Elwen

((OOC: I assume that a “Bath” chair is the early form of a wheelchair. I read the term in “The General”, by C.S. Forrester, and took the meaning from context. Correct me if I’m wrong.)) The small noblewoman arranges her long white skirts with one graceful hand as she sits straight in her Bath chair, in the courtyard of the manor, a book closed in her lap. Long, moon-pale hair frames a delicate, beautiful face: Lady Emily Galanodel is known for her beauty, and her “face of flowers”. Bright, almond-shaped, slightly slanted eyes-her eyes are mismatched, the left one amber, and the other violet-intently regard the world around her. Traveling, whether by train, stagecoach, carriage, or other conveyance, was always a great bother-even for such an occasion as this-, considering that she had been unable to walk for some years now. But Emily counted her blessings, for while she had survived the accident, minus the use of her legs, her parents hadn’t been so lucky. A little inconvenience was worth her life. Quietly, she begins to hum a soft ballad under her breath. Yes, this would be an event to remember.

Victorian setting... I'll be Lady Emily Galanodel, a decidedly unconventional teenage noblewoman. Loves learning, mysteries, and getting into trouble.

Kyoto Song *This is Hisoka and Shizuka’s backstory from “The Land of the Rising Moon” Werewolf game, and as such, goes along with the Chronicles from that game. There are spoilers in this…so watch out. The format’s kinda weird…after the first part, it’s a flashback, until everything is concluded in the last part. This part is meant to tie up some loose ends concerning Shizuka…* The tiny, slender girl pushed away the guards’ helping hands, her brief moment of weakness pushed away. At last, everything has become clear to her…but as is her way, she remains silent. Her rash words would send her to her death, and indirectly-or directly-doom the others to their grisly fate. That is why she remained silent so long…Hisoka had never been good with words, and every time she spoke, it was a disaster. //I always wanted to die in the spring…// Hisoka thinks, and wants to smile, even a little, for her wish has come true. Her long, black hair falling loose about her shoulders and sakura petals drifting to cling to her white kimono-white, the color of mourning, chosen deliberately-Hisoka does not look back as she steps out into space, no trace of fear on her lovely face. “I’m sorry…” her words are dashed away by the wind, as her fragile body strikes the rocks below. Yumeni are rare, their talent precious beyond measure. For every Dreamgazer, every Seer, with an Awakened talent, there are two more whose talents will never awaken past brief premonitions and simple prescience. And there are a few…a few upon the edge of awakening, but who die before their gifts can bloom. But upon their death, they have one final vision, their first and their last: their death-dream. A vision only another Dreamgazer can share… ~Shizuka-chan…I wish I could have seen you…one last time…~ Green eyes open, as Shizuka sits up. A fit of coughing wracks his delicate frame, as the young seer struggles for breath. Visions have always taken so much out of him: now that he has stopped caring for himself, the drain is even worse. He is always sick, now, and he knows that he is going to die, a slow death by consumption and by his power burning him up from within. It has been a year and a half since he gave up the other occupation he was involved in, as an assassin in the service of the Emperor, much too ill to continue in that service. Now all he did was use his visions to help guide the Emperor-and even now, he is too weak to stay by his sovereign’s side, whispering of the Future that he has seen. It will not be so long, now. Death would be welcome. It had been three years now, three years since half his soul was ripped away. Three years to the day: he was nineteen, today, his day of birth. The third without her, without his oneesan. Their day of birth was also the day she died. He had Seen it…had Seen that Hisoka would die, and had known he could do nothing to save her, or any of the others. But it had been the hardest decision of his life, to take the other road, and warn the Son of Heaven. Shizuka had wanted to go to Hisoka, even if it meant that he would have been killed as well: at least they would have been together at the end. She wouldn’t have had to die alone, though she hadn’t been afraid. But ‘Soka-chan would have wanted it that way, for him to do what was right. Shizuka could still feel her with him, though their soul-link had broken at the moment she had died. The young head of the Sumeragi onmyouji clan, which was becoming the most prominent clan of the various groups of yin-yang magicians, had taken one look at him and said that his sister had been unable to rest. Hisoka was trapped in a spiral-of-life-that-was-not-life, having died but being unable to move on. Sumeragi Saya, who had been a close friend of his sister’s