Firestarter.

[RavenDaas]

Graceland - Epoch 2

Book One - Reaper

Chapter Zero - Firestarter​

Ruby Raven Daas was a firestarter. It wasn't that she wanted to start the fires, or even that she did it herself, though everyone accused her of it. Fires simply began around her, sending buildings, fields, and people into immolated ruin as soon as her emotions got the better of her. There was the stable of horses when she was just a young girl, stamping their feet and screaming as pale, ghostly flames devoured their building. An entire tower of fireproof stone turning to ash as the all-consuming hunger ate it from within, only embers raining down on the ground below. Even Fitch Connelly, a brutish Ashen Guard who was too liberal with his hands in the darkness. One moment, he'd cornered her, and the next, he was screaming as if he was staring the Reaper himself in the eyes.

The funny thing was? He had been.

All her life, Ruby had known death. He was an old friend of hers, with a too-bright smile and eyes of beautiful emptiness. No one else saw the Reaper as he stalked, waiting for death's inevitable kiss to take one more person. Even Ruby had never truly seen the man's face, hidden beneath robes and impossible shadows. But she saw him everywhere. He followed her, because death followed her, her old, familiar friend. When the pox scythed down a fifth of the population of Home, he looked almost exhausted by it all. Old Rook fell from the battlements after sneaking too much drink into his water jug. Half his bones shattered, his heart shredded. The Reaper had just shaken his head, shutting Rook's cold, stunned eyes. And then he had turned back to Ruby. For once, his smile had faded. Shadows took him, and he was gone.

Only a fool would have thought she had anything to do with the fire, or with the deaths, but fools run the world in greater numbers than grains of sand. Even when Ruby was too young to know how to read, the whispers began. These were not the whispers of the dead, of which she was so familiar as to almost know them by name. These were the whispers of the foolish and the living, their voices like poison, bringing forth blood and steel in her blood. When the sparks began to dance at their feet, they would fall silent, only to whisper again the next day. Their words were the white noise of Ruby's life, fading in the light. They had no power in her dreams, in her realms of safety. They had no power in the darkness, for Ruby had walked the darkness every hour she had lived. Ruby knew the names of the shadows, of the old things, of the void. For Ruby had been born in the void, among the old things, to a kingdom of shadow.

---

The Witch and the Wolf stood upon the balcony of the empty nursery, hands entwined, faces soft and happy. In that moment, in that rare moment, there was silence in the Tower of Ash, and in the Republic. They were few, and growing fewer, the way that the night creeps slowly into the daytime, until one moment the night has simply lost all its light. But in this moment, they were happy to see the evening, because they saw the stars with it, the half-moon. A slight chill swept through the world, it was an early Autumn day, just after the first frost. Raven shivered, and moved a step closer to her wife, as if fearing she would be rebuked. Saria simply laughed, and drew her bride close, with both arms.

"Why are we out here, anyway? I've seen the stars before. And don't you dare brag that you've seen them in-person, because I'll punch you." Saria's voice is like a tribal song, wild and beautiful, born of the older things, wizened by age and softened by love. There was a hardness to her, some of it new, some of it old, but Raven loved her anyway, all that made her, and she just gave a very soft laugh, eyes going shut for the briefest moment, as though she was remembering something. And then she looked at the moon, her free hand lazily pointing toward it, as if they had all the time in the world. In a way, they did. Though only Raven knew it.

"You'll see."

The sound of Saria's fist contacting her shoulder was a loud, sharp crack, and Raven jerked away, laughing even as she rubbed her fresh wound. Saria rolled her eyes, and stepped up to the balcony, feet nearly tripping. Immediately, Raven surged forward, grabbing her bride by the shoulders, a wince crossing Saria's face. "Are you alright?" The Wolf's question is sharp and protective, where it might once have been soft and casual, as if there was some unseen danger, a danger beyond the obvious.

"I'm pregnant, you moron, not crippled." Saria doesn't even bother trying to brush Raven away, her hands gripping the balcony. She was a mere month from delivering her child, and Raven guarded her bride with the zealousness of the creature that was her namesake. Even now, she bristled with violence, as though something would burst from the shadows to attack Saria. But nothing did, and she finally softened, planting a kiss on the neck of her beloved, eyes back on the moon. "Can't blame me for caring. And keep your eyes on the moon. It'll happen in a second."

