Juno.

R

She was a child again - stuck with a face that wasn't hers as she burned under the desert sun's sweltering heat. She remembered how her Uncle accompanied her Father to save her, taking her within the Falcone Manor and restoring her appearance to what it once was. She remembered the near decade that followed, where she was kept from her Uncle for reasons unknown to her. She remembered when she was finally free from the Keep's confines, and how she reunited with her Uncle once more - the beloved man that helped save her. Her vomit stained the wooden floors of the Town Hall as she discovered her savior's lifeless body, still here and causing a smell of mildew to fill the place. It took all her strength to pick herself off the ground - to fight that rising panic as she inspected the body for any signs of foul play. His face was wet, and soft to the touch. The niece closed his eyes before lifting the corpse gingerly into her arms and carrying it out. Mischa should not see this.. Isabel laid the corpse gingerly atop of the mortician's worktable while her cousin dealt with the pompous overseer who left their dear Cosimo's body out in the open. Stealing a white sheet from within the funeral home's storage, she laid such neatly over her Uncle's body, ensuring that no one else would see the body unless they peeked beneath the cover. She fell to her knees, and laced her hands together, placing them on the edge of the table as she bowed her head in silent prayer. Please, God - See him to the other side.. Puffing on Margos Il Falcone, Isabel listened to the what was left to her as read by the arrogant gentleman who carried out her Uncle's will. "To the seventh of my beneficiaries, Isabel Amaranta Falcone-Wick, my eldest niece by Ludovica's lineage, I leave to you my sharpest blade from my arsenal - Artigilo." Artisan, she translated quietly within her head - a blade she would receive on the morrow. How fitting he would leave her with such a weapon. She pondered her Uncle's final message as she left the home, and entered her own within Florentine. "God walks with you all." "I'll do my best to make you proud, Zio..."