and was the only person Shizuka could really talk to now, had offered to send Hisoka’s spirit on: Shizuka had refused, knowing why she had stayed on this side. The twins had, upon learning of the prophecy of the end of their family, had made a promise to one another: if one of them died, whoever it was would wait for the other to follow. After his sister’s death, Shizuka had begun trying to tap into an unused portion of his gift-the capacity to See into the Past as well as the Future. The vision shown most frequently when one from the Past came, was the image of Hisoka, at the moment of her death. And the strain of looking both backwards and forwards in time had accelerated the failure of his body. He had always been the more fragile of the twins, though Hisoka herself hadn’t been sturdy. Even now, though “The Tale of the Hygenkyoi” was well-known, especially as a cautionary warning, people still mistook Shizuka for his sister. Both twins had looked alike-except for the fact that Shizuka’s hair had been just below his shoulders, while Hisoka’s had been waist-length-down to their small size, unusual green eyes, very pretty faces-not good for him- and frail builds. Now that three years had passed, his hair had grown to as long as his sister’s had been, and suffering had brought an ethereal, dreamy cast to his features, as his sister had looked at the end. A small bottle stood, unopened, on the table, next to an inkstick, calligraphy brush, and inkstone, as well as a journal open to a blank page. Hisoka’s journal-once it was deemed safe, troops were sent in to inspect Lord Mizuhara’s castle. Her book was found in a secret hiding place, and given to Shizuka, along with a lock of his sister’s hair. In the intervening years, he had written the ending of the tale, for while Hisoka had been meticulous about documenting everything, both about the shapeshifters and what had happened as well as her life after the twins had parted five years ago, she had died before witnessing the end of the tragedy. The rest of the pages are for you, otouto-chan. The last thing she had ever written, in her graceful calligraphy. Shizuka sat down, and after preparing the ink, began to write. *** The sun was setting by the time Shizuka put his brush down, the last page no longer blank. //I didn’t know that it was so late.// Shizuka thought, surprised, and then doubled over as another fit of coughing wracked his body. With sudden clarity that only a Dreamgazer can have, he knew that before too long, he’d be too weak to move around, especially with the rate he’d been having visions. In less than a year, before the sakura bloomed again in their proper season, he’d be in his grave, reunited with his parents and sister in the shadowy realms of the dead. But when the time came for him to die, he didn’t want to be too weak to do what he had to do. What prophecy had dictated must be. Shizuka weighed the small bottle in his hand. //A year is too long to wait.// he thought. Slowly dying, becoming a burden…versus a gentle, peaceful death, simply passing into twilight and shadow. There was nothing left for him to do. He had already written his last visions and prophecies of the Future for the Emperor: the sheets lay near Hisoka’s journal. Shizuka wanted to join his sister…he was too tired. Too badly hurt inside to ever feel again, besides the shades of sorrow and grief. //Wait for me, sister…// Shizuka thought, and opening the vial, drank down the contents. The seer’s eyes closed, as his head came to rest on the journal, drifting into sleep and into dreams of the past, before Hisoka had died, before they had been parted. No one missed him for several hours, until a servant was sent to check on him. Shizuka looked like he was merely sleeping, fallen asleep while writing. It was when no one could wake him that it was realized the gentle seer was dead, the same expression of peace on his face that had been on his sister’s…as if he had been glad to die. It’s alright now…I’ve lived long enough… ~End Part 1~ Author’s Notes: Yes, there’s more. The ‘flashbacks’ chronologically occur while Shizuka’s sleeping/dying at the end, though the events take place way before this. I had to end with Shizuka’s death in this part because I really wanted to wrap up what happened to him before flashing back. I decided to have Hisoka actually turn out to be a latent Seer because the wolves suspected her of being a potential Seer-and guess what? They were right! Kind of. And yes, the bit with the Sumeragi clan leader was a nod to “Tokyo Babylon” and “X”, two very good anime/manga series by CLAMP, though Saya is my own creation. All I’m going to say is that as a childhood friend of the twins’, she’ll actually appear in the story. Glossary: Yumeni-“Dreamgazer”, or Seer. Onmyouji-yin-yang magician. Shizuka-“silence” Hisoka-“secret” Kyodai-“Reality” (Translations of names- Kyodai Shizuka is the “Silence of Reality” and Kyodai Hisoka “the Secret of Reality”) -chan-diminutive suffix. Otouto-younger brother