Saria muttered something in response to her wife that was not at all respective of a woman in either of their stations, though a hidden smile curved across her features. Love fluttered in her heart, like a teenager in her first fling, and her eyes dutifully watched the half-moon, hidden by… She wasn't quite certain. Both Raven and Grim had tried to explain the science behind it, and Saria had been utterly mystified by it. Still, she'd pretended, if only to see the light in her wife's eyes that always came in when there was learning. When there was knowledge.

Saria was not the smartest woman in Auros - but to her wife, she was brilliant.
"Oh!" Her startled, childishly joyous tone sends a pleasant shiver up Raven's back, and a likewise smile on her lips. Saria's hand points out, like a six year-old at a carnival, at something just past the moon. "It's a shooting star! Raven, how did you know… Oh."

It was not a shooting star, because shooting stars did not trail ghost fire behind them as they fell toward the world. Whatever it was, it entranced Saria, her eyes wide and magical, her grin utterly unrestrained, with no one around to judge her for her fascination. All across Home, across Auros, people muttered their shock, their fear, their wonder, as a pale green streak of unnatural fire arced through the heavens and toward the world. Not Raven. Her eyes were simply thoughtful. She'd seen it a dozen times before, and somewhere along the way, it had lost its luster. Still, she watched, carefully. Because this time, it mattered.

From nowhere, from nothing, a second trail of flame began to wind its way down from the heavens, matching the pace of the first. This one was gold, just as unnatural, dancing on its way down to the world, throwing off beautiful sparks that rained down on the Reach and Graceland. Saria made a soft, entranced noise, reaching her hand just a bit further out, as though she could catch those dancing flames. And, like they'd seen her, like they wanted her, too, they raced downward, green and gold, utter opposites, looking for all the world like falling angels. Goosebumps rose on Saria's flesh, and, behind her, though she did not see, Raven muttered a familiar line. There was no sound, for she'd said it more than enough. Just as before, it had come true. But this time was the last time. This time, it was real.

Once looking like mischievous wisps, the two bolts of fire were now so near and vast that they looked more like a true starfall. Concern struck Saria's features, and then faded away as Raven's reassuring hand on her shoulder told her that it would be alright. Her eyes were locked on the fires as they came ever closer. They passed the walls of the city, and neared the Tower of Ash, gaining more and more speed. A gasp tore from Saria's throat as they passed the wards without even slowing, and then a shout mixed with a swear, as they slammed into the Tower itself, shaking it to its foundation.

She would have fallen over the balcony from the force of it, if it weren't for the fact that Raven's hands steadied her. Still, her breath came out heavily, and she turned on her wife, after looking upward to check, to make sure that nothing had been damaged by the impact of the fire. And despite the fact that, in the coming weeks, they would learn that the explosion had been seen as far as Crescendo, and felt in Revolution - nothing was even scorched.

"What…" It was a rare moment, because Saria had no words. She cleared her throat, and just demanded an explanation from Raven with her eyes, before wincing, and clutching her stomach. "I… Raven, I…" Her cheeks grew red and hot, despite the Autumn night, and her feet suddenly felt leaden. But Raven's eyes were unchanged, the same resigned way they'd always been, love and something very close to fear fighting for control as Saria suddenly straightened, looking past her wife, into the empty nursery. Formerly empty.

"Is that a… Is that a baby?"

It was. A baby's cry cut into the air, fearful and demanding, and, immediately, Raven's face melted into that of pained joy. Immediately, Saria rushed past her wife, and into the room, slamming open the doors from the balcony, head sweeping frantically about. Immediately, her head caught on one of two-dozen cribs, carved from marble and thrown in soft blankets. Holdovers from the old Askari Empire. Her feet, fleet as a panther, rush her to its head, eyes looking down in shock. From nothing, from nowhere, a boy, with the dark features of her wife. Raven's boots click behind her, and she turns, taking the boy from the crib, silencing his screams, his tones suddenly warm, trusting, as he softly coos.

Raven's face is not blank, but, instead, so conflicting in its emotions that Saria finds herself just as unable to tell what she was thinking. But, in the end, love wins, and she holds her arms out, wordlessly. Saria gives the baby to her wife, looking around, utter bewilderment on her face. When she asks her question, there's a hint of something close to fear in her tone. "Raven… What… What is this?"