Flipping through time-worn pages, blowing dust off words in order to read them, the woman finally came across a loose page much more yellowed and ancient than the rest. It appeared to have been shoved in the center of the tome’s bound contents - perhaps for safe keeping. Eyes of jade greedily poured over the page, her dark brows furrowing more and more with each sentence. The tome was placed down in a huff, a gloved hand rising to pinch the bridge of her nose as she felt a headache forming. Resolved to close the book and come back to it another time, the woman took a deep inhale before opening her eyes - only to find she was no longer within the brick walls she called home. ⟻⧫⟼ ⟻⧫⟼ Surrounding me is a twisting labyrinth of glass, crystal and quartz - mirrors from which I cannot escape my own wide-eyed reflection. It seems a reflection is all I am here, for when I attempt to look down at my physical body, it is nowhere to be seen. Is this the knowledge men would kill to have? I stumble through the maze as if I were blind, often bumping into reflective material as I struggle to find my way. I try to keep my breathing controlled, even as a ringing settles within my mind to replace the deafening silence. Stay calm, I just need to find the exit. With nothing else to look at but my own image, I find myself scrutinizing it - every wrinkle, every pore. I can see myself from so many different angles, some of which I have never seen before. I hate this. I continue on, a frown on my face that grows with every passing minute - has it been minutes? I can’t say. Perhaps a concussion is beginning to form with all the times I’ve bumped my head. I begin to notice a double in the reflections - a figure that was not there before. My perfect image, a doppelganger, not far behind me, whatever that means in a place such as this. This must be a dream. I must have fallen asleep while reading - Yes, that is the only logical explanation. This is all just a creation of my torturous mind. A sense of calm washes over me with my decision of fact, and I run into the mirrors less as I grow used to the labyrinth. It is short lived, as I see the double again - only it is closer now, and has changed in appearance. I pause as I observe her dark skin and veiled hair, her face red with sunburn and sand still clinging to her raw knees. Her expression is twisted in grief and hopelessness, mirroring my own as I remember the five years spent in that wasteland - The ringing in my ears turns into the bleating of a starved lamb. I rub my face with my hands, continuing. That is behind me now - I am over it, and yet, why can’t escape it? Why does the past continue to haunt me? I pick up the pace as I dodge towering spires of crystal and glass alike. The next I glimpse the doppelganger behind me, it is closer still, and different again: A perfect image of high elven beauty, pale skin unblemished with flowing waves of champagne blonde. She bears a pristine smile that does not quite reach her soft gaze, one I catch myself mirroring in my own reflection. I feel cold. I start to jog now, forcing the reflections to fade in my peripheral vision. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Panic is steadily overtaking the calm state I push to maintain, stark terror seeping into my frazzled mind. When I see the doppelganger again, it is a mere few feet behind my reflection and carries my appearance once more - but something is severely wrong. Glowing runes of origins unknown burned into her olive skin; tenebrous claws have grown from her bleeding nail beds. She coughs up ash, which clings to her maw and leaks from her eyes - those eyes, no longer my own but the yellowed slits of a serpent. She smiles at me, revealing sharpened and blood-stained teeth. Oh God. I am running now, tears I cannot force down staining my cheeks - I close them, hoping that may be the key to evading the creature, and begin to feel my way around. Please God, please save me. Save me from this nightmare. “-----!” I hear a voice echo in my ears - stern but full of warmth and concern, calling my name. Father. He has come to save me. A huge smile spreads on my features as I cease my running, opening my eyes and expecting to see the forever aged man waiting for me. What I find instead is that creature - standing right behind me now with a heinous grin and glittering gaze. I am unable to move, a doe caught in the light as its hand reaches from behind to cup my cheek. I can feel the warmth of its molten flesh, the scrape of its claws against my skin. It opens its mouth, and a hissing tone that is not my own utters words I cannot comprehend. “Ei beth.. Eresar bithe Atar-Gho.” I spin in the creature’s hold, causing its talons to rip open my cheek. I don’t even feel the pain as I gaze at it in physical form. Its real.. Its jaw opens wide, that mouth of ash and gore inching closer to swallow me whole. I close my eyes to the slaughter, anticipating the feel of those fangs slicing into my body - but it never comes. When I finally open them once more, I find myself right where I was before, kneeling on a wooden floor before that accursed page. ⟻⧫⟼ The woman immediately shuts the ancient tome as she attempts to regulate her breathing, choked sobs coupled with streaming tears of relief. “Just a dream.. Just a dream..” She repeats to herself over and over, followed by fervent prayers in a harsh whisper. Right as she is beginning to collect herself, the woman notices droplets of red partnered with the translucent stains of her tears on the ground. A sting she had previously not felt throbbing on her cheek, her shaking hand reaching up to touch the surface of the skin. When she pulls it away, her palm is stained red. Jumping to her feet, the woman rushes to a nearby chest, ruffling through its contents until her bloodied fingers curl around a handheld mirror. She finds deep claw marks marring her face in the reflection, blood oozing down her jawline from the open wounds. CRASH! Shards of broken glass surround the woman as she falls to her knees, holding her head in her hands.

Take it easy!! <3 I wish you luck and happiness in all your future endeavors.

Take it easy friend. I hope you feel better soon! <3

Who's your favorite Jojo

The letter was retrieved and read from within some dark enclosure, though no tears were shed from the Matriarch. Instead, a smile spread across freckled cheeks, a sort of maternal pride swelling within her chest. "Run vuln'ii, escape to the Wilds. Hopefully something better will be here when you return.."

The Lady Thelin gazed upon her invitation with a bright smile, immediately getting up to plan her outfit!

Isabel read over the missive with an incredulous expression, though she couldn't help but chuckle. The Illatian handed the paper over to Annette, taking a sip of her whiskey. "Well, what do you think? The Barclays make excellent weapons, and he seems funny at the least.." @TaytoTot

The letter came to The Fox has she sat within a hollowed tree; a sanctuary she fled to after the departing of Lioness. At first, she had ignored the letter, the woman not being of sound mind or body to meet or speak with anyone at the moment. However, the anxiety of it possibly being from her children gnawed at her, and with a huff she read it. Birds abruptly scattered from the leaves within the tree, foxes sprinted away with their tail between their legs. Nature cried out in agony and grief, pleading for refugee from it's killer. It was sometime before The Fox walked out of that hollowed tree, leaving nothing but ruin behind her.

