beautiful wish, too."

"...What happened to you? May I ask?" Faline decided to venture. Because perhaps if they knew the source of the well's grief, they would better understand how to help it.

"I do not think I can talk about it." The well confessed. "Not yet."

"That is all right. You do not have to." Faline assured with an understanding nod. Hm. A wish? "I would very much like to help you, though. Say... are you a wishing well? Could I perhaps wish to take your grief away?"

 

[Syntra]

Cyrra prided herself on being prepared for just about anything. No, that wasn’t an exaggeration. An assassin had to peer into the fucking future if she wanted to survive-- had to react to things before they actually happened, based on the slightest twitch in the victim’s muscles. Based on their eye movement, even! So, yes, it was her conviction that she was aware of all the potential scenarios before they could begin to unfold, much like a spider sensed each individual thread of its web with its legs. Just, the word ‘surprise’ didn’t fucking exist in her dictionary. Didn’t, didn’t, didn’t! Or, well, it hadn’t, until tears appeared in Faline’s wide eyes. (Tears like pearls, like cut glass, like small diamonds. Beautiful, Cyrra would have said, because making a witch cry was a precious thing, but… shit, there was nothing appealing about that. Maybe due to the lack of challenge? Faline accidentally stepping on an ant would make her burst into tears as well, it seemed, so the victory rang hollow. Empty. The taste of it reminded her of ashes, like the ones Father had shoved down her throat so many years ago, which, heh! Nothing like good old nostalgia, right? …those who let it blind them were fools. Fools who didn’t deserve to witness the gods’ grace, revealed to them through all the sacred signs. ‘Look with your eyes and see,’ they commanded, and for fucking what? For you to just turn around and not do that? Oh no, Cyrra knew much, much, much better than that!)

…now, if only she knew what to do with stupid little whelps crying their stupid little eyes out as well. Ugh. What was it that Atropos had said about her not being able to stab every single problem of hers? Prophetic fucking words, as it turned out. “For gods’ sake,” Cyrra whispered, wiping the girl’s tears away with her thumbs. (The gesture was surprisingly tender, as if her hands knew things other than just killing, and it shocked her to her core. Where had that come from? From a past life, maybe? From a life that had and hadn’t been hers, before the temple and Father and the star marking her cheek? That question burned, though, so she dropped it. After all, there was nothing else to be done! …still, still the blisters bloomed on her skin, covering her in all shades of scarlet. Scarlet, much like the color associated with guilt. A funny fucking coincidence, wasn’t it? Because Cyrra certainly didn’t feel a drop of it-- not for throwing her into that damned pond, and not for stealing that pathetic dream away from her. If not her, then reality itself would have shattered it to pieces. Wasn’t it better, kinder, even, to do it yourself before fates brought down their hammer on her? Not that she cared about being kind to a witch, of course-- such madness hadn’t clouded her mind yet.)

“Tears are made of water, too. Didn’t you say you wanted to avoid it? And now you fucking bring it to yourself as well. Good job. But look, Faline, I…” Cyrra gulped, “…you’re lucky. At least you learned that your dream was stupid early on. Trust me or not, there are idiots who spend their entire lives chasing after mirages.” Such as, for example, her. Ahem.

The well frowned, to the extent an inanimate object could even do that. “I’m made of stone, assassin, and yet I don’t think my heart is harder than yours. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Well, I’m fucking not,” Cyrra bristled. “Those who leave their hearts unarmored are just asking for them to be cut up.”

“And, no, little one,” it spoke to Faline, its tone considerably kinder. (Apparently, it just did not think that Cyrra’s statement was deserving of a response. Alright. Alright, why not! The assassin would have been mildly annoyed had it not been for the fact that the well was just a bunch of stones, held together by malevolent will. They did not fucking say ‘dumb as rocks’ for nothing, that was for certain.) “I am not a wishing well. Even if I was, you cannot just wish grief away. If your idea worked, don’t you think that no sorrow would exist in this world? People would just pray for it to disappear, and it would.”

“You are not human, though,” Cyrra pointed out. “Perhaps the same rules don’t apply.”

“Ah, how observant for you to notice!” The well sounded sarcastic now, its voice somehow similar to a stream of water falling across pebbles. “I had never considered that before. Thanks to your enlightened comment, all of my problems disappeared. Praised be Cyrra, our eternal spring of wisdom.”

“Wait,” the assassin suddenly realized. “How come that you know our fucking names?”

“Isn’t that obvious? I have met both of you already, more times than I can possibly tell. You, and not-you, and all the other people that could have been you, but never were. I know how this story ends, and that is why I cannot stop my tears. Maybe you could let me borrow some of your hope, though?” The well was clearly speaking to Faline now, for it didn’t sound as if it was ready to murder. “You seem so full of it. Surely, can afford to give some up?”

 

[ellarose]

"Oh, right. Sorry." Faline repeated, at a loss for what else to say as the assassin's thumbs brushed her tears away with a gentleness she hadn't expected from her. Granny had never touched her with such gentle hands when she cried and the concept that anyone could be this soft with her was such an unfamiliar concept that she had no idea what to do with it. Something inside her chest stirred and fluttered like a sweet, fluffy little bird rousing in a nest. Goodness. And now she was bringing more water to herself, just as Cyrra said. It seemed that every version of herself to exist was a ninny in some way. In the past, the present, and no doubt in the future as well. That was an inescapable fact. It made sense, really, that any dream conceived in her mind would be a stupid one. She was forced to acknowledge that she did not have nearly enough experience in the real world to shape a dream with any amount of substance or meaning. Although the sea had truly meant something to her once. Ninny Faline. She sniffled, trying with all of her might to get herself to stop her tears. It was difficult, because although she was told she ought to be, she did not feel very lucky. Not when she had wanted to see the sea since she was a little girl. The daydreams and hopes had taken her away for several hours after her daily chores. She would not consider her dream, however small, short-lived for that reason. But perhaps Cyrra said that because she was still young, still had a life ahead. Maybe she needed to put that part into perspective? "...It's just that the sea was all I had. I do not know where to go if not to the sea."

That was just it, wasn't it? Without the sea, Faline truly had no place left to go. No place she belonged out in the big world. She was no more than a small mote of dust drifting aimlessly on the wind. Small and meaningless and not important to anyone. Perhaps it was good then that Cyrra and the well carried on the conversation and that her question was addressed. Faline simply needed to take her mind off of it. Especially if she wanted to stop her crying.

"I suppose not. Even if you wish your emotions away for a short while, they will always find a way to return... for they are a part of you. And for that reason they are stronger than anything in this world." Faline considered with an understanding nod, brushing her fingers lightly over one of the blue hyacinths swaying near her in the grass. She knew deep down that would be the answer. Even her daydreams, as beautiful and magical as they were, were incapable of stealing her away from reality forever. She could distract herself with happy thoughts for a little while... but grief always crawled back eventually. It touched her and turned everything blue. Like the hyacinths and the water. Blue was as familiar and loyal as her sadness was. And yet she loved it nonetheless. Perhaps because she recognized herself in it? Ah. It must have said something about her that she had resorted to making suitable companions out of colors. She breathed softly, no longer crying, and brought her hands over her chest. The heart was truly where the most pain was felt. It was a soft, personal place that knew of every weakness, fear and fault. And for that reason it was capable of sabotaging itself.

Lost in those philosophies, Faline missed more of Cyrra and the well's exchange. She only snapped out of her reverie when the conversation once again turned to her.

"...My hope?" Faline asked softly. Hope, hm? She supposed it was a muscle she'd built big and strong over the years. She needed to, if she was to endure day after day in the cottage with granny. Even still, she knew that her hope was not the most dependable thing in the world. The light she had burned herself to create still flickered from time to time. (Like just now, when confronted with the silliness of her dream. In the moment, she felt that any hope she parted with would drain her of any will to go on at all.) The well was in dire need of help, though. Crying blood instead of water, it must have truly been painful. And if she had such a wealth of hope to the extent that it could do some good in this world, she supposed it would be fine if she parted with a little of it. For emotions were strong, like she had said before, and she could always focus on building her hopes stronger yet after this trial. Like grief, it could not possibly be taken away from her permanently. Right? "Well, perhaps I can." She stood and approached the well. Unsure of what to do, she wiped the bloody tears with her thumbs the way that Cyrra had done with her. "I do want to help you feel better. But before I do that..."

Faline hesitated, recalling the various copies of her that populated the castle before. The way they had stared blankly ahead at the walls, as if they possessed hardly any will to live at all. Hopeless. So much so that they allowed themselves to be chopped up into little pieces of squishy, bloody gore on the bright marble floors. Like celery.

"If I do this for you, can you promise me that I will not end up like those other Falines from before?" Faline tilted her head. "I do not want to be so hopeless that I no longer care about being chopped into bits." As she asked the question, a sharp needle-like shadow was snaking up behind her. It was poised to stab into her back.

Before anything could happen, however, something else distracted Faline. A croaking sound.

"Oh! Mr. Frog!" Faline exclaimed. She jumped to her feet and, as afraid to be caught in the act, the sinister shadow melted back down into the ground. "Hold on a moment. I am ever so sorry, but it is very important that I find that frog! We will return, though." She nodded resolutely and began skipping off towards the grassy hills, chasing the sound. "Come along, Cyrra!"

 

[Syntra]

Once again, Cyrra found herself wondering whether there was any force in this motherfucking world that could maybe, possibly, make the girl shut up. Cutting her tongue out, perhaps? A classic choice, except that also one that relied on Faline following all the usual rules-- on the relationship between the cause and the consequence remaining unchanged, in other words. Might as well wait for the Forsaken Ones to awaken from their slumber, she thought, with no small amount of bitterness. For her to say my name, the way she once used to. Before... before... "Hope is a stupid thing to give away," the assassin scoffed, perhaps to chase away those unwelcome thoughts. (Unnecessary, that was what they were. A waste of space. They brought her no closer to the gods, so why did they exist at all? Why had no fucking prayer purged them? ...a trial, most likely. A way of confirming whether she was worthy of passing through that gate, made of bones and obsidian and sharpened stardust. Very well, then! Cyrra would gladly cut her heart out of her chest and let wolves fucking feast on it, if that was what they desired. If it allowed her to forget, for one fleeting moment.) "You can't fucking use other people's feelings. They are theirs, and if you try to claim them, they will wither and die. Don't you even know that? I swear, everyone here is hellbent on fucking up in the most ridiculous ways. Is that what magic does to you? Does it wipe away your common sense?" If Faline was any indication of how witches worked in general, the yes, that theory very much checked out! (...although, curiously enough, Faline herself seemed to see the gaps in logic here. Hmm.)

"I..." the well sounded almost embarrassed now, if an inanimate object was even capable of such an emotion. "That makes sense, I suppose. Perhaps I was still looking for an easy way out. Pathetic, isn't it? And no, Miss Kairos, I don't think I can promise that. The truth is, I don't know what would happen to you if you tried. It feels like I should be aware of that, but... I am not. I've forgotten. How is that possible? Stone remembers, for all the memories are etched into it!"

"Stone remembers fuck all. You know, since it isn't even alive!" Cyrra raised her eyebrow. Just, why was everyone committed to spreading absolute bullshit? If this was some fancy metaphor, then she wasn't too impressed. (Although, come to think of it, it was probably their surroundings. Water couldn't remain clean once it found itself in a dirty container-- the filth spread, seeping into its very fucking essence. Wasn't it the same with everything else? ...Cyrra, too, knew a thing or two about it. More things than she would have liked.)