"Not what. Who. Do you trust me?"

"I… Of course, but…"

"Do you trust me, Saria?"

There was no hesitation this time, nor was there a hint of doubt in her voice and eyes.

"Yes. Who is it, Raven?"

Raven gives a sad little smile, as a sudden bout of pain crosses Saria's face. She leans forward, groaning softly, clutching her stomach. She tries to whisper something, but it's drowned out by her noises of pain, and by Raven's shout. Two Ashen Guard burst into the room, immediately heading Saria, helping her to stand upright. Desperately, she says, fear truly laden in her tone, now, "The baby. Raven, the baby's coming, I…" Panic fills her voice, the first and only time that Raven had, in her very long existence, heard such a painful thing. "She's too early."

Raven steps up to her wife, and shakes her head, leaning down to be eye level, still clutching the baby boy to her chest. For he was a baby boy, bare, and growing cold. Raven's eyes are gentle, and kind, as she meets her wife's own fearful ones.

"If you trust me, then you'll believe me when I say you'll be fine. Soldiers. Come on. We need to hurry. Get word to Daas to meet us in the ward." One of them nods, and rushes away, as the other straightens Saria, helping her rise, as Raven clutches the baby boy. With a pained tone, Saria manages to ask her question, one last time. "Who is it, Raven?"

"This is Marcus." Her words remind Saria of the Raven she once knew. A softer woman. Her heart burns with so much love and loss, with so much fear and hope. "This is your son."

---

Ruby's first memory was earlier than most children. Even her mother, Saria, could not recall much of her life, though Raven could say every piece of her life in detail, as though from a book. Never, though, had she spoken of her time beyond Auros. Never, though, had anyone asked.

Still, though, her mind had been clouded by the fog of sleep and young age, body feeling of cotton and sand. Sluggish. But not weak. Even then, Ruby had not been as weak as others thought her, trapped as she was within her slight frame, pale and quiet. Even so young, they underestimated her. She didn't remember when they had done that, but she knew they had, and that, even then, gave her a sense of satisfaction, every time she proved them wrong. Slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sat up, looking around.

It was dark within her room, a spare and spartan set of quarters, built of cold, smooth stone, furnished only by a bed and a desk, with a chair lazily pulled up to its side. The rest of her body made up for what little she could see. She could smell the baker's furnaces slowly raising dough somewhere far outside the Tower, mixed with the faint tinge of sickness and death that lingered over the world endlessly. On the tip of her tongue, Ruby could taste metal and dust, and against her skin, she could feel the cold winds of late winter changing into spring.

Ruby Raven Daas was two, nearing on three, and she was smart enough to know that her parents were important people. They were also, she found, utterly, revoltingly, in love, taking every opportunity to announce it to anyone that was around. Primarily Saria, but Raven, too, was brave. Sometimes. She also knew that Saria was a dangerous woman, mostly because she had mastered a particular look capable of stopping men dead in their tracks. A look she'd never used on her children. Not that she ever got much of a chance to use it on Marcus, Ruby's brother. He was, like most times, away with Raven, dealing with keeping their country safe and happy. That's what her moms called it.

One of them was crying. That was her first true memory, vivid and visceral, worse than a blade or a burn, because it pierced a part of her that couldn't be touched by pain. Aching took over her heart at the sound of it.

Saria.

The Witch of Westmarch.

She was sobbing like a child, just outside, in the common room, trying to be quiet, and failing, the sound of her pain bleeding through the heavy stone door.

Time had given her a number of benefits. It came and went, but it left behind small gifts and curses, sometimes just passing goodbyes as if it were nothing important at all. There was one thing however that time had not ever gifted her with, and that gift she so desperately lacked was height. She was a small thing, something her mother was mocked for, and something she was teased for, a joke that she'd heard so many times that she'd grown sick of it. As old a nemesis as the protection of stashed food that she always managed to find, confounding cooks and parents alike. She was unnaturally good at such things. That did not help her current predicament however.

The door knob was too high. She might have glared at it, if not for the fact that would've been a very strange thing to do, and the sounds that continued to pour into her room gave a sense of urgency and curiosity that demanded her immediate action, resolving to the determination only a toddler could achieve, face setting tight as she sent her gaze around the room, searching for something to assist her...ah.