Hands tightened around the very mug that Lioness had held just days ago, eyes wide as she gazed into it. She was just here...She was just here! How...Why! That mug was flung across the room, shattering against the wall opposite. The animals within the burrow dispersed at the noise, and the feeling that radiated from their mother following. So much grief in such a short amount of time. How long until that grief turns into rage.

"I think I know that guy!" A number of women say pertaining to a number of the creatures.

Sonna slowly begins to come to from within the Haense clinic, her eyes squinting against the bright lights. With her body too beat up to move, she lays in silent reflection, trying to recall how she got here in the first place.

Meow

Amazing

Sonna cleans the same self for the 5th time as she waits for her grandfather's return, doing her best to make the Tavern spotless!

yes I did!

The familiar message that the trees bring washed over the sullen woman. She knew not who had passed, but she felt the pang of grief all the same. How many more...When will I join them?

She thought she had felt it all, especially the grief of a loved one's death. Friends, parents, husbands... But it was all nothing compared to this. There is no greater pain than losing a child, Sonna had always known this. She had known, having been blessed with so many children, that one dying before her was a strong possibility. But there is no preparing for that day; there is no relief from the breaking it brings. Typically, mothers will have support as they go through this. Other mothers will flock to them, consoling them and helping them heal. But not Sonna. Alone, she received the letter. Alone, she clutched it to her chest. Alone, she collapsed into a heap of tears and blood. And alone, she begins to decay.

Terrified and traumatized was she, the sweet Isabel, clinging tightly to her sickly lamb. Taken from her life and dressed anew, her face anew; she didn’t know if she was even herself anymore. Her now chocolate gaze remained stuck to sandy dunes beyond, red and dry with no tears left to cry.