Of course, Faline possessed the attention span of a demented butterfly, and so it only took a hint of adventure for her to try and take off. Yes, 'try', because the assassin wasn't having it! Maybe Endymion was used to the constant stream of incompetence, but, surprise, surprise, she wasn't fucking Endymion. No, not even close. Swiftly, her arms wrapped around Faline's waist, and then she pressed herself to the other girl. (For, um, reasons. Totally normal reasons, Cyrra was sure. Intimidation, maybe? There was nothing scarier than physical intimacy, that was for certain.) "Not so fast, whelp. You ever tried to use that fucking thing in your head for something else than generating snot? Because, I promise, if you try, thoughts will come to you." (Ribbit! Ribbit! the frog cried in the background, as if to take the attention away from her words. Perhaps that would have worked, too, had Cyrra been a complete fucking idiot.)

"The sound. It's an echo. Where the fuck do you think it's coming from? That precious frog is hiding in that well!" the assassin pointed an accusatory finger.

"What!" the well shouted, apparently beyond insulted. "Why would you accuse me of vile treachery like that? I have nothing to hide. Even a well has its pride, young lady, and I would never house my own worst enemy."

"Ribbit! Ribbit!" the frog croaked, very obviously from the depths of the well. So much for its non-existent honor, Cyrra supposed? (...heh! Those that hid behind that concept always seemed to have an entire army of skeletons in their closet. What a funny, funny coincidence, huh?)

"Damn you, you stupid animal," the well lamented. "Now the ruse is up. I hope that you are happy with yourself, for once again, you have ruined everything. Fine, fine! Indeed, I confess-- I have been working with the frog all along. I only did so because you left me no other choice, though. Was I just supposed to wait and let you destroy me, again and again and again? Yes, indeed, it is your fault!" The bloody tears dripping down its surface? They were flowing towards Faline now, marking her as the culprit. "I knew your decision before you even desecrated my corpse," the well sobbed. "Well? Do what you must. Murder me again, for I am aware you don't speak any other language!"

 

[ellarose]

"But Mr. Fro-- oh." Faline blinked, her words getting stuck in her throat as Cyrra wrapped her arms around her again. She giggled nervously under her breath, not knowing what else to do. Was she going to lift her? Throw her? No, it appeared not. Instead of doing any of those things, she simply... held her close? The press of their bodies was warm as always, but this felt different too. Feeling the shape of the other woman's body against her own, shivery little thrills went careening down from her head down to her toes. It might have been nicer, had this touch not coincided with another comment about her intelligence. Or rather... her lack thereof. Even still, what the assassin was saying was not completely true. "On the contrary, I have several thoughts. So many that I seldom know what to do with them all." She defended her brain, which was capable of producing thoughts at the very least. "I am always thinking. If I could not think, I believe I would have died from boredom a very long time ago." Endymion explained to her that it was not possible to die from boredom and that it was just an expression. Even still, she could not imagine her life without her thoughts and her daydreams.

So the frog was in the well! Imagine that. Faline tilted her head to the side as Cyrra accused the well of hiding the frog... and then the well went on to accuse her of murder. Because apparently it was still 'accuse Faline of crimes she did not commit day.' Good grief. She was growing awfully tired of being hated by everyone she met when she only wanted to get along and perhaps make friends.

"Ah. And tell me, how does one murder a well?" Faline tapped her chin thoughtfully, seemingly indifferent to the well's tearful theatrics now. She was not sure. And because she was not sure, she also was not sure if she could have been the culprit... because she would have had to have known how to murder a well to have committed such a crime in the first place. If she did not remember doing so and if she did not know how it was done, then she could not have possibly murdered the well. "Because then I will do the opposite of that and I will not kill you. Instead..."

Hm. Ah ha! What made her feel better after a bad day? That was a rhetorical question, for the answer was obvious. A song! Dreary days could always be livened up with songs, for Faline loved songs! Without fail, a soft little tune always had a way of making her feel better. And perhaps it would stop the well from crying, too.

"Oh wishing well," Faline bolstered herself with a deep breath and began to sing a song she was, for all extents and purposes, just making up on the spot. "You should know very well, I don't feel too compelled to murder wishing wells." She wagged her finger coyly at the blood approaching her and skipped a step backwards to dodge it. Avoiding it with an almost accidental deftness, she whirled off into a vivacious little dance around the well, her long braid swinging bouncily behind her. Each step and sway kept her out of harm's way.

"Wha-- what is this? What is she doing?" The well sounded very confused, addressing Cyrra as if she might know. "What am I looking at?"

"Oh wishing well! We hear you cry and yell, what made you so unwell? You poor old wishing well." Faline continued to sing her soft little song, happily oblivious to the well's confusion. The floating blood seemed to bounce up and down along to her rhythm now as it followed her... or maybe that part was all in her imagination? Whether it was or it wasn't, she was having a swell time either way. "Oh wishing well! I'm singing like a bell to try and make you well, you silly wishing well."

Yes, yes. Faline just rhymed well with well. But it wasn't like she had the time to prepare a proper song in advance! Well, time was oft on her side. And perhaps if she froze it still she could revise that line in particular... but then again, she quite liked what she was coming up with now. There was a bright freshness to this moment that she did not wish to smooth over with her magic. Sometimes moments were just that. Moments. And they deserved to remain untouched and stay the way they were. Even without the preparations, the tune she'd concocted was rather catchy if she did say so herself. The act of singing lifted her spirits which seemed to sink with her in the water earlier.

"Oh wishing well! You come from wishing hell... and it won't serve you well to lure me with a spell." Faline sang the last part in a lower tone that sounded surprisingly alluring coming from her, like a dangerous secret or a warning as she discreetly completed the last stroke of the giant star she'd been drawing in the dirt around the well with the toe of her boot while she'd been 'dancing'. Upon completion, the shape glowed a faint silver, like the threads of time themselves, and three things happened all at once. The earth shook, the well's bloody tears dried up and the frog levitated into the air. "There you are, Mr. Frog! How do you do?"

 

[Syntra]

Cyrra watched Faline with the resigned skepticism of someone who knew that their companion was, in fact, full of shit, but also that there was no power in the universe that could change that. Faline was just… Faline, alright? For all the mysteries surrounding her persona, how she had managed to cross the threshold of adulthood in one piece was still the greatest one. How come that she hadn’t jumped out of her bedroom’s window, hoping to sprout fucking wings? Because that was exactly the thread of logic the witch was likely to follow! (…most likely, she had only survived to spite her. Yes, her, as in Cyrra personally. From her very birth, the whelp had planned to attach herself to her hip, and soil her via association. And, the worst thing about it? It was working! The gods couldn’t be looking at her with the same eyes as before, with magic coursing through her veins and disgrace being her second fucking name. Too much had changed. Cyrra was no longer the same Cyrra, that couldn’t be denied, but… well, who was she, then? A traitor, a blasphemer, a lowlife. Someone whose path was fucking drowning in darkness. Every careful step that she had ever taking, leading towards her destiny? Erased, within the blink of an eye. The bricks she had fucking put together had turned to bile, and now she was wading through it, submerged to her neck--)

“She’s singing,” Cyrra explained, rather uselessly. “Don’t fucking question it. If you do, she’ll actually try to explain, and that’s when your brain will melt. Just think happy thoughts and try to endure it.” Which, yes, calling it ‘singing’ was about as generous as saying that a drunkard who collapsed in front of the tavern was actually fucking dancing. Just, what the hell was that supposed to be? (Cyrra may not have looked like it, but she had grown up in a temple. In the temple, the capital’s crown jewel. For the glory of the gods, the songstresses had sung within its walls every day, their voices high and sweet-- back then, she had thought it the proof of their existence, because something so beautiful couldn’t have just sprung out of nothing. Flowers fucking blossomed from seeds, not from dust. As she was forced to listen to Faline’s wails, though? For one blasphemous second, the assassin was convinced that not only were there no gods, but that the entities that ruled over them instead fucking hated them. Just, ugh. When would this end? Hadn’t she endured enough suffering already, between being marked for death and expelled from her order? One would have thought that the fates had been cruel enough, but no! In addition to that, they also had her witnessing this… this absolute carnage.) “Whelp,” the assassin growled, her voice low and dangerous, “if you rhyme well with well one more time, I swear I will find a thesaurus and make you eat it. Page after fucking page, too.”

Except that, doubtlessly by some impure intervention of the powers of darkness, it fucking worked. The well stopped weeping, and the frog was removed from its bowels.

“Ribbit! Ribbit!” the animal writhed. “Would you, ribbit, believe me if I said this was just a misunderstanding?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was the fucking goddess of love?”

“I mean, if it saved my ass… maybe.” The frog tilted its head aside, as if it meant to imply they were sharing an inside joke. The assassin didn’t even have the time to come up with a biting remark, though, because Endymion and Atropos materialized near their feet. “Don’t you dare, Cyrra!” the shadowy snake hissed. “Don’t listen to that frog’s filthy lies. If you let it, it will only lead you astray. Don’t you see how clean the water in the well is now? Drink, so that we may finally leave this accursed place.” And while the assassin would rather swallow a flask poison before agreeing with Atropos on anything, she also had to admit that, for now, they shared a common goal. Staying here out of pure fucking spite wouldn’t help her get any closer to her goal, right? Whatever the hell it even was at this point. With some apprehension, then, she leaned forward and scooped up the water in her palms. (It was sparkling, like a diamond in the sun. ‘Come closer, Cyrra,’ the assassin could hear in its whispers. ‘Come, and receive the sacred message.’) Needless to say, she didn’t at all feel like conversing with fucking water-- that was just a step away from talking to your own weapon, and she had never aspired to be quite as unhinged. Still, when the liquid wet her lips? The world’s usually sharp edges blurred, to the point they resembled the work of a mad artist who wasn’t entirely sure what he was aiming for with his portrayal. What… what is…?

The answer for that, however, came sooner than she would have expected.

“Father?” Yes, there he stood, wrapped in his favorite dark cloak! (More than a half of his face was hidden in the shadows, but Cyrra would recognize those eyes anywhere-- the way they bore into her was familiar, as was the grip on her shoulders. Painfully so.) “Father, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” She should have been afraid, the assassin knew, except that, somehow, her heart refused to catch up with her head. Regardless of how deep she dug, there was just… this sense of peace. Of calm and quiet, one that she hadn’t tasted for years. The usual disgust that came with him touching her? Nowhere to be fucking seen.

“Where else would I be?” Father smiled. “I am exactly where I am needed, Cyrra Eiréal. And you are, too. Fret not, because the gods asked me to come. It is my understanding that you have located the Kairos girl? I knew you wouldn’t disappoint, child.”

“But…” Cyrra furrowed her brow as she browsed through her memories, distant and shrouded in fog, “…you tried to have me killed. That does scream ‘disappointment’ to me.”

“No. I made it look that way, because the trap required it to be sprung. Without that, the girl would never have believed you. I am sorry, my child, for not telling you in advance, but your performance needed to be perfect.”

Performance? Trap? Fucking what?

“Deliver her to me, to the capital. Do it, Cyrra Eiréal, and we will be happy to welcome you to the inner circle once again. What say you?”

Meanwhile, Faline opened her eyes and found herself back in the mundane world. A tree, as ancient as the planet itself, had wrapped its roots around her in a protective embrace-- a similar cocoon was protecting Cyrra as well, except that the assassin hadn’t woken up. Quite the contrary. She… appeared not to be breathing, actually? Her lips were bloodless, almost translucent, and her chest wasn’t moving. (In her hands, there was a bouquet of strikingly blue hyacinths. Funeral flowers, perhaps? But how was that possible? Where had they come from?)