Sure, count me in. I originally voted for WoT, but I changed my mind. Why? Unless you bar people from playing channelers, there's that little problem. P.S.-I just posted the first part of the Hisoka-Shizuka backstory (from the 2nd game). Go read! It's called "Kyoto Song".

*wryly* So I lived so long just because of an accident? And I wasn't constantly referring to him...it was only in my journal, unless one of the wolves got to it. It was Eyremon who first publicly mentioned him. I was basically grasping at straws at the end. Besides, Hisoka really didn't care whether she lived or died...*shrugs* So that's my excuse for being an idiot.

"How may we vote carefully when it has already been proven that we lose our passions so easily?" Hisoka speaks quietly, but the bitterness in her voice is evident. She has already given up hope, and it is in her manner. "But I cannot believe that Hoshiko-san is the killer. Even a predator accomplished at acting cannot hide those mannerisms..." The tiny geisha looks down. "What of Shijin-san? He has been naught but a shadow within our midst. A shadow...and a thought. Pray, speak, musician. Or show us that you cannot." The memory of her brother comes to her...Shizuka, her small, fragile twin, who has already paid dearly for his gift. Far away, where he should be safe. Her own death has ceased to matter to her...all she wants is for Shizuka to live a while longer. That lore about her family's fate...it would come to pass, shortly. Hisoka had no doubt in her mind. She would not be the last of the Kyodai...and this was a time of darkness and doubt. ((OOC: Once again, I vote for Shijin.))

Hisoka sits quietly, legs folded neatly beneath her. The geisha has already been resigned to her fate. She has no fear of death. All we can do now is watch and wait. Hisoka thinks. She has already finished and hidden away her journal. Their story...a warning. She will likely not get the chance to write the end, but that will not matter. "We must think carefully before making a decision." she finally says, green eyes distant. "This is our last chance." Shizuka-chan...I wish I could have seen you...one last time...

((OOC: We are certaintly in a a lot of trouble now...)) Hisoka bows her head, black hair falling to curtain her face. She may not have spoken against Sawato-san...and while she had figured out that he had been the herbalist, she had not spoken up, not made herself clear. Now they were all doomed. "Forgive me." she whispers. "Though I knew at the last who you were...I did not make myself clear. If in our folly we all die...that is our fate, shaped by our making and by our hands." she looks around, at all gathered. "Time has run out." Quietly, she leaves the room. Goodbye, Shizuka...