-=- -=- She had been cleaning her shoes when her mother entered, a thick veil covering the features of her face. Isabel paid no mind, abandoning her task to give her mother a proper welcome back to their home off the Orenian canal. Kisses were peppered across her face through such lacy fabric, giggles echoing off the walls of the entrance hall. “Amaranta, would you like to go to a party? It will be at your Zia’s house, but first we must make a short stop.” The young girl was excited, as most would be at the prospect of their first party. She rushed her goodbyes to her father who had come to inspect the commotion, waving him off hurriedly as he too kissed her cheek. If she had known this would be the last, she would have attempted to savor it, clung to her father’s affection, but even if she wanted to, she would have been unable; her mother was already rushing her out the door. She should have known something was wrong when they turned right instead of left, and entered the creepy warehouse that neighbored their own home. She should have run as soon as her mother released her hand to speak with the pale, elven man, and her eyes witnessed the oddities stowed on shelves and hanging off walls. She should have screamed at the initial prick, as her blood was drawn by the strange man and a trickle of such ichor leaked down her arm. “Mama please…I’m scared.” “Hush, Amaranta. You are not weak.” The girl was guided to sit on a table, her anxiety only increasing as the man questioned her mother, who gave hasty replies. She should have resisted as her soft skin was injected once more, and the pain hit her like a wave of the plague. Her soft cries and sobs echoed off the high ceiling, but were not loud enough to invoke some sort of aid from outside. And so she curled up into a ball as her skin prickled and face itched, her back to the two adults as she was changed into someone new. “Come Amaranta.” Her mother called for her, and yet she was ignored; Isabel could not move, could not think, could not feel, for what sort of reaction was she to have at this odd sensation? Her arm was grabbed and pulled towards the two waiting figures, a red hot iron now held in the man’s hand. “MAMA NO! PLEASE!” Isabel fought and cried as her mother held her still and shoved a fist in her mouth, skin that was soon bitten down on as the metal met her tanned hand. Agony like no other over took her senses, leaving her a puddle of warm tears, muffled cries, and trembling limbs. As soon as it came, it was over, and she was pulled once more, taken towards somewhere new. — Paved roads and mild weather turned to hot sand and a blaring sun when they finally stopped, her mother ripping off her veil to reveal a face entirely new. Isabel gasped as she looked at the woman, her features now entirely unrecognizable. “Amaranta, look!” The mother urged her to look into the mirror she had brought out, and to the young girl’s horror, she did. Gone were the sea-green eyes and bronze skin of her mother’s original appearance, gone were her father’s raven black hair, high cheekbones, and effortless smile. She supposed she still looked like her mother, both donning their new appearances, but nothing was left of her father’s, as if he bore no part in her creation. The revelation made her feel as if a part of her was missing, something so key to her life and being. She found herself unable to keep down the fresh fruit she had just eaten earlier, spilling herself onto the sparkling sands. Her dress which had only ever been stained with the juice of clementines and dirt from the Imperial gardens was now tainted with dried blood and bile. “Mama…what about Papej! We must go back for him.” “He will not miss you, he is a busy man.” “No! Papej loves us! He will miss us!” Her arm was harshly grabbed once more, though this grip now promised pain. She could not handle any more agony, any more pricks and brands and trickles of blood. “He will not. UNDERSTOOD?” Her mother’s voice was stern and final, her eyes glazed over in some sort of emotion Isabel did not recognize; she did not recognize any of her mother at all. She cried out her agreement, if just to save her own flesh, and they were off once more. They continued to walk until they came to a settlement, walls high and tents full of color. It all went by in a blur, the concerned faces of it’s dwellers, the bitter drink and sweet fish, the reassuring smiles and waves from strangers. She tried to wave back, to show some gratitude for their kindness, but how could she do that with hands and lips that were not her own. They were given a house rather quickly, about the same size as their one back in Oren, except this time Isabel had her own room. It was not a welcome change. The child could not sleep, for every time she closed her eyes she experienced it all over again; the white-hot agony, the goat on her hand, her father’s last kiss. She sat up screaming and with fresh tears, holding her hand to her mouth to not wake her mother slumbering nearby. The blankets were thrown off her small body as Isabel darted outside, the sands now cool against her bare feet. She would escape now, run through the dunes until she found someone, someone to take her to her father. She didn’t make it far until she heard the cries of some sort of animal, and rounded the corner to see a pitiful lamb. It was tiny, smaller than it should be, and sick, calling out for some sort of help, some food and warmth. It couldn’t have been more than a few days old, clearly the runt, and it was sick. It was dying. Isabel knew young animals could not survive without their mothers, doomed to fail without their milk and nurture. How was an eight year old girl any different? Her father had warned her of the dangers of this world, both human and not. If she were to leave the protection of these walls, she would be killed in minutes, her fate the same as the lamb’s. It took all her effort to lift and carry the weakened lamb, for she was in a pathetic state herself. With the last of her strength, she ran all across the settlement in search of some cattle, the moon acting as her only light source. When she finally came across a mother camel, Isabel did her best to mimic the farmers she saw working out in the countryside, filling a nearby bucket with the fresh milk. With both the bucket and lamb, she made her way back home, bringing both into her room where she fed the lamb. Stars began to twinkle out as midnight turned to dawn, and the bucket was finally empty. The lamb had made it through the night, so Isabel supposed she could too. If for nothing else, she would live to see her father once more. -=-

Hidden amongst the leaves of the tallest tree did she uncover the words; a ritual done sometimes even three times a day. Hours would she sit there, pouring over the words and meanings until her eyes ran dry, until there was no more daylight left for her to enjoy. No matter how many times the pages became smudged, shaky handwriting doing its best to fill in the blanks, no matter that she had memorized and now knew the words by heart, the ritual continued daily, and a new set of stains on parchment always followed.