 

[ellarose]

"...How strange." Faline whispered upon blinking her eyes open to the new scenery. With the feather-light touch of her fingertips, she traced the roots that entangled her and examined their grooves and patterns with wide, curious eyes. It was very strange indeed. For as long as she could remember, entering and exiting the other realm required that she pass through the door. That was simply the way of things, very much like how she entered the cottage through the door and left it through the door as well. Traveling through a sip of water, however? Well, she had never experienced anything quite like that before. That put more of an imaginative spin on things, didn't it? Much like having a quaint little cup of herbal tea in the evenings before drifting off to sleep and dream. "I wonder what changed."

Everything was rather strange lately, Faline supposed. The other realm was the other realm, but that time it had tilted slightly. It was very much like walking into a familiar room only to discover someone had rearranged all of the furniture since she had last been inside. So what was different? Typically she entered the other realm on her own. Sometimes Endymion came along, of course, but aside from that? She was unused to traveling in such a large group. Perhaps the presence of both Atropos and Cyrra had changed something in the other realm. What that was, however, she could not possibly know. (If auntie were around, she might have possessed those answers. But auntie was not around anymore, so there was really no point in dwelling on it now. Auntie's life was forever sealed in the past and no amount of the Kairos magic could bring her back now.) No matter. Faline had accepted long ago that there were certain aspects of the other world that were not designed for human comprehension at all. Natos told her so, after all. Natos told her a great deal of things and was, perhaps, the wisest creature she knew. This might be one of those many secrets which she was simply not meant to know.

"Miss Kairos!" Endymion called out and a soft, automatic smile came to Faline's features in response. The familiar bent into a spidery-shaped shadow which helped clear a path for her to slip down from the roots and onto the grass. Once she was securely on her own two feet they rematerialized into a cat and wrapped affectionately around her calves. "Are you all right?"

"I nearly drowned and questioned all of my hopes and dreams." Faline spoke airily of her existential crisis, carefully observing the shapes between the branches overhead. "Then I sang a song and felt immensely better. And now I am here." She tilted her head, examining the wood around them. Quietly, she hummed the tune of her wishing well song as not to forget it. Before she could forget, she ought to write the words down in her journal. While she did rhyme well with well quite a few times, she was proud of the song she had composed and improvised. "I know we are in the mortal realm, but where is here?"

"Well... I shall take a look around and find out, Miss Kairos." Endymion took a moment to shake off the first half of her explanation before summoning and resting her trunk at her feet. "That said, it is very late and you've had a very long day. I will seek out an inn."

"Yes, that sounds splendid." Faline clapped her hands together under her chin. Yet another first! She had never stayed in an inn before. She wondered what the interior would look like, the sights and smells and sounds. She wondered what sort of food they would offer. Oh! And it would also be delightful to meet some humans who were not corpses or assassins as well. Speaking of assassins, though... where was Cyrra? Ah. It seemed that another tree had decided to catch her from the other realm too. "I will try to wake Cyrra in the meantime."

Glimpsing down at herself, Faline found her spirits were rising higher yet when she realized she was once again wearing her favorite dress. It was not taken from her for good after all. With a sigh of relief, she reached into her skirt pocket for Hector's feather. Twirling it between her thumb and index finger, she softly sang her wishing well song and approached the tree that held Cyrra.

"Aw. I wonder why I did not receive any flowers?" Faline asked aloud upon noticing the blue hyacinths in the other woman's hands, feeling the slightest twinge of envy rising in her chest. Ah. Obviously no one would give her flowers... because she was a whelp with no friends. All right, no. That was unfair, for she did indeed have friends. They just weren't human friends. Not the types to give her things like flowers, considering the creatures in the other realm did not have the same concept of what was considered an acceptable gift to give. For instance, the garland made of decapitated bird heads that Blunk had given her once. While the effort and sentiment was appreciated... it did not feel her with warm fuzzy feelings.

Abandoning those thoughts, Faline rose up to her tip-toes and brushed the chicken feather over the tip of Cyrra's nose in attempt to stir her. "Cyrra." She called out to her gently. Ah. The woman looked rather unwell, didn't she? "Cyrra, wake up you sleepyhead!" Hm. She considered the last words they spoke to one another before leaving the other realm. "If you do not wake up soon I will sing another song. And since you are looking rather unwell, I believe I will end up rhyming well with well once again."

 

[Syntra]

Cyrra didn’t move. The threat, albeit very serious in nature, might as well have been just the whisperings of wind-- her lips remained just as bloodless, her skin just as translucent. If Faline didn’t know any better, she might have come to the conclusion that she was looking at a corpse! “Oh no,” Atropos groaned. (The snake was sitting on the assassin’s chest, curled up in a manner that you would sooner expect from a cat. Still, it did make some sort of sense, didn’t it? A familiar or not, a snake was a snake, and having a convenient heat source at hand must have been very pleasant for them.) “I was afraid of exactly that. Truly, I must be the most unlucky familiar alive. First, my beloved mistress gets murdered, and then her replacement ends up like… like this. I knew this endeavor was a bad idea. Then again,” they sighed, “everything about this has been a bad idea from the very beginning. It couldn’t be helped, I suppose. The timelines have become too tangled. It’s very hard for the human body to withstand the process, you see? Unless they happen to be at least as special as yourself, Miss Kairos.” Atropos seemed almost angry now, as if the lack of Falines (or at least Faline-like people) bothered them on some visceral level. “Do you know how long it takes for someone like you to be born? Just, imagine rolling dice. Hundreds and hundreds of them, at the same time. What do you think, how often can you get all of them to land on the same number?” The snake let the question hang in the air for a bit, probably to allow her to really think about it. “I don’t know!” they unveiled their answer. “I do feel like it would be a tremendously rare occasion, though. I just don’t feel like counting those chances, and so I am not doing that. Either way, it’s rather obvious that Cyrra here wasn’t born under the same lucky star.”

And, as they chatted? Cyrra’s body still didn’t move. Come to think of it, it seemed like her chest wasn’t moving, either-- something that it very much should be doing, if it wanted to, you know, survive. (Maybe it didn’t want to do that, however. As in, perhaps the assassin had better plans? Many things about this realm specifically had seemed to annoy her, so she may have sailed off in search of, uh, greener pastures. Something like that.) “And now I’ll have to find a new host for the Kairos magic,” the snake lamented. “The worst thing about it is that I think it will just take root in another Cyrra, as if that wasn’t the worst option available. Do you think the magic itself is trying to communicate with us? Have we perhaps chosen a wrong path to follow, and so it’s telling us to stop?”

The supposed message, regardless of what it was, had to wait, however, because while the assassin remained motionless, the roots… didn’t. Oh no, not at all. With a disconcerting, screechy sound, similar to the one a door could have made when you tried to open it after years of it being shut, they embraced Cyrra tighter-- the thinner of the twigs also pierced her skin, burrowing themselves deep into her flesh. “Oh,” Atropos’ eyes widened in surprise. “Are trees supposed to be doing that in your world? I apologize, Miss Kairos, but I haven’t visited this realm for quite a while. I wouldn’t to presume what your auntie’s motivations were, but she didn’t like the idea of me leaving our dimension too often. I… suppose she may have been afraid of something. Of drawing the wrong kind of attention, perhaps?” …yeah, which had been an overwhelming success, considering her current gig as a corpse.

The wood sizzled with energy, so much of it that it was a wonder that the tree didn’t go up in flames, and then… then Cyrra’s eyes finally snapped open. “What… what the fuck?!” she rasped, struggling against the constraints. (The well. The water, sparkling like a handful of diamonds. Father, telling her to… what? To bring the witch to him? The assassin did and didn’t remember, because all the memories seeped into each other in the same way a single drop of blood contaminated an entire pond. Ugh! Just, what was going on? What were the gods attempting to convey here, aside from the fact that she was absolutely, irreversibly, one hundred percent fucked?)

“She’s… alive?” Atropos asked, sounding significantly less enthusiastic than she should have. “That’s a first. I mean, rejoice! The fragmenting of the Kairos magic has been prevented. For now, you may travel freely. Not that I know where you should go, but I would assume that you staying here would be rather unwise. The human bodies are rather breakable, aren’t they? And I don’t think that your pursuers will give up that easily. After all, that is what they cannot do-- pursue they must, for it is encoded in their very name.”

“Don’t just fucking look at me, assholes,” Cyrra spat out, entirely done with worthless monologues. (Not that she had ever been a fan, but having the equivalent of a thousand needles stuck in her, burning hotter than flames, shortened her fuse significantly. Were they injecting something in her veins?) “Help me! And afterwards… I don’t know, we can fucking go to the capital. You wanted to see some shit, didn’t you?” she gestured towards Faline. “The capital is better than the sea. You can, uh… actually live there. In the sea, you’d just fucking drown.”

 

[ellarose]

Once they helped Cyrra's reanimated corpse down from the abnormal tree, the four of them ventured down the path towards the inn that Endymion had discovered upon scouting ahead. It was assuredly en route to the capital that the assassin had mentioned, making it a suitable destination for all of them to rest and prepare for the journey ahead. Faline in particular had a very long and exciting day compared to what she was accustomed to and was quite knackered as a result. It was imperative that she got some sleep in order to cope with another day undoubtedly filled with untold wonders. Every day of her life in that little cottage, she knew what to expect from when she opened her eyes in the morning to when she closed them in the evening. The events that took up her every waking moment were scrawled on her list of daily household chores. The only things she could not expect were what small animals and insects she might meet, as well as what the sunrises and sunsets would look like. Attending to her morning chores, burying granny's body, packing her whole life up to that point into a single trunk, finding auntie's corpse and meeting an assassin... she was truly unused to seeing so much action in one day! As a result, her eyelids often drooped, feeling rather leaden as she skipped over the stones and grass. Sleepy, sleepy, sleepy. Was the one thought that dominated her mind. She tried humming softly to keep herself awake. Upon encountering another traveler walking (or rather stumbling) in the opposite direction on the path, however, her eyes snapped wide open. Oh, wow! A human!

"Hello there! Good evening." Faline cheerily greeted the stranger with a little wave of her hand.

Endymion, unable to speak as usual in the presence of normal human beings, gave a suspicious meow. They tilted their head exaggeratedly towards the path, as if to tell her they should really not be doing this and keep moving on. Faline, however, did not notice the signals. She was too busy watching the stranger with fascinated, sparkling eyes.

"Well, well, well. Aren't you the sweetest thing I ever laid eyes on." The man smiled to reveal a mouth of crooked teeth. His breath reeked of something that Faline had never smelled before... but he was smiling. Wasn't that a good thing? With that in mind, she did what she supposed was the proper thing and smiled back at him, earning a laugh in return. Goodness. This was the best conversation she had ever begun with another human by far. Perhaps not everyone would be like the assassins she had encountered thus far. The world was filled with people, after all! Surely some of them would like her. This man clearly did, judging on the way he looked at her up and down and closed the distance by staggering closer to her. "Good evenin'. What's yer name, lass?"

Endymion hissed and Faline clicked her tongue scoldingly at them. Now, now. That was no way to treat a potential new friend! Oh. That said, she really ought to apply Cyrra's advice about the manners expected in introductions. This time around she was indeed determined to make a good and proper first impression!