Hisoka looks thoughtful, before she finally gets to her feet. "I believe I know what knowledge you speak of, Sawato-san." the geisha speaks quietly. "And I too have had enough of these accusations. We can no longer exclude one of our number merely because of his occupation...too many of us are gone." she fixes her gaze on the musician, sadly. "I am very sorry, Shijin-san. Artist's sensibilities or not...you have not spoken up. I am an artist as well...but even I have spoken." ((OOC: my vote for Shijin))

Hisoka stands silently. While her face shows no outward emotion-for her parents, while they were alive, had drilled it into her brother and herself never to cry-inside, her heart is weeping. Quietly, she drifts away to see how Hoshiko is doing.

Somehow, Hisoka manages to keep her iron-clad, icy control. Not a flicker of emotion shows on her face. "May the gods have mercy." she whispers, before retreating to her room. Shizuka...if you were to come, I know what you would see. We have already lost our humanity. I have tried to forestall it as much as I could, but events have come too far already. Remember us, my brother, and hope that the ancestors have mercy upon us. Remember us...if no one else will. "Death must be looked at face to face." she whispers quietly. The face of all the dead float in her mind, haunting her. But now, she is past fear...past everything, but a longing for her own oblivion.

Hisoka pushes her long hair back from her face. "I do not wish to have a repeat of the situation with the Iron Chef. Please, speak up, Sawato-san." Even though her words are pleading, her tone is completely emotionless. "If you do not speak, your silence will doom you. As a silent one myself, I do not wish that fate upon you, for it may be visited upon myself as well." We have already lost our humanity. Death by the wolves is cleaner than the death we would grant ourselves.

"Kinjiru-san...if I may ask. What manner of herbs were the missing ones? What were they called?" Herbs...the protector herbalist, if these are the right kind, may have been the ones to take them. Hisoka does not even bother to explain her question, but simply waits, silently, for a reply as she composes a message to her twin.

Hisoka stares down at her folded hands in her lap, as she kneels in front of the table. Even before the ghastly scene had been discovered-and no one needed to die like that-she had been unable to touch a drop of the soup. Once more, the time has come for suspicion and accusation, and that is what she truly cannot bear. Terauchi-san...may you rest in peace, and may your soul be with your ancestors. She raises her head. "I will try to send my brother a message, my lord, but I do not know if it will reach him in time." No. It will not reach you in time, Shizuka-chan. I know it will not, for time is running out for all of us. ((OOC: Lord Iago knows everything, doesn't he?))

((OCC: *cough* I couldn't think of a better haiku.)) Silver moon rises Pure light tainted with darkness None will be the same *at the Chef's execution* Hisoka stands quietly, and refuses to look away. An innocent. Hisoka feels her blood begin to run chill. What have I helped to do? She holds her hands up: small, long-fingered, delicate hands, pale with no spot of blood. Blood. I had my hand in killing an innocent. Hisoka thinks sadly, though there are no trace of emotions in her face. I would rather die than do this again. Oh, Shizuka, my twin, I wish I had your gift. It should have been you here...you could look into souls and know the truth. But it is I who am here... The geisha stands in her grieving as sakura petals whirl about gently in the courtyard: she reaches a small hand up and captures a delicate petal. "Sakura are the most beautiful flowers of all because they are so transitory. In a breath, they flower and fade." Hisoka muses to herself. "Like life." *later that night* Hisoka sits in her room, journal open and writing. It hurts to remember sometimes who I was. Kyodai Hisoka...I have a twin, Shizuka, my younger brother. The Secret of Reality and the Silence of Reality...do you remember laughing about that, Shizuka-chan? We had names once...not merely Secret and Silence. But the Kyodai are dead and nameless, their deeds forgotten. We have no clan, no name. And where did we go wrong, otouto? What did our parents do, that was so bad that their sins are passed down to us? Now we are forgotten. I am a geisha with no other name, involved in the death of an innocent. Because he was silent, I accused him: and he was not cursed. And gentle Shizuka...you are an assassin in the emperor's service. You, with your gift to know a person's soul. What has happened to us? Okaasan told us that death should be looked at face to face. Suspicion, black fear, and doubt grow already: we kill ourselves more effectively than the shapechangers do. Death is preferable to living like this: I know that you would agree with me. If you were here, I would ask of you only this: to kill me, before I damn another innocent. I do not deserve to live. If anything should happen to me, this book will go to you, Shizuka. Then...you will know what your sister has become.

Hisoka is shaking her head gravely. "Sumimasen*, Iron Chef-san, but your troubling silence has gone too far. Even the most silent person will speak when their life is at risk...if not, then they have something to hide. I must speak against you." (*sumimasen-most formal form of "I'm sorry".) ((OOC: my vote for Iron Chef as well.))

Hisoka's steely green eyes rest briefly on the remaining people in the room. "Silence is a virtue, but when carried too far..." her soft voice trails off, as she fixes a direct gaze upon the Iron Chef. "Even I will speak when it proves necessary, but you have said naught. I would suggest you speak now if you have something to say." ((OCC: If he does not speak before night phase, I will cast my vote against the Iron Chef as well.))

Death is lighter than a feather and duty heavier than a mountain. Hisoka reads back over one of the proverbs written in her diary. Though she stoically refuses to show any emotion, as is her wont, the news of Lord Washima's death has shocked her greatly. Duty is heavier than a mountain. those words catch her eye again. There are many kinds of duty, the geisha knows. Each has its own price to pay... Justice will be done. she writes, before closing the book (after letting the ink dry) and putting it under her pillow. She gets up in a swirl of silk, and goes to find Akane, who she knows is grieving, to offer silent comfort, as much as she can.