"My name is Faline. I believe I would prefer to die as I'm drifting off to sleep in old age, like granny did... and unfortunately I cannot swim." Faline dipped into a little curtsey. Introduction, preferred means of death, and the fact that she could not swim. Yes! She believed she remembered it correctly! Glimpsing over her shoulder, she offered Cyrra a victorious little smile as if to say she knew she had done a good job remembering and following her instructions. Hehe. She was indeed a quick learner! "How do you do?"

"I, uh... what?" The man rubbed the side of his head perplexedly, looking between the two of them. He was very obviously drunk (although Faline did not pick up on this, having never encountered a drunkard before) and was questioning whether or not he had just heard her correctly. Amending his confusion with another wide smile, he looked between them and decided it was better to just shake it off. Stepping forward, he got a closer look at her and took her hand in his. It was so large it completely enveloped her own. (If Endymion could have incinerated this man on the spot with their eyes alone, they surely would have done so by now.) "Yeah. That's great, lassie. Say, anyone ever told you that you got some real unusual eyes?"

"Unusual?" Faline echoed, tilting her head. She was not sure whether she liked holding hands with this gentleman or not. But she supposed it was a good thing he was being so nice?

"One blue, one brown. Never seen anything like that before. I don't mean anythin' by that, though. They're still pretty lass. Like precious gems they are!" The man chuckled and grinned in a way he probably fancied was charming. Then his gaze drifted over Cyrra, and he looked between the two of them as if piecing together in his head how he might spin this situation to his advantage. "So where're you lovely ladies headed on this here fine night?"

 

[Syntra]

There were few things in this world that Cyrra Eiréal enjoyed more than traveling. The leaves rustling in the wind, reminding her how small she was; the wind in her hair; the silent clapping of the hooves, giving a quiet rhythm to her everyday life. Conversely, you know what she hated the most? Inns. Fucking inns, with their bawdy music, overpriced food, and an unsavory crowd. Just, did they have nothing better to do? Literally anything else? (Alcohol, she’d once heard, was the name of a flesh-eating demon. As far as her observations went, they hadn’t named it that way for no reason. Once inebriated, men turned into beasts-- they shed the semblance of civility like others shed old clothes, and gave in to their basest instincts. If you needed a fucking proof that they needed to be kept on a tight leash, then this was it! …heh. A good thing, then, that they weren’t bound to their shelves forever. In fact, it was remarkably easy to sever the connection. A sharp enough knife was all you needed, you see? A knife, and a hand steady enough to wield it.)

So, no, Cyrra wasn’t happy that they had to spend the night in one of those places. Quite the opposite. The irritation was plain to see on her face, too-- the assassin sat in the corner, wearing her best murderous glare, and sipped on her water from time to time. Ugh. Why do we allow these fuckers to breathe, again? Personally, Cyrra didn’t think that that was fair. The kindness of death was too good for them, certainly, but should they just… let them feast on their resources? Take up the precious space on the earth, handcrafted by the gods? If there was any greater example of fucking spitting on their efforts, the assassin certainly couldn’t come up with it. (So many unnecessary people, really. Akin to raindrops falling onto the soil, and, just like with those raindrops, too many of them created a flood. A flood in which all that was still beautiful about this world would fucking drown, should nobody do anything about it. Was it not noble, then? To burn the trash, and let the flames purify what was left? From filth, nothing pure would ever bloom! …not that she would know anything about that, though. Heh.)

Did Cyrra expect to be left alone? No. ‘Unsurprised but disappointed’ was the exact fucking phrase she would describe herself with, with a heavy emphasis on ‘disappointed’. What was up with all those men who thought they had the right to speak to her? Did she have ‘please, talk to me’ written on her forehead? The assassin wasn’t aware of that, and yet, yet those things kept trying to initiate contact! (With her, and Faline as well. Again, that did not shock her. The whelp had this aura of a kicked puppy about her, and that tended to attract lowlives-- the ones who thought they could kick her some more, and make her thank them for it. Make her beg for more, too. Kind of like… like… No. Stop fucking thinking about her. The memory had been buried for ages, with flowers growing on its grave, so why oh why was it crawling out to the surface now? What was dead, Cyrra knew, ought to stay dead. That was the one law of existence, engraved into marble. Oh well! At least she had a pretty little parrot now, to repeat all the pretty little words that she’d taught her. That was, hm, fun.)

“Us?” she asked, with an arrogant smirk upon her lips. (If you looked carefully enough, you might be able to spot the threat-- the way steel was reflected in her eyes, and how her handed fell near her belt. You know, to the place where her weapons were stored? Her very sharp, very dangerous weapons? Of course, far it be from drunkards to examine anything that wasn’t the bottom of their fucking glasses.) “Oh, don’t mind us. Just on our way to kill a few bad bastards, is all. Care to volunteer?”

The man did not expect that, and for a second, it almost seemed that the shock was enough to knock him back into sobriety. ‘Almost,’ of course, was the crucial piece of information here. “Real charming, lady. I love it when a gal has a sense of humor. Makes things so much more fun, y’know?” Without asking for a permission, he squeezed himself on their bench, right between herself and Faline. Cyrra seriously considered spiling his blood on the spot, but then… well, something he said made her decide to wait. No point to ending a farce before it reached its fucking conclusion, was there? And what he was saying was interesting, to be sure.

“C’mon, girlie,” he slurred, “have some wine. You aren’t enjoying yourself at all. Do you want to insult the god of feasts, the great Pyreos?” Seemingly out of nowhere, he produced a flask, and poured a glass of sparkling, red liquid for Faline. “Not a good idea, lemme tell ya. The fastest route to damnation. Drink up.”

(Alright, the assassin may have been curious about Faline’s alcohol tolerance levels. So what? They still knew fuck all about witches’ anatomy, knowing one’s enemy was the key to victory. That, and it also admittedly could be pretty funny.)

“For sure,” Cyrra nodded. “Drink. Or would you like to die a painful fucking death?”

 

[ellarose]

"Oh, wow. What a pulchritudinous shade of red!" Faline observed, peering wonderingly at the glass in her hand. She especially admired the tiny bubbles rising within like whimsical little fish. So this was wine, hm? She had never tasted it before herself, as there was none in the cottage to partake of. Listening to the man and Cyrra's exchange, she glimpsed between the two of them and then back at the glass again. Damnation? Death? She supposed she would have tried it anyways out of curiosity, even before she knew it might risk damnation or death. (It sounded rather extreme, didn't it? Although she had no way of knowing what was commonplace in these situations.) She gave the wine a pensive little sniff and curled her toes with anticipation. It had an aroma of plums and perhaps a hint of cherry? "Is that right...? I suppose I will have to try it, then."

"Pul... pulchri..." The man struggled to follow her.

"Pulchritudinous." Faline supplied politely as she brought the glass to her lips. Here goes. A racing thrill twirled in her stomach as she tipped it back and downed a sip. The bubbles tickled her tongue and coaxed a giggle from her... then she cycled into a scrunched little expression upon tasting the bitterness. Once that passed, her face relaxed once again when the sweet aftertaste kicked in. Hmmm. She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth a few times as she thought about the fresh experience. Did she like the wine or didn't she? Normally she knew right away, but in this case she was decidedly undecided. Perhaps she would have to take another sip in order to find out? She did not want to venture down the path to damnation, after all.

"Right, girlie! Exactly." Shaking off his confusion yet again with a laugh, the man messily tipped his flask to pour more wine into Faline's glass to replenish it after the few sips she had taken. "That's the way."

Spurred on by the encouragement, Faline giggled nervously and took yet another sip.

The night easily escaped from Faline from that moment onward. In fact, it felt very much like she'd somehow traveled through time from one moment to the next within the span of all of the sips of wine she'd taken, offered so generously to her by the man whose name she could not quite remember. (Had she ever asked him for his name at all? Ah, rats. It seemed she had forgotten.) Either way, she'd tasted enough by then to accustom herself to the flavor of it so that she no longer made those funny little faces whenever she swallowed it down.

Faline was swept into a whirlwind, exploring the corners of the inn on light, skipping feet and attempting to introduce herself to all who deigned to listen to her speak. (Oddly enough, whenever she mentioned her preferred means of death and the fact that she could not swim she was received with countless questioning stares. It was around the seventh time that this happened when she wondered if Cyrra's version of proper manners was perhaps a custom elsewhere. Perhaps in the strange doorless land she hailed from?) In the process of her mingling, she'd met a musician and tried (and failed) to learn to play the lute he carried around with him. She danced briefly with another woman and also got into a rather spirited debate with an older gentleman over the precise color of the curtains. Eventually she circled back over to where Cyrra was.

"Cyrra!" Faline sang happily, gently grabbing the other woman's wrists to press the assassin's hands to her blushing cheeks. "Tell me... does my face feel hot to you? I believe my face feels very, very hot. But, ah... I am not sure if that is in my imagination." She slurred. Oh. Did that sentence come out correctly? Did it make any sense? In her head it seemed to... but now she wasn't quite so sure. She did know that these sensations were strange, for she had never felt quite like this before. It was like walking upon clouds, high above the ground, and being vaugely disconnected from her usual means of reasoning. She giggled. "I feel floaty and hot... and very light. It is strange. Does it look as though I might float away?"

The position Faline arranged them in briefly reminded her of the other Cyrra, the way she had caressed her cheek so gently earlier. Goodness. If her face was not hot before, it was positively scorching now. (Yes... that had felt almost nice until she pinched her.) At this proximity and in this position, she could so easily get lost in the assassin's eyes. She had never quite understood the concept of getting lost in the eyes of another until that moment, truly. It did not seem comprehensible to get lost in anyone's eyes. Now, however? It seemed the other woman's eyes were the only things to exist in the busy, bustling inn. Well, those and her lips.

"Ah. May I ask you a question, Cyrra? Have you ever kissed anyone before?" Faline asked, dropping one of Cyrra's hands to fidget with the end of her braid. "I have not. Although I have always been very curious about it. Until today I have never laid eyes upon anyone I would have considered kissing before. But I imagine it must feel nice. Warm and soft. Like a fluffy chicken." She hiccuped and suddenly her eyes gleamed, like she might start to cry. "Ah. I already miss the chickens. Have I... have I ever told you about the chickens, Cyrra?"

 

[Syntra]

Almost against her will, Cyrra had to admit that the whelp was doing pretty well. She had expected pretty much anything, ranging from Faline dancing on the tables to her flipping them over and declaring a war on this grey, candy-less wasteland-- wilder stories had been born from one’s first experiences with alcohol, the assassin had heard. At least when the exposure was this sudden. The girl hadn’t told her that much about her life, but from what she had said… well, it wasn’t that difficult to put two and two together. It wasn’t even a riddle, per se. Oh no. For that, the answer was too fucking predictable. When you were stuck in a single household, practically bound to it by an invisible leash, you just didn’t get to experience much, now did you? And unless this mysterious granny figure had been happy to see her own flesh and blood poison herself, then no, she probably hadn’t even smelled wine before! Indeed, the assassin figured that introducing her to it could lead to... hm, interesting situations. (What? Life had thrown more bullshit at her in a single day than it had within the last five years, and she felt that she deserved to be compensated for it in some way. Would the fucking emperor pay up? Or the gods, maybe? Would they tear the reality asunder, solely to give her her well-deserved wages? Her past experiences sure as fuck did not suggest so, and so Cyrra figured she would at least have some fun with this. ‘Work hard, play hard,’ right?)

…regardless, Faline just acted like a more energetic version of herself. How boring. Why does she suddenly know what dignity is? the assassin thought, beyond annoyed. What a waste. By now, she should have been drastically more naked than she currently is. Of course, the assassin hadn’t concocted the plan to push her towards that! That was, um, just an example. Shedding one’s clothes was a time-honored tradition among drunkards, so she couldn’t be faulted for kind of going there mentally. Associations just fucking… associated themselves on their own, you know? The process was beyond her control, and thus not reflecting poorly on any part of her. (Cyrra wasn’t at all interested in seeing Faline in that state-- a witch’s charms had no fucking effect on her. Absolutely none, okay? In the hypothetical scenario where there were any in the first place, which, duh, wasn’t even true. In case someone wanted to know, the whelp was not her fucking type. For that, she was too pretty and soft, and Cyrra… uhh, Cyrra hated both of those. Obviously. Pretty, colorful flowers were often the most poisonous ones, she’d learned-- by giving her such a pleasant-looking shell, then, the gods were actually warning her. Right. Right! The fact that the assassin could see that only proved that she had a pair of working eyes, attuned to the gods’ hidden messages.)

Sullenly, the assassin remained seated at her table. Her only company? The glass of water that she nursed in her hands, which was steadily growing more and more lukewarm. The patrons must have been multiplying, too-- every fucking time she looked, there seemed to be more of them, more ants than actual people. More nightmares than people, too. Their gross, sweaty bodies were obstructing her view, and that was also the reason she failed to notice who it was, exactly, that had thrown the small piece of paper on her table.

“Cyrra Eiréal,” it read, once she unfolded it, “I am most pleased to see that you haven’t lost your way. Your efforts have been recognized. Two words: The capital. The temple. Remember your vows. Remember, child, that home is home.” And, really, wasn’t that fucking precious? As if she had ever had a home-- something more than a collar with her name, and sometimes a bowl full of food. You know, when the master decided she’d been obedient enough. (A whip, too. A whip with sharp, metallic claws, ready to remind her of the slightest mistake. Teaching moments weren’t cheap, you see? Always, always there was a fucking price, and whether you paid it willingly or not, you couldn’t escape in the end! …even so, that collar was all she had. Better something than nothing at all, Cyrra supposed.)

In that strange frame of mind, teetering somewhere between nostalgia and the deepest fucking resentment, Faline came to her. Faline, along with her ridiculous fucking questions. Faline, with her flushed cheeks, and rosy lips, and eyes full of so much innocent wonder that Cyrra couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to gouge them out. Glorious, no doubt! And forbidden, for now, because when Father asked a favor, you didn’t say ‘no.’ Not unless you were hoping to part with your head, anyway. (That he wasn’t standing by her side right now didn’t mean that he wasn’t there, you know? With his eyes, and hands, and many, many friends. That she had even gotten this fucking chance should have felt like a blessing, so… how come it didn’t? Anger churned in her stomach, sharp like barbed wire, and Cyrra felt like she had to do something, otherwise it would cut her up. As in, right now.)

Without bothering to explain anything at all, the assassin stood up. Roughly, she put her hands on Faline’s shoulders, and… uh. A few seconds later, she was shoving her tongue down her throat, tasting both the wine and her. The drunk near her whistled, but did the assassin care? No. Instead, she took more and more and more-- the heat, the thrill, everything. “Well?” she raised her eyebrow when they finally parted, her lips turning up in a cocky smirk. “What do you think, whelp? Have I kissed someone before?”

 

[ellarose]

Faline was about to speak more about the chickens she missed so much, perhaps tell a story about Hector and his tendency to get on granny's nerves. Of course, whatever she was going to say vanished as if into thin air. Why? Well, perhaps it was because all of her thoughts were abruptly replaced with the tongue in her mouth. Cyrra's tongue in her mouth, moving around as if it sought to explore every inch there was to explore. Lost in the new sensation, in the warmth, the lightheadedness she felt increased tenfold and she went slack in the woman's hold. What was happening!? She mumbled some incomprehensible gibberish, as if to ask a question, but of course that was impossible when her lips were otherwise occupied.

Oh. Was that a kiss? Faline had expected something softer, based on the stories she had read. The simple press of lips to lips. To some extent, she supposed it wasn't necessarily horrible? It was very much like the wine, where she could not tell whether she liked it or not. Except she was not so certain that she wanted to kiss Cyrra again to see whether she would grow accustomed to the taste of it. In fact, she was not so certain she wanted Cyrra to have her first kiss at all. But now the assassin had claimed it, whether she liked it or not.

For the lips that kissed Faline's were the same lips that oftentimes called her a whelp, as well as threatened to feed her her own entrails and the pages of a thesaurus. Words devoid of any affection whatsoever. And weren't kisses reserved solely for the people that you loved? It went beyond thinking the other person was pleasing to look at, yes? The cues she'd learned from her stories told her it was a matter of heart. Now everything she knew and everything she thought she knew mixed together and she did not know how to feel. She had not asked to be kissed, had she? No, she had not. She only wanted to know of Cyrra's own experiences to broaden her own imagination.

"Oh... I suppose you have, then." Faline said dazedly once she caught her breath, touching her lips. Unsurprisingly, they felt hot. Just like the rest of her. "Because you kissed... me." But why? That was the question wasn't it? It was that question that rose to the forefront of her mind, trampling over all the rest. Blinking rapidly, she shook her head as if that might clear it. It didn't work. The more she thought about it, the hotter she got.

"My name is Faline. I am not a fucking whelp." Faline said, a little louder this time. The heat seemed to infect her words as well and she was dizzy with it. With a shuddering breath, she took a few wobbly steps in attempt to get some air. She did not want to be called a whelp after her first kiss. But that was what happened. Even if she turned back time, she wouldn't be able to erase the experience from her memory. "Why would you kiss someone you consider a whelp, anyway? Kisses are supposed to be..." How was she meant to finish that sentence? Did she have any authority to say what they should or shouldn't be when she did not have any experience with them in the first place? No. She was lost. "I don't know."

Faline whirled around on her heel and disappeared through the crowd, making for the entrance of the inn. Too hot. Distracted within a whirlwind of thoughts and sensations as she walked, she undid a few of the buttons on the collar of her dress in attempt to help herself cool down. Admittedly, it didn't do much but expose her collarbone. She was burning up, had never been in a room with so many people before and that was only fanning the flames encircling her. And so it was very much a relief to push through the doors and feel the inviting, cold night air against her skin.

 

[Syntra]

"What? What are kisses supposed to be?" Cyrra challenged, more annoyed than she should have been. (Did it have something to do with the fact that her little demonstration had been brushed aside? Pfft, of course not! How unfazed Faline seemed when she should have been reeling wasn't a factor, either. The assassin cared not for such things, especially when it came to witches. To stupid fucking witches with... with stupid, mismatched eyes and endless questions, always probing deeper, deeper, deeper in places they shouldn't be touching. That nobody should be touching, really. Where had she gotten the audacity from, to try and peel off the mask that she'd sewn onto her own face so diligently?!) "Do enlighten me, whelp. Clearly, you're the fucking expert here. What were you expecting, hm? To be turned into a frog?" Yes, the assassin did have her fairytales backwards, and no, she didn't particularly care. Not when the anger in her belly was this searing-- this wild, roaring like fire fed by gasoline. (Why not let it destroy everything, then? The flames were hungry, hungry for flesh, hungry for tears, and it wasn't like she could let it feed on herself. Not anymore. Cyrra just... didn't have anything else left to give. It was others' turn now, and Faline was conveniently fucking there. Was it fair? No, but witches shouldn't expect happy endings, anyway. They'd thrown that right away the second they'd tampered with forces far, far beyond their feeble understanding! And, speaking of that?)

"Cyrra!" Atropos cried once Faline stormed out, materializing near her feet. (Other patrons either hadn't noticed yet, or they literally couldn't-- the assassin wasn't sure how this worked exactly, but it was possible that normal people couldn't see the fiends. I wish that was me, Cyrra thought, with no small amount of bitterness.) "Cyrra, what have you done? Truly, I cannot believe a woman as uncouth as you can walk the earth without being swallowed by it alive. Had it had a modicum of sense, it would have done so already. Tell me, what lesson shall you take away from this incident?"

"That the tether has gotten weaker?" Indeed, the assassin could still feel it in her chest, like another limb that distinctly shouldn't be there, but the pull of it was a mere shadow of its former self. Something she could ignore, more or less, at the cost of some discomfort. "I like this leash much better. Feels longer. Hey, you think that, the more upset I make her, the more freedom I get?" 'Cause that idea, ladies and gentlemen, was inspiring. Fucking inspiring, even. (How about murdering animals? The whelp didn't seem too fazed by her taking human lives, but she didn't have much of a relationship with her kin in general. Maybe focusing on a different type of victim would help!)

"No! No! I... aaargh," Atropos howled. For a second or two, Cyrra could swear that the fiend intended to attack her-- they looked bigger, somehow, as if it had swallowed prey much larger than it should have. "You should be learning that you cannot treat people like that, Cyrra. Especially not Miss Kairos, who is yet... unwise, when it comes to the ways of the world." A nice synonym for 'fucking stupid,' the assassin guessed, but beyond that, the speech scarcely concerned her. That was, until... "Do you think she will ever trust you if you keep humiliating her? Do you? And believe me, Cyrra, there will need to be trust between the two of you if you are to handle the obstacles in your way." ...trust, huh. You know, the element of their relationship that Father had explicitly told her to cultivate? Shit. Shit! All of a sudden, Cyrra didn't feel like a cat playing with a mouse-- she felt like a fucking moron, dancing right on the edge of a bottomless abyss. Flirting with damnation, far more than she ever had. How come that the fiend had a deeper insight into this than her?! "Fuck," the assassin cursed. "Fuck, you're right." And, by that point, it was painfully clear that she had to go after her. Ugh!

"Look, Faline..." she began once outside, looking anywhere but at the girl. (The night air, at least, was pleasant. Cold against her skin, but not freezing, which jolted her mind back to proper activity. Now, how to craft a believable apology when you didn't actually give a single solitary fuck? ...by staying as close to reality as possible, the assassin guessed. By only adjusting the details, and letting them shine against the actual background. The best lies were cooked using genuine ingredients, you see? And only adding the drop of poison afterwards.) "I'm sorry, alright? I... let myself get carried away. I just fucking hate inns. They're loud and cramped and full of people, and you kept asking questions, and I felt cornered. I guess I had to stop it somehow. I shouldn't have done that, though. I won't kiss you anymore unless you want me to." Excuse her, but where had that come from? Alright, moving on! The narrative that her brain just did whatever the hell it wanted was a convenient one, and Cyrra accepted it in a heartbeat.

"I can, uh, let you have a wish. As an apology," the assassin scratched the back of her head awkwardly. "Ask me anything, and I'll do it."

 

[ellarose]

Faline glanced at Cyrra upon realizing that she had followed her outside. Finding that the other woman would not meet her gaze, though, she resolved to follow her lead and instead focused on the starry sky above their heads. Hm. At least the stars were as pretty as always. And she was quite confident that nothing could taint the romance of the stars for her. Unless the assassin had perhaps come out there specifically to ruin them for her as well. With a disenchanted little sigh, she wrapped her arms around herself to prepare her heart for whatever Cyrra might do or say next. But instead of call her a whelp or perhaps throw her onto the ground, the woman had come outside to... apologize? Ah. Really? Did she just mishear her? Normally she would not have gone as far as to doubt her intentions, but it was such a jarring change from her tone a few moments ago that she wasn't sure what to make of it. She tilted her head and thoughtfully considered the apology. How curious. She had never received one with a wish attached, either. Anything... truly? Did she really mean that?

"Three wishes." Faline slurred with a daringness elicited by the wine, holding up three insistent fingers. "Wishes always come in threes!"