((OOC: Is it OK for me to keep a diary? If not, I'll change it...and I'll just keep it hidden, anyway.)) And so, it has begun... Hisoka thinks, as she sits, calligraphy brush in her hand, as she writes. It is a habit of hers, to write what she does not speak, of the day's events, a poem... Especially of what she does not speak of. Already, suspicion begins to feed on our souls...we are killing ourselves, with the shadows of fear and doubt. Death is preferable to living like this. "Death is preferable to living like this." Hisoka murmurs under her breath. "At least it is true peace."

Hisoka sits quietly, her hands folded and her face betraying nothing of what she feels-mainly, confusion. The young geisha remains silent, preferring to wait, watch, and listen. What could be happening? And, furthermore, who could be responsible?t Her eyes briefly rest on each person in the room, moving on too quickly to be noticed. Someone here was the killer. But who? "No matter how good the mask, it will eventually crack." Hisoka speaks suddenly, startling herself as she realizes she has said her thoughts aloud. "All we can do to catch the fish is cast our bait, hope hard, and wait." ((OOC: I'm holding my vote.))

I'm in. Japan as well.

Section Three: Crescendo I have lived for twenty-two years in the body and mind of Seiichirou Aoi. I know him like I know no other, except myself. I know his dreams, his hopes, his wishes. I knew his most secret thoughts, his desires. But in the six years that have passed since my awakening, he has changed. Always a serious, contemplative child, he has become silent and withdrawn. Aoi doesn’t talk much anymore, not even to me. Not even to his sister, on the rare occasions she comes to tell him what she has been up to lately, or what progress she has made in trying to find my hagoromo. Even with her help, I am no closer today in finding my feathered robe than I was a thousand years ago. Ami tries twice as hard every time she fails, because I suspect she wants me to return as much as Aoi does, though she isn’t the one…possessed. She wants everything to be as close to possible to the way it was, and have some kind of happy ending for us three. Ami still believes in fairy tales. But this is real life, and there is no happy ending. There will be no happy ending for Aoi. Not now, not in the future, not even in the ending of the world will he find peace. His mind has been irreparably scarred, and there is no return. His parents lay dead in the rubble of his grandmother’s hall, along with many of his relatives, and though they wished him dead once they found out what he was, Aoi still grieves for them, his blood. I don’t understand-he sorrows for them, though they would have shot him down in cold blood, and not mourned for him. Humans. I don’t understand them. It wasn’t Aoi who killed them: it was me. And yet he grieves as though he were the one who killed them. Now, his sister is the only one out of his family who will speak to him, or about him. The tennyo-touched descendant whose life means catastrophe, ruin, disaster for the Seiichirou family. They know they did me wrong-and because of her promise, Ami is the only one who I will spare. Aoi, to my reckoning, is not a Seiichirou. And Ami…Aoi has been thinking about her a lot lately. What about your sister? I touch the waking portion of his mind gently. “She’s getting married today.” He replies, his voice sad. “She couldn’t invite me…considering that Grandmother and her bodyguards will be there.” //He still considers that cold-hearted old bint to be his grandmother-// the thought comes unbidden. Of all the Seiichirou I hate, Seiichirou Setsuka is second only to Kiiro, the man who trapped me here, on my list of people to hate. I touch his mind even more, and an old memory of his opens, revealing itself to me. ”When you get married, Aoi, I want to be your best man!” the older of the twins squealed. “Don’t you mean ‘maid-of-honor’?” her brother asked, confused. “No, I want to be your best man, really nice suit and all! Please?” Ami blinked up at him. “OK.” The young boy said. “Good! Then you can be my maid of honor and hold my bouquet.” Ami said decisively. “Big poofy skirt and all.” Aoi looked pained. “Big poofy skirt?” “Uh huh! All maids of honor wear big poofy skirts.” Said his sister sagely, wagging her finger in his face. “Bright pink. And don’t think you’re going to escape. I’m gonna be your best man, and you’re going to be my maid of honor. ‘Kay?” Aoi blinked. “’Kay.” He said, wondering how exactly his twin had bullied him into this, and wondering how exactly he was going to escape. Aoi knew already that he would never be married. There had been a girl that he had liked in his high school, but she had moved on and would marry someone else soon. The childhood dream of being his sister’s most trusted attendant at her wedding, as she would be at his, would never come true. And it was a symbol of all his hopes and dreams that had quietly crumbled, with no hope to sustain them. All the hopes and dreams that had faded away and would never come true. Even I could feel it. The knowledge that his dreams and hopes didn’t matter, that his life didn’t matter…it weighed on him, constantly. His life, his whole world had fallen apart in an instant. And nothing, nothing matters anymore to him. And for the first time…I felt strange, because I, along with his family, had destroyed his life. And I was almost sorry. In the midst of my musings, I was unprepared for the sudden burst of panic that shot through Aoi’s mind, and in an instant, I was seeing through his eyes, as he whirled around, and began running. Ami stood on the nearby bridge, dressed in her white wedding gown, carrying something in her arms. “Ami? Ami, what are you doing here?” Aoi asked her, his voice concerned. Ami raised violet eyes to our own, and she grinned triumphantly. “I found it, Aoi. I found it, and I had to bring it to you right away.” Ami said, gasping a little, as she held out the bundle, glistening silver in the light. Silver feathers…my wings. My hagoromo. “I” took it, in disbelief. A thousand-year search…finished at last. I didn’t know what to think. But I didn’t have time to reflect on that any longer. Ami crumpled forward, and the world blurred, as Aoi’s mind pushed me aside, as his sister fell into his arms. Blood stained the white fabric. Her blood. I could hear Aoi’s thoughts, as he realized that his grandmother must have learned that Ami had found the hagoromo. It had been at the church, Ami whispered. All along. At the church. And, to prevent her from giving it to him, in an attempt to keep my caged, had had her granddaughter shot and left for dead, at her own wedding. But Ami had been tenacious. She had refused to lay down and die until that cloak had gotten into her brother’s hands. “Hey, don’t you dare cry.” Ami said, trying to be cheerful. “You always cry. See, you’re crying.” Her hand dropped back to her side. “’Neesan-“ Aoi choked. “I’m just glad…that I got to see you again.” Ami whispered, and died. Aoi wailed his sister’s name, a cry of pure anguish and the realization of a boy who has lost everything left he had to care for in the world. He knelt there, on the bridge, covered in his sister’s blood and cradling her broken body, until his relatives came and took her away from him. The world shifted, and changed, and once more I was the dominant mind in our body. Do what you have to. Aoi’s broken voice whispered in my mind. I don’t care anymore. As long as Ami was alive, it was enough for me to keep you contained. For her sake. But my sister is dead, and she was the only one left in that family I loved. “You loved her that much?” It was strange, speaking with his voice, but I did not want to risk a full transformation yet. Not until I had the entire family in one place. She was my twin, with half my soul. The half that didn’t belong to you. She was everything I never was and never can be. She died for me, for a future that she wanted to bring about. Finish it. For her sake. ~End Section~ -To be concluded in Section Four: Requiem- ‘Neesan-short for ‘oneesan’, older sister.