Oh. Was that too demanding of her to ask? Faline shook off the hesitant little voice before she could lose her resolve or backtrack. No! Toughen up, buttercup! For her own sake, she was going to commit to this impulse. If Cyrra was indeed serious about giving her a heartfelt apology for what just transpired between them, then agreeing to those terms should not be so hard. It was her first kiss.

"One for stealing my first hug, one for my stealing first kiss..." Faline ticked her reasons to be allowed multiple wishes off her three fingers, twirling around and admiring the way her skirt swirled around her legs. Whoosh, whoosh. Clearing her throat, she reigned her focus where it rightfully belonged and concluded. "And one for throwing me into the water. That is fair, is it not?" She pursed her lips. So? Would the assassin still mean her apology as sincerely as before now that she had set her terms? "You should be relieved I am not adding every time you called me a whelp to the tally. If I did that, you would be..." She giggled, feeling light again. Aha. She could not feel her face. "You would be drowning in wishes the same way I almost drowned in the water! Speaking of which..."

"I do not want to be called whelp anymore." Faline decided. Although that seemed far too simple for one wish, when the prospect of 'anything' was set on the metaphorical table. And who was to say that Cyrra would not break out the thesaurus she intended to feed her and find another demeaning name to use instead? She had to make sure she nipped that possibility in the bud, or the wish would be for naught! "I do not want to be called whelp or... or any mean name at all for that matter. All right? I do not want to be called any names. Well, except for Faline, for that is my name. So... yes. That is my first wish! From now on, just call me Faline." Besides, she rather liked the way her name sounded when Cyrra said it for some reason. Perhaps because it made her feel like she actually existed in the mortal realm? Whatever the reason was, it was much, much better than being called whelp. That was for certain.

Faline stumbled and gripped onto Cyrra's shoulders for balance before she could fall. Taking advantage of the position, she leaned in close and peered into her eyes directly. What? This was purely strategic. She needed to see whether or not the assassin understood!

"Faline." She emphasized. "Okay? I will think of the other two wishes tomorrow. When my head stops spinning. Cyrra, I..." She burst into another fit of giggles, shivery and giddy against the cool night breeze. "I cannot feel my face anymore. Is that normal?"

 

[Syntra]

Three wishes. Three, like the heads of a fairytale fucking hydra. Where did she get the audacity from?! Cyrra would give up just about anything to ask her how, exactly, she intended to grapple with such complex math, but... well, among those things that she wouldn't give up, Father's mercy was pretty high. Calm down, she told herself. Doesn't fucking matter how many wishes she mooches off of you. The capital will become her grave, and you... you will see Ran again. (Ran. Ran, Ran, Ran. The name might as well have been a fire brand in her mind, shining brightly in the darkness, yet somehow, Cyrra had managed to avoid it for ages. How long had it been since she'd thought of her? Of her, and all those fucking roses? ...praise Father, indeed. Praise him, praise him.) "Fine," the assassin rolled her eyes. "You'll get three. Cyrra, the wishmaster, at your service." She bowed theatrically, putting her tight hand over her heart. "Be careful, though. Fucking careful. You might get addicted to the idea, and what then? You won't get more than those three wishes, Faline." Calling her by her name, at least, wasn't too horrible. Life had robbed the assassin of more joys than she could possibly count, and giving up yet another one was like adding one more snowflake to a raging fucking snow storm. Still, where would this lead? If she allowed her to have this kind of control over her... well, sooner or later, the whelp could come up with something actually unpleasant. It wasn't entirely impossible. From time to time, her tiny brain even appeared to come up with a semblance of actual thought, you see? And without the wine clouding her judgment, only the gods knew what she was capable of...!

Ugh. Can't I just kill her now and here? A tempting idea to be sure, but Father's instructions had been clear. 'Bring her to me,' he'd said. 'Bring me her corpse' would have been, hm, one interpretation of the order, but it was also the interpretation that was more likely to result in, you know, her walking away from this without a limb or two. (Or not walking away at all, unless traveling in a coffin counted. There was a time and place for creativity, you know? And, in Father's temple, none of those could be found.) Need a fucking plan B, Cyrra thought, with no small amount of annoyance. Just, who would have guessed that Atropos' words would haunt her so? 'Can't solve every problem of yours with killing, Cyrra,' the snake had said, and lo and behold! An entire fucking mountain of impossible-to-solve issues. Maybe I can coax the wishes out of her? Could work, honestly. People were weak, and saw what they fucking wanted to see-- more than the actual truth, they sought their own reflection in the mirror. The innermost desires of their small, pathetic, flickering souls. So, it shouldn't be too hard to convince her that she'd actually been on her side all along, right? And, along with that, make her more... comfortable? Comfortable enough to ask her for pointless things! Heh.

"Alright, alright. From now on, you will always be Faline to me. Fucking happy? And, yes. Yes and no. You should go to sleep. In the morning, you will be able to feel your face again. C'mon," Cyrra put Faline's arm over her shoulder, "I'll help you get to your bed." Had it been up to her, she would have helped her right to her grave, but...! But, but, but-- too many fucking buts, each of them piercing her resolve through and through. Patience, Cyrra reminded herself. Patience brings roses. Roses, and occasionally corpses as well. "Wine separates your spirit from your body. That's why you feel so fucking lightheaded, you know? And, to ensure your body doesn't self-destruct without that guidance, you gotta go to sleep when it gets this bad." The girl was warm, more than she expected her to be, and Cyrra... well, she felt warm, too. More than just a little bit. (The contrast was to blame, the assassin would wager. You know, the cold night air versus the human skin? It was its fucking job to be warm, considering that most of their organs worked at that temperature. Nuh uh, there was nothing more to that!)

"You've never killed, never drunk wine, never really done anything. What have you done?" Cyrra asked, once the door closed behind them again. "Tell me about the most interesting thing that has ever happened to you. I might tell you about mine if I like it enough." Yes, because exchanging pointless anecdotes was the way to make friends! Idiots just loved to hear themselves talk, really.

 

[ellarose]

"Faline, Faline, Faline." Faline hummed softly to herself through giggles. The more she repeated her own name, the funnier it sounded. Fe... leen. Uninvited, those lonely late-night thoughts trickled into her mind as she wondered who had named her Faline. Granny claimed not to know or care whenever she asked, assuring her that it was a pointless question. (To granny, a great deal of her questions were pointless ones and remained forever unanswered.) Ah. This was not the time for sadness to take precedence, however! She ought to rejoice, because Cyrra had agreed to no longer call her whelp or any other name that would inevitably remind her of granny's signature er... tough love. (Although she was fairly certain that 'love' was not an ingredient used in whatever higher forces created granny.) Looking towards her future, she was taking her first steps towards leaving the cottage and her solitary past there behind. As well as granny, who would no longer... well. There was no point in thinking of it anymore. Granny was buried in the ground. "Yes, I am fucking happy! I always wanted to be Faline to someone, you see..." Swaying on her legs, she leaned heavily on Cyrra once she offered herself as a unmovable pillar of support. Wow. The assassin was really quite strong, wasn't she? The realization set loose a whirlwind of butterflies in her stomach. "Not Miss Kairos, or dunderhead, or ninny. Or whelp. Just Faline." She took a deep breath, feeling the next words from the very bottom of her soul. "Thank you... for granting my wish."

Faline felt that her eyelids were suspiciously heavy once Cyrra mentioned the prospect of going to bed. With a thoughtful little hum, she leaned into the comforting warmth and gave a minute little nod of her head.

"This will be my first time, you know." Faline admitted drowsily. She did not catch the eyebrows raised at them as some of the inn patrons overheard her. She simply continued, completely unaware of the connotations or conclusions a passerby might have come to. "Sleeping anywhere other than the cottage, I mean. I cannot tell whether I am excited or frightened." She snorted and another laugh spilled out of her. "That would be... quite silly, wouldn't it? To be frightened of going to bed! Natos told me a long time ago that some humans fear their own shadows. I thought that was silly." She considered it deeper yet, sinking into the sea of thought the wine had tossed her into. "I suppose that having a silly fear is proof that I am human, too. In... in a way, that is a relief."

The wine separates soul from body? That was sounded like something one ought to be genuinely afraid of. As that concept sunk in, Faline reached her free arm over her head, clutching her fingers inward and outward as if to grab for the air. "Is it... is it perhaps floating above my head? My soul, I mean." She tilted her head to the side. "Goodness. I do hope it is behaving itself without me. Not... stealing delicious pastries... or committing crimes. If sleep will fix it, I suppose I must sleep at... at once." Nuzzling her face against the crook of Cyrra's neck like an affectionate kitten, she giggled again. "Although if it does steal pastries, I do hope it remembers to share some with us."

Getting to the room was taking a tremendous amount of focus on Faline's part, given her legs (much like her face) felt rather numb and helpless when pit against a staircase. They wobbled beneath her and she was rather fortunate that Cyrra was there, or she surely would have fallen flat onto her face by then.

"Oh. I... I suppose I haven't." Faline mused. At a complete loss, that late-night sadness crept back in when she considered all of the things she had never done. "I do not know what humans consider interesting, either." Her chest felt impossibly tight. Like this, she would not think of something nearly interesting enough to impress Cyrra. To say that she could bend time was nothing new to the assassin. It also felt like cheating, for that was more about her family name and who she was as opposed to what she herself had done. Sifting through her memories, she sought out the few days that stuck out among those endless days of chores and routine. Ah. There was that one day where she had truly impressed Endymion in the other realm by...

"...When I was nine I built a castle." Faline admitted casually. "It exists in the other realm. Oh! Since you can travel there as well... perhaps I could give you a tour someday! It is such a lovely place. And much, much safer than the palace we visited today." She nodded resolutely. Well, it was a beautiful place in her opinion by nature of the fact that she was the one who had created it. Endymion told her it took great mental fortitude for a human to create their own personalized space in that realm. Although she wasn't prone to bragging about her so-called 'mental fortitude'. More than anything, it was exciting to think that she might receive a new visitor soon. That palace had served as a place to escape her cottage life on numerous occasions. "My subjects are the most adorable animal people, too." She blushed, then, suddenly feeling bashful. "I'd... I'd love to introduce you. That is if you'd like to visit."

 

[Syntra]

Ugh. Why the fuck was she talking so much, again? Cyrra almost recommended her to shut up before a spider made a nest in her mouth, but then she remembered that she had, in fact, asked her a question. An open-ended question, too, that encouraged one to spin a story. Do you see this, Father? the assassin thought, trying her best not to roll her eyes. Do you see how willing to suffer I am? (Truthfully, Cyrra did have… hmm, her doubts. As many doubts as there were stars in the sky, actually. Why would Father weave a plan so complex, so full of threads, and not mention it? Why would he not, you know, fucking tell the crucial chess piece what role she was meant to play? ‘A lie,’ her instincts warned her, ‘a lie, lie, lie,’ but… well, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t swallowed those willingly throughout the years, every fucking day. At this point, she found them more nourishing than honesty. And, speaking of the uncomfortable truths? The assassin just knew that, as long as she fulfilled her purpose, Father would not cast her aside. He couldn’t. You didn’t slit the throat of the hen that laid golden eggs, now did you? So, as long as she brought the whelp back in one piece, everything would be fine. Fucking peachy. Heh! Even forgiveness had its price, as Cyrra had learned a long, long, long time ago. …that you generally couldn’t afford to pay it was an entirely different issue, though.)