To Be Forgotten *Sequel to “The Crown of Thorns”. It would be strongly advised that you read that one first before you read this one.* Kyerith shivered slightly, and the swordsman drew his heavy woolen cloak closer to him. The crystal forest sparkled in the chill morning light-even Kyerith, who was human and felt the cold acutely, had to admit it was beautiful. If only for the sake of the memories. Lissandrien had loved it here. And, here, and only here, had he ever heard Lissandrien laugh. Musical laughter like a soft breeze, like bells, like the music of a flute…all of those things at the same time… Kyerith thought, remembering. All the seriousness, all the pain that Lissandrien seemed to carry around with him, like an albatross hung around his neck, had fallen away in that one moment. It was a instant caught out of time: for that short second, that eternity-in-an-instant, Kyerith thought that he could see the person that Lissandrien had been, before necromantic magic had forever twisted him into something serious and sad. Unlike so many necromancers of the Shadowed Paths, Lissandrien had remained gentle and compassionate, devoted to life’s protection-but he had lost what it meant to be truly happy, and he had lost his childhood. Even Kyerith couldn’t banish the sorrow for more than minutes at a time. And he would never have the chance. We will meet again…if not here, than in the place where no shadows fall. Lissandrien’s words still echoed in his mind, even now. Hollow justification in the end, for what Kyerith had done. Once Julie’s mental probe had stripped away Lissandrien’s own personality and brought forth the sleeping implanted one, the dark elf had, in essence, died. The final death of the soul…and so, all that remained to Kyerith, had been to make an end. Violet eyes widened, as the crossbow bolt thudded into his chest, rocking the drow’s fragile body back with the impact. Lissandrien slowly crumpled to the ground. It was hard for Kyerith to not think of him as Lissandrien, though he knew that the spirit of the one he loved was already gone, even before he had taken that shot. The Society of Sorcerers agent turned to flee- Arilyn cut him down where he stood. The bladesinger moved faster than even Kyerith could, her swords out and singing even before he could reload the crossbow for a second shot. “Drow,” she said, “Do not forget. Nor do they forgive.” But now, ten years later, Kyerith still wondered-did he do the right thing? Even though both Julie and Liberi’s notes had confirmed that there was no way for Lissandrien’s personality to ever be put back together, he still wondered. What mortals have torn asunder…deities can restore. Do you think that the Lady would allow one of her children to wander, lost and alone? Kyerith knew that Arilyn meant that he would see Lissandrien again, in death, but he still couldn’t help wondering if a deity’s intervention would have restored Lissandrien’s own personality. He still couldn’t help wondering… “Cold?” Arilyn asked sweetly. The dark elven priestess of Valeria was dressed in the simple silver tunic with black embroidery that denoted a warrior-priestess of her order, and she had given her black-and-silver cloak to Rune, who had forgotten his. “Shut up.” Kyerith gritted through chattering teeth. “You elves don’t feel cold.” “Rune feels the cold a bit.” Arilyn replied. Kyerith was certain that the necromancer of the Ethereal Paths was in the middle of a conversation with the ghosts that haunted this place, and didn’t notice the chill temperatures. “He’s half-human. /You’re/ full elf.” Kyerith replied, as Arilyn stopped near a spring. The dark elf knelt by it, but didn’t drink. “What is that, Arilyn?” Rune spoke for the first time, his head hidden in the hood of the cloak. “It’s a memory spring.” Arilyn replied. “A what?” Kyerith asked, not entirely sure he had heard her correctly. “A memory spring.” Arilyn repeated, amused: the corners of her lips quirked upward in a slight smile. “I heard you the first time.” The auburn-haired swordsman said, sounding confused. “What does a memory spring do?” “If you have the right magic, you can create crystal spheres and imbue your or another person’s memories inside them.” Arilyn replied. “Oh.” Kyerith said. Kyerith sensed rather than saw the figure who ghosted up out of the fog. Instinctively, he whirled, sword coming out of the sheath with the sound of rusted silk. He felt really stupid once he saw who it was: a little, gracefully aged, old woman, and noticed that Arilyn hadn’t moved, obviously having seen who it was. He lowered the blade and sheathed it, even once he recognized her as Laurana, Liberi Ailliard’s seneschal. The former Lady of Ailliard, Rune’s twin-who had hated him-and the one who had created the sleeper personality, had died not long before. Rune had killed his own sister, realizing that half of her, the child she had been when their older sister Ariel had “died” and the girl she would never be again, had been pleading to be set free, trapped inside the insane, arrogant, dark-touched woman she had become. Death had been the only way, and Rune had set his twin free in order for her to redeem herself in the next lifetime. Laurana recognized him, as well. The old woman bowed to him. “Lord Kyerith.” She said sadly, and bowed to Arilyn. “Lady Arilyn.” Finally, she bowed to Rune. “Lord Rune. I am sorry for the grief I have cost all of you.” “You did nothing to us.” Kyerith said. “I willingly followed Lady Liberi into fire, as the whole world went to madness.” Laurana said gravely. “I may have done nothing to you, but I did nothing to aid you, either.” Kyerith had nothing to say to that. “And that is as bad a sin as any she committed.” Laurana said. “I have nowhere to go, now, but these woods.” “Ariel could take you in, she needs a good seneschal.“ Rune began. “She wouldn’t mind-“ Laurana shook her head gravely. “No, Lord Rune. I would not go back…I do not deserve a second chance, for I have had a hand in too much pain, too much suffering, too much sorrow. I do not ask for your forgiveness.” “Then what do you ask for?” Kyerith asked, his own voice sounding hollow in his ears. “Where will you go? What will you do now?” “Leave me, in the shadows of these woods.” Laurana said. “All I ask is for you to forget me, for I am not worthy of rememberance. I long to be forgotten.” She bowed once more to them and disappeared once more into the roiling, swirling fog, and was lost to sight. “The greatest sacrifice of all.” Rune murmured under his breath. “Will you forget her?” Arilyn asked Kyerith, who was shaking his head. “No.” Kyerith said quietly. “No one deserves that fate. Lissandrien told me once…” Do not be so hasty to deal out death and judgment, my love. There are many who live who deserve death, and many who deserve life who are dead. Can you give it to them, Kyerith? “He told me that I should not be so quick to give out death and judgment.” Kyerith said. “And if she is forgotten…it is like she never lived. No one deserves that fate. No one.” “You are learning, Kyerith.” Arilyn approved. “Lissandrien would be proud of you.” Yes. You would be, Lis. ~Owari~

The One Who Fell to Earth *I was originally inspired by the anime Ayashi no Ceres (Ceres: The Celestial Legend) but the characters within are my own, and the twist my own.* There was once a simple fisherman, who came upon a feathered cloak hanging upon the bushes by the river one day, as he returned from his hard day’s labors. Not realizing what it was, he reached out his hand and took it. And without her hagoromo, her cloak of feathers, the celestial maiden could not return to the heavens from which she came. And, in time, she accepted her fate and became his wife. But, Grandmother, surely she got to go back to heaven! I mean, he didn’t keep her cloak. Did he? He let her go eventually. Right? Grandmother? *** Section One: Prelude He didn’t let me go, child. I know that you didn’t want to believe what your grandmother was implying, in her silence. Children always believed in fairytale endings, at your age. Happily ever after-the fisherman let me return to the heavens after a time, and I came back to visit him. Right? Fairy tales don’t exist, boy, and I know that you know that by now, but I’m just reminding you. I should hate you, Seiichirou Aoi. You didn’t have to spend your lifetime sitting by the window, staring up at the sky, at the place you had come from and never would return to. I asked your ancestor for that cloak, many times. I begged him for it, asked him to tell me where he had hid it, because I wanted to go back, more than anything. But that damned man never would! He trapped me, here, on this world. I was earthbound, when I truly belonged in the sky. And every day that I spent here, I wanted to die. But he wouldn’t let me go. I sat by the window every day of my life, crying and fading away. Only at the very end did he finally take pity on me and went to get my robe, my hagoromo. I died before he came back, died without ever even getting to see or touch the cloth of my feathered cloak again. I fell into my oldest daughter’s arms and slipped away into death while she wept and called my name. I never could tell her that I loved her. I loved her, and my other daughters. But I couldn’t ever say the words-the girls were mine, but they were also /his/. He didn’t even have me buried with my cloak. Without it, my spirit could never return to the heavens from where I came, even after the death of my body, and I was earthbound. Bound to this world in my grief, doomed to walk beneath the shadow of the fading twilight, until I find my feathered cloak. He never told me where it lies. ~End Section~ Section Two: Overture I am the one who fell to Earth. My name is Lorien. I have waited all these years. For one who bears my blood strongly enough…so that I may merge with her. So that I may have my vengeance upon the descendants of he who trapped me here so long ago…and find my feathered cloak, so that I may return to the heavens. The old blood sings strong in the Seiichirou line…my blood, from my children. Ah, but those elders of the Seiichirou family have grown cunning. If a girl seems to have tennyo blood, my blood, strong enough to overpower her human side and allow me to be one with her, then she is killed before she is old enough to allow me a doorway to use her body. And so it has continued… Aoi and Ami Seiichirou, the fifteen-year old twins, brother and sister, have no idea how many girls have been sacrificed by their family. They have no idea what kind of monster lies behind the kind façade of their grandmother, the family matriarch. Ami has no sign of any metaphysical talent, other than a remarkably good singing voice. The family believes it is safe now, for a time. Ami was the only threat, or so they thought, and she has no Gift. Even Setsuka, their grandmother, has begun to relax a little bit. To enjoy the company of her granddaughter, as well as her grandson. But even Seiichirou Setsuka can be led astray. After all, even if there has been no male descendant in whom the celestial blood is stronger than his human blood… Who says that it is impossible? But that is one possibility that Setsuka-I bless her even as I curse her- has not thought of. The twins’ sixteenth birthday approaches. The final test for Ami, which she will[.I] pass, comes. Twins may be twins, but in this case, their blood is not the same. And I will reveal myself when the moment comes… ~End Section~ “What is this?” Ami asked confusedly, opening the box. Inside lay a single silver feather, somehow glistening brightly even in the lack of light. “A feather?” The eyes of everyone in the room were riveted on the petite blond girl. Ami pushed her long hair out of her eyes. “Is there something wrong?” she asked, at last noticing all the attention. Just as the feather floated out of the box, and over to Aoi’s outstretched hand. He closed his palm over it, not realizing what he was doing. The boy’s soft violet eyes were unfocused and glassy, and it seemed like he moved in a trance or a dream. Ami nearly screamed as she heard the sound of guns being readied. “No, you fools!” Setsuka screamed at them. “Ami’s still right next to him!” “Aoi? Aoi!” Ami shrieked, as she reached out to shake her brother. She could feel the strange energy crackling through the air. “Get away from your brother!” Setsuka yelled at her. “No-“ Ami began, just as the glass pitcher shattered, sending shards everywhere. Ami shrieked as flying glass scored sharp cuts across her arm and face, dripping blood. She didn’t let that stop her from trying to shake her brother: however, a sharp burst of energy slammed through her, and her eyes rolled up in her head as she slumped back in her chair, unconscious. “Sleep well, sister.” Aoi said in an eerie voice, as he gently laid her on the ground and stood. Immediately, every weapon was trained on him, now that Ami was no longer in danger of being hit. His eyes glowed briefly, and were a hard amethyst once the glow faded. Lorien’s eyes. “Kill him!” Setsuka ordered hastily, realizing the danger they were all in. Thankfully, Ami was unconscious, and didn’t hear her grandmother give that order. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on the viewpoint), every bullet simply bounced off an invisible shield surrounding Aoi/Lorien, even though every man fired until the magazines in their guns were empty. Every bullet clattered harmlessly to the floor, and before they could reload, the guns were ripped from their hands using telekinesis and ripped apart, the pieces hitting the ground in a tangle of unusable and unfixable parts. At the sight of their guns being ripped apart as easily as paper by an unseen force, Setsuka’s bodyguards cowered back in the corners, in the hopes that the celestial being that Aoi Seiichirou had become would leave them alone. Aoi’s longish blond hair blew briefly in the sudden wind that had begun to blow, though the door and windows in the room were closed. Abruptly, long black hair swirled around a form that was no longer his. A white-clad, pale woman with an impossibly beautiful face the mirror of his hovered above the ground, power crackling about her slender body, bathed in light. Beneath the table, Ami opened her eyes and scooted back a little bit, so she could see what was going on. “Who are you?” she asked, managing not to stammer. “Where’ s my brother?” “Aoi is…sleeping now.” the apparition said in a rich, cold otherworldly alto voice to everyone in the room, not just Ami. “I have descended from the heavens, and my name is Lorien.” “You’re the…celestial maiden.” Ami said, her voice filled with wonder and awe, and suddenly ducked beneath the heavy table as wild, fierce winds began sweeping outward from where Lorien hovered, their force ripping the roof off in seconds, and toppling the walls. By a miracle, she was unharmed: either because Aoi was still somehow protecting her even while the tennyo raged, or because the table was protection enough, or because Lorien liked her, even a little. The first two were far more likely than the last. //She isn’t using all of her power. // Ami realized. //Lorien could have killed us all already. But why?// A sudden snap of inspiration came to her. //When Grandmother told us that legend when Aoi and I were young, she said that the celestial being couldn’t go back to the heavens because she didn’t have her feathered cloak. Obviously, she never got it back…she wants it back! Lorien wants her cloak back!// Lorien slowly rose, looking down at the people with implacable eyes, as Ami shoved aside debris and scrambled up from beneath the table. “I’ll help you find your hagoromo!” she shouted up at the celestial maiden who, inexplicably, was also her beloved twin. “I promise!” Lorien turned that cold gaze on Ami, who tried to be brave with a wrathful tennyo staring her in the face. //Aoi is in there…remember that. Aoi, your brother, is also Lorien.// Ami steeled herself. “Do you hold to that promise?” Lorien asked icily. “Yes.” Ami said fervently. “I promise that I’ll help you get your hagoromo back so you can go back to the heavens!” Lorien nodded, as she floated through where the roof had been and was gone. Ami dropped her head onto the floor. //Please be safe, Aoi…please.// ~To Be Continued in Section Three: Crescendo~ Feedback welcome! Am I doing things wrong? Right? Glossary: Hagoromo-a celestial maiden’s feathered cloak. Tennyo- a celestial maiden: roughly equivalent to angel, but better rendered as goddess or demi-goddess