“Yes, your first time,” the assassin repeated, sounding only slightly annoyed. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.” The drunkard that had attempted to woo them before? Cyrra could hear him choke in the background, and that only inspired her to put her other hand around the whelp’s waist. (So what? Men like him, worthless and reeking of cheap wine, deserved to have their hopes dashed. They were ripe for the grave, not for a maiden’s passionate embrace-- them even daring to think otherwise was a sure symptom of what she liked to call ‘the delusional bastard’ syndrome. Wondering how to cure that, hmm? Why, with a knife stuck between their fragile ribs! Too bad I can’t provide the cure, the assassin thought, oh so sadly. I’d love to make bagpipes out of your stomach, you fat fucking pig.) The man took a few steps back, as if he could sense her murderous intent, but Faline? Faline remained her perpetually clueless self, talking and talking and talking. (Was it possible to die from words overload? The assassin had the feeling that, over the next few days, she’d become an unwilling test subject in an experiment meant to determine exactly that.)

“What? Afraid that there are monsters under the tavern bed?” Cyrra smiled teasingly. “Wait, no, I forgot that monsters are your best friends. Perhaps you should worry about the dangers inside your bed, then-- you know, considering that we’ll sleep together and everything. I’m not gonna book two rooms for us. Not with the pursuers still hot on our trail. If something goes sideways, we’ll have to bolt, and we’ll have to do it fast.” Heh! A good excuse, wasn’t it? (Unlike certain whelps, the assassin had a working pair of eyes, and she used it well. What she had surmised about her target so far was this: a) Faline was woefully inexperienced when it came to touch, b) also craving it. So, the fastest route to her heart? It led through her bed. Cyrra would have to be much sweeter, much kinder than she had been, but… hmm, yes. That should work.)

“I’m sure she’s being a good girl,” the assassin smiled. Smiling, she’d learned, worked wonders-- once you bothered to wear it, idiots were all too eager to believe that the knife in your hand was meant for cutting meat. (Of course, that it was. That the meat in question was still attached to their fucking bones? A small, unimportant detail.) “Pastry stealing is the spice of life. I bet that, if she managed to get some, it was their owners’ fault for not guarding them more diligently.” To tell you the truth, the assassin would rather throw Faline over her shoulder and carry her to the damn bed, but something told her that this would have insulted the girl’s delicate fucking sensibilities. Oh well! Instead, she took her sweet time, treating the brief climb up the stairs as if they were scaling an entire mountain.

“Uh huh, a palace. Sounds fucking wonderful.” Also sounded made the fuck up, but Cyrra wasn’t going to point that out. (Briefly, a pang of something suspiciously close to sympathy gripped her heart. Did the witch really have nothing more interesting to share? No first loves, no nothing? Just… that fucking cottage, and whatever release her imagination had provided? Cyrra had thought that the temple was a prison, but if that was true, then Faline’s old home had been a cage, with the bars so close to one another that you could barely breathe.) “C’mon, undress yourself,” the assassin instructed her, once they entered their room. (It was cheap, and looked cheap as well-- there were stains on the wall that Cyrra did not want to know the origin of, and it seemed that nobody had changed the bedding for weeks. The flower of fresh hyacinths resting on the bedside table? A fucking mockery, in the context of everything else! Still, it would have to do.) “Down with your shoes. And as for me, hmm… I’ve killed a bunch of people, but I suppose that wouldn’t pique your interest.” Not after the lukewarm reception of the murder of her auntie, anyway. Hmm, hmm. Had she been a clueless fucking whelp, what would have been appealing to her…? Ah! Ah, of course. Plopping down on their bed, Cyrra gave Faline a wolfish grin. “Once, I made a woman feel so good that it ruined her fucking marriage. Poor thing could only ever scream my name afterwards, and he got pissed. You know what I’m getting at, Faline?” she fluttered her eyelashes, ignoring the way her own heart stuttered. “Been interested in these things?”

 

[ellarose]

"Oh. Okay." Faline nodded and without any reservations whatsoever and removed her dress. (Which was easier said than done, considering the act was a clumsy affair of flapping arms, wobbling and occasionally clutching the end of the bed for balance before she finally freed herself from the garment. From there it was simpler for her to remove her boots and peel off her stockings, leaving her in nothing but her locket and chemise.) Then, once again without any reservations, she nestled herself down onto the bed next to Cyrra. The fact that she was sharing a bed with someone who had just admitted to killing people? Not an issue, apparently. Although to be fair, it wasn't a particularly surprising revelation, given what she already knew of her traveling companion thus far. Immediately, her tired limbs sunk against the mattress like tons of lead. Compared to... essentially every other day of her life? This one was very eventful and therefore very exhausting. Even so, Cyrra was speaking and also smiling (which was, ah, an unexpectedly pleasant change) and thenceforth bolstered her with the incentive to stay awake to listen to her story.

"You made her... feel good?" Faline wondered aloud, brushing her fingers contemplatively over her braid. The things that made one feel good, hm? What could it possibly be? In her mind, the things that came to mind were dancing, apple tarts, and counting chickens. Except something told her that Cyrra would not have resorted to using any of those means towards this mystery woman, given the absence of enthusiasm towards those subjects whenever she mentioned them. "Ah! I know. Did you smile at her? You do have a very nice smile." Except then the story became far more complex than she anticipated. What? She made her feel so good that she ruined her marriage? And also made her scream? The concept of feeling good and screaming did not occupy the same space in her mind and this conundrum reflected itself in the furrow of her dark brows. "She, ah, screamed? But isn't screaming..." A bad thing?

Faline considered everything Cyrra had said to her that day. All of the quips, the threats, and the implications about her profession being honorable. Hm. There was also the way her gaze looked very much like an invitation to factor into this as well. Perhaps...

"Oh!" Faline gasped, beaming as if the connotations had suddenly dawned on her. She leaned in so close to Cyrra that their noses nearly touched. Gosh. Could it be that she actually understood what she'd been getting at all along?

With a giggle, Faline pulled away again before anything more could happen and sank down against her pillow.

"Oh. I do not believe you make people 'feel good' when you kill them, Cyrra. You silly goose." Faline smiled triumphantly, feeling quite confident that she understood the inside joke Cyrra was attempting to create between them. (...She did not. She did not get it at all. But it was apparent she believed quite ardently that she did.) It was rather fun, wasn't it? To have known someone long enough to understand their sense of humor? Or at least to be swept up by the illusion that she thought she understood their sense of humor. Her eyes sparkled in the dark as she lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Are you asking me if I am interested in killing people? Because I am not. Goodness, it takes a great deal of effort to bury a body. I discovered that this morning when I buried granny." Although granny left behind far more mess than an average human corpse would have when she died. That shell had all but burned away and it was a very sticky situation indeed. Still. Granny was the only one who ever knew her in this realm. Until Cyrra came along, that was. "Anyway... it would be very difficult to make friends with corpses, would it not? For they do not smile or respond when you ask questions. And I would very much like to make friends and fall in love. So as you can see..." She yawned softly. "I will be much too busy to kill anyone."

Faline hugged her pillow, squishing it against her cheek as she peered inquisitively at the other woman. "Aren't you going to undress as well, Cyrra?"

 

[Syntra]

Throughout her life, Cyrra Eiréal had heard many, many compliments. A lot of them had revolved around her marksmanship, or the way she made slitting people's throats look like art-- and, indeed, so sure her strokes were, when she painted with blood! No other masterpiece was nearly as breathtaking as the assassin's landscapes, drawn with a blade sharp enough to rend the heavens in half. The agony that accompanied it... well, that was the most delightful of ingredients, wasn't it? The very thing that made it stand out, against the endless sea of grey. Against all that fucking mediocrity. Cyrra was aware of that, and Father had made sure that she never, ever forgot. 'You have a special talent, my child. Nourish it. Nourish it, and the gods themselves might smile upon you one day. Who is to say that they won't reward you with the greatest of gifts? After all, Ran's soul is in their hands now.')

The crux was, Cyrra hardly felt unappreciated. Why should she? They'd drowned her in compliments, each and every day, and... well, it had been easy enough to overlook that it was still drowning, with everything that it entailed. With the oxygen squeezed out of her lungs, and the crushing weight on her chest, and the need to breathe, breathe, breathe-- "If I smiled at her?" the assassin repeated, incredulous. Needless to say, she had never received praise of this kind. After all, what were fucking smiles good for? For attracting a husband kind enough not to beat you when you had the audacity not to fall all over yourself fast enough? Often, it wasn't even that-- most women that Cyrra knew smiled, smiled and smiled, till their faces resembled those stupid carnival masks, and yet their skin was always covered in bruises. Heh. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, the assassin supposed! (Absurdly enough, she sensed her cheeks heat up. Was she sick, perhaps? Feverish? Because that was the only explanation here. No other alternatives were accepted, because they were obviously fucking wrong.) "Not quite," she forced herself to smile wider, burying that strange feeling deep within herself. "You are close, though. I did do something with my mouth."

Of course, expecting the whelp to actually catch on was akin to thinking that, perhaps, with a lot of patience and care, your deaf dog could learn how to play the guitar. Just, ugh! Was there something she did know? Anything at all? At this point, the assassin was tempted to praise Faline for even being aware of how many fingers she had! (...not that that was necessarily a bad thing, though. The naivety was, hmm... not refreshing, but certainly convenient. Where else would she find someone so eager to swallow all of her nonsense, after all? It was hardly her fault that Faline insisted on chewing on it, even without the bait to hide the hook. The steel, ready to pierce her fucking mouth through and through.) "Oh, there was no killing involved. Screaming can actually be a very good thing," Cyrra grinned. "Have you never laughed so much that you cried? The human body is... hmm, mysterious. Full of surprises. Sometimes, when it's overwhelmed, in responds in a way you might think contradictory. Trust me, a good fucking scream can be the nicest thing you'll ever get from a person. Especially if she's a beautiful woman." Was it a coincidence that her fingers brushed against the nape of her neck, featherlight but somehow electrifying? If so, then it was a very convenient coincidence to be sure. Heh!

The witch's shamelessness no longer surprised her, so Cyrra steeled her heart. For the sake of her cover, she had to, right? With that in mind, the assassin put her clothes away, only leaving a light, snow white blouse on. (No, she wasn't showing her anything substantial. The illusion of intimacy was the most the whelp would get, and she should be fucking thankful that it wasn't a knife in the heart instead! ...yet.) "Fall in love, you say?" the corners of her lips twitched in a smile, charming but also sharp, somehow. (It was the smile of someone who knew a secret, and wouldn't share it. Of someone who held all the trump cards in her hand.) "What do you even think that is, Faline? Love is what can make you scream. It is the ideal fucking outcome." Without a hint of shame, then, Cyrra crawled under their blanket. (Through her half-lidded stare, she was watching the whelp with what seemed to be... curiousity, maybe. That, or cold calculation.) "Should I show you?"

 

[ellarose]

"Well, yes. I laughed until I cried for the first time when you asked if I was going to eat you. Do you remember that, Cyrra?" Faline giggled again just thinking about it-- as if it was some beloved memory from a year ago and not something that had happened earlier that very evening. It had been so funny! She couldn't even imagine the prospect of eating another human being. In fact, she did not want to imagine eating another human being because... it did not sound even slightly appetizing. That was often the way she felt when her friends in the other realm spoke of their own diets and eating habits. Apple tarts and other pastries were her personal favorites. (Ah. Pastries did sound delicious right about now. Had she been in the cottage, she might have snuck into the kitchen to make some on a late-night whim. This thought brought with it an unexpected little pang in her chest. Along with the chickens and the ducks, she supposed she would also miss the kitchen.) Of course, there was not much time to dwell on this as the assassin proceeded with her explanation. So screams could be a good thing? And they could also be the nicest thing she could get from a-- a beautiful woman? "Ah. R-really?"