Ficlet *This is something random I came up with for one of my new RP charas, Saria Williams. And how the heck did I manage to connect this to my novel? Weird. All kinds of interesting little spoilers for the novel, but I don’t really care, considering it only tells about the setup to the situation, not the outcome. *gets ideas as to how to throw this into the novel* Anyway, this is a *comedy* piece, with only a little angst. (unusual for me, ne?) “So, what do we do now?” Ithil asked, raising an eyebrow at the petite girl who stood by him. “Sightsee?” “Hell, no!” Saria Williams said, grinning insanely. “Then what?” the moon spirit asked, sighing. He owed the teenager a great debt, considering that she had managed to free him from that demoness that had wanted to take him apart. Slowly. Why? Because she had felt like it. Both females, that was-the demoness AND Saria. Ithil was convinced-even though it really wasn’t fair of him to hold that conviction, considering that he wasn’t the most logical of beings, either-that neither had fully thought out their plans before acting. The demoness had just been unlucky that the daughter of the high demon lord Morien had been the one to show up on a whim and on another of her infamous whims, had blasted the hell out of her instead of letting her toy with her latest victim. Nothing was left except a pile of ashes. What a shame that was. Ithil wasn’t sorry at all. Stupid bint had it coming anyway. His only regret was that it had taken so long for someone to come along who had been able to tangle with her without getting messed up. What he was sorry about, however, was getting involved with this mess. Morien had apparently made some kind of deal with the spirit of some crazy sociopath named Talia Ryder: apparently High Demons bound to violins and shades of crazy assassins had a great deal in common, and a great deal of free time on their hands. If Morien ever got free, then he would have to help Talia get back into the living world and in return, she would help him cause a lot of chaos. It was beyond Ithil’s comprehension how a ghost was going to be able to cause chaos, but apparently, according to what little Saria had found out from her father, Talia needed a female descendant to serve as a vessel. And she had one-all the dead assassin needed was a door into the living world. Unfortunately, Morien had threatened to messily murder his daughter’s adoptive parents if she didn’t go around contacting various High Demons to get them to agree to help him out in his chaos-causing plans. Saria had dragged her feet as much as she could, but having her step-cousin/boyfriend get the hell beaten out of him by one of Morien’s lackeys to serve as a warning had shown her that Morien wasn’t kidding and meant business. Ithil owed Saria big, and by the demon code of honor (which also bound various types of spirits, except ghosts), he had to help her, like it or not. “I want a big frickin’ sword.” Saria declared. Ithil just stared at her. “Why?” he asked cautiously. “I was doing some thinking.” Saria said. “Amazing.” Ithil replied dryly. Saria grinned at him. “I mean, here we are, going to be fighting for the great grand cause of evil and all that stupid jazz.” She said. “And I don’t even have a weapon. ” “So you want a weapon.” Ithil said, sighing: he might have figured /that/ out for himself. Any sane person would have considered the power that Saria was gifted with weapon enough, but any sane person wouldn’t be a, the child of one of the generals of Hell’s legions, b, hanging around with a moon spirit, and c, a teenager with a hell of a lot of power. “Not just any weapon. I want a /cool/ weapon, not a stupid one. So I want a big frickin’ sword.” Saria said, like that was the most logical thing in the world. “It makes me feel better to know that you’re still a teenager underneath it all.” Ithil said even more dryly. “But wouldn’t an ordinary teenager be asking for a big frickin’ *gun*?” Saria stuck her tongue out at him. “There are plenty of teenagers out there that wouldn’t scoff at a big frickin’ sword. And I’m not an ordinary teenager, in case you haven’t noticed. And regardless, I want a big frickin’ sword, and I’m going to get one.” Ithil gave up. Well, it was better than Saria getting hold of a gun-*that* would be crazy, and while he was a moon spirit and thrived on insanity, there were some things that even he wouldn’t handle, and that was one of them. “I assume that you want it to be functional. You’re going to have to go to a weaponsmith, and I’m not sure that there are too many left in the United States…” Saria stomped her foot. “You’re being mean!” she said childishly. Ithil really wondered how /this/ was supposed to be the daughter of the ruthless demon lord Morien. Until, of course, he remembered that she had ripped that demoness apart without blinking an eye. “I know where one is, here in the city.” Ithil said. “But to get a sword made is going to be expensive as hell.” “So what? I can always get money from my stupid father’s minions. I’ll just take it from the war readiness budget.” Saria said logically. “On the grounds that I won’t be ready to fight unless I have a weapon, and I won’t have a stupid one.” Ithil shrugged. “Well, there are different types of swords.” He said to her as they left her apartment. “No shit.” “I didn’t mean that, though you’re right. I meant you can either get a plain one, or a magic one.” Fox ears fairly perked up on Saria’s head as she heard the word ‘magic’. “I want a big frickin’ *magic* sword.” she said firmly. “That’s going to be even more expensive.” Ithil said. “So?” “And the smith can’t make a generic magic sword. There has to be a specific type of enchantment on the weapon.” He explained. “Hmm?” “Protection…ability to slice through any armor…enhanced strength, agility, speed, enchanted to kill certain kinds of demons-you wouldn’t want that one-“ “Want to bet?” Saria muttered under her breath. Ithil ignored her. “The ability to deflect or absorb magic…stuff like that, though there’s no guarantee that the smith would be able to do all of those options. If you want to get a sword that either can penetrate any armor or never misses-you can’t get both, the enchantments are mutually hostile-it’ll be double the cost.” Saria considered for a moment. “Can I get a flaming sword?” Ithil blinked. “Why?” “I want a flaming vorpal sword. That would be kick-ass cool.” Saria said. “A ‘flaming vorpal sword’? You have been playing too much D&D, or have serious delusions of grandeur.” Ithil said incredously. “And you can’t get a flaming vorpal sword. Those are for archangels, and you’re a-“ “Bastard child of a general of Hell’s legions.” Saria finished without bitterness. “Damn. Well, it *would* have been kick-ass cool. And if you’re going to have delusions of grandeur, you might as well go for the really satisfying ones.” “So, what type of sword are you going to get?” Ithil said. “I dunno. I’ll decide when I get there.” Saria said. “But I’m going to get a big frickin’ magic sword.” Ithil was expecting her to start thinking and stay silent. Unfortunately for him-as he was starting to develop a migraine-he was wrong. “Hey, Ithil. Can I get a Cold Fire flaming vorpal sword, or are those also only for archangels?” ~Owari~