Faline's heart stuttered when she felt the brush of Cyrra's hand against her neck. Although she felt incredibly warm still, a peculiar shiver trickled down the entire length of her body. She swallowed hard and curled her toes.

"Yes, that is what I said." Faline managed quietly, gripping the end of the blanket when she found she was at a loss of what to do with her hands. When the electric sensation subsided, all that remained was the heat that stuck to her skin ever since she began sipping on the wine. Her face felt especially warm. Despite that, she still followed the other woman's lead and crawled beneath the blanket alongside her. It was time to go to bed, was it not? Although it was easy to forget how tired she'd been while her heart pounded so fast... they'd surely need to rest in order to continue on their travels the next day. Rather than crawling closer to Cyrra, she simply rested her head down against her pillow and stared at the ceiling. What was love? The idea in her head and the things that she was learning did not seem to match up in her mind. The characters in her storybooks all seemed to be searching for love and so she had decided that was what she wanted as well. "I suppose I do not know that well, if screaming is involved."

Show her? Faline was not sure what Cyrra meant by that. If it was anything like their kiss earlier, though...

"...What? Why would you offer to show me when you do not love me?" Faline managed a tight little smile. Cyrra surely must have been joking. The look she gave her did not make it look like she was joking, though. (And the other woman hadn't hesitated to kiss her earlier, either. Why had she done that? She resolved that she would have to ask her that question later, when she had more energy to spare. Perhaps the next day on their travels.) The thought sent another of those suspicious little shivers careening through her. "I have read enough about love to know that it is more than just screaming." In fact, until now she did not believe it involved any screaming at all. The mysteries behind these screams were intriguing to be sure... and yet something in her was a little frightened to explore the unknown depths of such affairs with Cyrra. There were some firsts that she needed to save for the person she eventually gave her heart to. They would be happier firsts, surely.

"I realize that I have a lot to learn, since I have never been in love before." Faline yawned softly and her eyes flit shut. "And no one has ever loved me before, either. So... so..." And though she might have genuinely intended to finish that sentence, the moment her eyes closed it was as if a spell took hold of her, dragging her instantly into a deep, deep sleep. It had been a very long day. And she was very tired. It was only natural.

 

[Syntra]

When you really, really looked away from all the superficial bullshit, you could see plainly that humans were… hmm, simple creatures. Barely more complex than dogs, except for the variability in their barking. Ultimately, what was it that determined whether you trusted someone? Right, how accepted you felt. Acceptance meant greater access to the resources that could be the difference between life and death, and so the brain released those precious bonding chemicals-- what many saw as love was simply ‘you are convenient to me,’ said without any words at all. That was a truth that Cyrra had grasped quickly. She had also grasped quickly that, when trying to make someone feel accepted, your actual personality was a fucking nuisance. It was never about you, you see? It was always about them, them, them, and the way that you made them feel! (The lesson had been bitter back then, with the cold, marble statues of the temple being the only ones to witness her tears, but, all things considered, the assassin found herself thankful for it. Who would want to be like those morons, after all? The ones who looked, and yet fucking refused to see? …besides, it had given her a convenient blueprint on how to approach these things. It didn’t happen often that Cyrra needed to charm someone, though when she did… well, the scenario was there, with the exact step to follow. And, the first step? To talk to them, of course. To treat them with kindness. Ugh. The sacrifices that the gods demanded of her were not easy to bring, that was for certain! …that was what made them meaningful, though. Worthwhile as well. The one who only donated a single diamond from their large fucking pile proved exactly nothing, you see? Even so, the assassin hadn’t quite expected that, as her offering, she’d have to carve her own fucking sanity into pieces.)

When the morning sun greeted them, they were already on their way, with her steering the horse and Faline hugging her from behind. The hooves drummed against the road gently, clap, clap, clap, and Cyrra… well, Cyrra retreated into the depths of her own mind for comfort. (Seven days. Seven days and seven fucking nights, till they reached the capital. Until then, she had to play nice-- had to swallow all of her biting comments, and lean into that which the terminally boring people called ‘the art of conversation.’ Ugh! Why couldn’t she have taken her offer yesterday, again? Not that Cyrra particularly desired to get to know her in that way, but it would have been less mind-numbing that what was about to follow. Less fucking annoying, too. Incoherent mumbling was miles better than anything Faline had had to offer so far-- with that, at least, she could pretend it was the whisperings of the sea waves, or birds chirping in the distance. Background noise, in other words. Actual words, though? Actual words forced her to think about their meaning, and when the whelp was involved, that was a dark, dark fucking path. How will she torture me today? the assassin asked herself, with an air of resignation. Via implying that I have actually been secretly related to fucking turnips all along? …no. Fuck no. She was Cyrra Eiréal, and not some witch’s verbal fucking punching bag. When it came to taking control of the narrative, she happened to be something of an expert.)

“Have you ever wanted to see the capital, Faline?” Cyrra asked, cursing herself internally for giving the girl more incentives to speak. Still, bringing up a harmless topic was better than just allowing her mind to wander, wasn’t it? (Often, when wild fires threatened to eat crops during summer, it was better to re-direct them, rather than to try to extinguish it all in vain. Damage control, it was called. If the fates had already decided to flirt with destruction, you see, the most you could do was to throw a distraction their way and hope for the best.) “It is kind of like the sea, in that it’s large and busy, but it also isn’t. The upside is that you can fucking breathe there.” (Most of the time, anyway. Some of the citizens thought that bathing too much was insulting to the gods, for had they wanted their subjects to do that, they would have sculpted gills on their throats. Cyrra, on the other hand, thought that if these people didn’t want to get murdered, they should have worked on having less shit opinions.)

The horse carrying them was good and swift, but still only a horse-- a slave to its needs, and thus to its impulses as well. Therefore, it didn’t exactly shock Cyrra when they had to stop to let it drink some water. What did shock her, though? That a circus troupe had settled in what was to be an empty meadow, with colorful tents and loud music and performers that seemed hellbent on slaying her ears with their terrible fucking voices. Ugh! “Stay the fuck away from them,” she recommended Faline. “I’ll just take care of the horse and then we can go.”

Too bad, though, that they wouldn’t stay away from her. It only took the assassin distancing herself a bit, and a woman, dressed in shiny cyan feathers, approached Faline. “Well, aren’t you a pretty little bird?” she gave her a sweet, sweet smile. (The curve of it was as sharp as a guillotine, though. Gulp.) “I’ve been searching for one such as you for a very long time now! I only want you to stay here so that I might feed you candy. You see, our little family here has been in dire need of candy-eaters.” Firmly, she grabbed her by the chin and made her look her in the eye. “Would you like that? If so, sign the contract and it’s a done deal!” The contract, which turned out to be a piece of parchment, materialized in front of her-- the font was too tiny for Faline to really read, but what she could make out were the words ‘eternal,’ ‘crow’s eye’ and ‘thousand deaths.’ Surely, there was nothing to be afraid of, right?

 

[ellarose]

Faline hugged tightly onto Cyrra, grappling with a combination of vertigo and nausea as they steadily bumped up and down with each step that the horse took along the path. Ever since she had awoken that morning, she had admittedly been feeling quite ill. Her head pounded as if their horse's hooves were colliding with her skull instead of the path. (Their horse, hm? That seemed like a tragically impersonal way to address their companion for this seven-day journey to the capital. A name seemed essential, didn't it?) Anyway, she had never experienced a headache of this caliber before. To make matters even more complicated, her stomach did not seem to agree with the eggs the inn had served for breakfast that morning. (They tasted a touch rubbery and were somehow nothing like the farm fresh eggs that she was familiar with. Even so, she ate them all with a smile as not to make the woman who'd served them to her feel badly. Yes, it made her miss the chickens yet again. The poor chickens... she hoped that they were doing all right on their own out there.) Knowing that the assassin would be undoubtedly upset with her for getting sick all over her, she held tight to remain as steady as possible and focused a good majority of her energy on keeping the contents of her stomach down where they belonged. That floaty, loopy feeling she had felt the following night was now replaced with what she imagined as the weight of a thousand cows stacked atop her head in a comedic balancing act.

"Hm... I never thought much of it." Faline mused, hoping that the conversation might distract her from the way her insides were turning somersaults. It was... nice, too. Cyrra initiating the conversation, that was. The fact that someone actually cared to know her opinions and thoughts was indeed touching. "My friends in the other realm are not particularly fond of large cities. Too many people for their liking... and filled with evil..." Yes. Whatever that meant. Her friends often warned her to be careful not to be, ah, tainted by her kind? These warnings were always confusing to her, though, to someone who did not know much about her fellow humans to begin with. How else was she to learn about herself if not by engaging with them directly? If she judged her friends by how sharp their fangs were, or for how many tentacles or eyes that they had, she would not have nearly as many friends as she did. "They often warned me to stay away from the capital. But I suppose I am curious to make my own opinions."

By the time they stopped, Faline felt she needed the break just as much as the horse did. She swayed unsteadily on her feet as she wandered around the area, studying the wildflowers and trees. Her gaze panned up, then, when she heard the music and saw the tents. Oh. Wow.

"The horse's name is Cornelius." Faline decided on a whim, still staring dazedly at the colorful tent and performers bustling about. Again, let her repeat-- wow. She had never seen anything quite like this before! She swayed on her feet, clearly torn between obeying Cyrra's order and wandering over there to explore regardless. There was nothing wrong with taking a break along with Cornelius, right? After all, it was not as if they were pressed for time to make it to the capital. In fact, she was not even sure why Cyrra was so eager to get there in the first place. What was an adventure if they did not stop to admire the sights along the way? It seemed like such a waste to ignore this! "Do you hear the music, Cyrra? It is so whimsical and... and jubilant! I would really like to--"

That was when the woman appeared. She'd been searching for someone like her? Family? It... all sounded so nice, didn't it? The idea of belonging anywhere, that was.

"O-oh. Me? Really!?" Faline blinked wonderingly up into the eyes of the woman peering down at her, not fighting against her hold when she took her chin into her hand. Uninvited, the memory of Cyrra's kiss floated into her head. It took the wind out of her, reminded her of her stomachache, and she gingerly pulled backwards as if to get some air as the contract manifested in front of her. Goodness. This was all happening much too quickly for her to keep up with! Anxiously, she tapped her forefingers together before pushing the contract away. "You must be mistaken. I... I am afraid I would be, ah, an unexperienced performer. And I must admit I am feeling quite unwell. I believe it would be unwise for me to eat any candy today." It was strange too, wasn't it? Did people truly want to watch women being fed candy in performances such as these? It sounded unusual... although she supposed it wasn't her place to question it with her inexperience. Like with kisses, happy screams and love.

Guilt rose just like nausea in Faline's stomach. It was a kind offer and she did hate to turn it down this way.

"I, uh, I like your feathers! I have never seen feathers this shiny before... let alone this shade of blue." Faline offered. That was true. "I apologize that I cannot join you. Truthfully, I-- I have never seen a performance before. I have never met a human performer, either. What is it like to perform? Is it exhilarating?" Then she excitedly held her hands beneath her chin. "I... am afraid we cannot stay long enough to see a performance. Miss bossy boots here is eager to get to the capital. But would you mind if I... if I looked around for a little while?" Surely she could do that much, right? Perhaps while Cornelius rested? Her eyes sparkled with wonder. "I would love to see the inside of the tent."