Short, hot breaths rolled up her throat and out of her mouth as she panted, shoving the chair forward, pressing her lips tight together as her bare feet pushed against the floor, listening to the combating sounds of Saria and the outside world, a world in constant conflict as shadows played across the surfaces of the room, watching her and muttering to themselves, some words of encouragement, some words of heedless ridicule, whilst others just watched on in amusement, as if it didn't really matter to them.

Ruby gave a silent cheer of victory as the chair pressed up against the door, throwing her hands up in the air to celebrate that fact to the world, so close to making a rude face at the shadows but remembering her goal, growing more serious and lifting herself up onto the chair, placing her arms on the seat and dragging herself up until she was kneeling on it, finally level with the knob. With a satisfied look, she wrapped her small hands around it, twisting it and pushing with as much reserved energy as she could, desperate to leave and help against whatever was causing the horrible, wrecking noise. For it was just that. So unfamiliar and...sad, as if her own heart was being pulled out slightly more each time she heard a sob. The door opened.

Saria's sharp intake of breath bears the same touch of the world preparing for a detonation. For some ancient and fundamental force to tear cities and forests to their foundations. A soft voice that Ruby had not heard over her mother's crying cuts off with it. A man's voice, strange to her. The heavy stone door comes shut behind her, with an ominous boom, as though the building itself was signifying the importance of her actions, telling her that what she had done would matter.

Two bodies stand out in the darkness, one broad, one lean. A lion and a leopard next to each other. Her mother, the latter, sits upon a couch, hunched over, a pillow held close to her body, eyes directly on Ruby. She looks, for all the world, as though she'd been carved of shadows and darkness, her pain so visceral as to dim her life, often so brightly burning as to drown out others.
The other is a man that Ruby does not know, his hand pressed to Saria's shoulder in a show of comfort. She seems to have been ignoring him, and with a heavy sigh, he takes it away, only to be further rebuked when Saria, with a shaking voice, says, "Get out, Cain. Your son has been alone for too long."

Several things flash along the man's face, but somber understanding is strongest among them, flashing in the fire that every human has burning within them until the day they die. His, Ruby sees, is not like most. His bears the mark of a man caught between things, a man torn into by his very nature conflicting with his honor. His eyes rake along Ruby, and a chilling sense falls over her. Unlike most, there is not a doubt in the man's face that Ruby is someone to watch. Someone, one day, to be wary of. But, in the end, he just gives a sad smile, and backs away toward one of their two doors, opening it, and, halfway through, turning to comment.

"We did the right thing, Saria. Raven will understand."

The door falls shut with a heavy thud, as all doors within the Tower of Ash do. Saria's comment is unheard by Cain, but Ruby hears it.

"That's the worst part."

With that, Ruby's mother finally looks to her daughter, eyes rimmed with pain and sorrow, body dripping with loss. Ruby can see faint stains of heat along the floor, along the couch, all along her mother's body, that she knew, somewhere fundamental, from the taste of blood in her mouth and in her nose - was blood. Mixed with water from something like rain, though no storm rages outside. Deep, bright violet eyes burn into Ruby, and Saria says nothing to her daughter for a very long time, tears still occasionally escaping from her eyes, though the sobbing has stopped.

Saria was, like Raven, a person utterly to herself. There was no one who affected her daughter like she did. With eyes that were kind and patient in a way that was natural, not forced, and a mind that saw more in common with children than any adult, she could win the loyalty of any child. And, indeed, she had. But, now, none of that softness was there, nothing but the sturdiest of layers, the love of a mother for her child, of a mother whom had borne her child through pain and anguish, and loved the result, the creation, more than any other thing, any other person. This was the thing that her parents shared through her every memory, no matter their pains, their fears, their hatreds. It didn't matter what Ruby did, and it didn't matter what she became. Her parents would love her still.

"Go back to bed, Ruby." Saria's voice seethes with heartache. But then, she lets out a smile, so faint and fleeting that if Ruby hadn't seen the flash of joy within her fire, she would have missed it.

Her tone is so soft. So fragile. Still trembling with the memories of what made her sob. "You're dam-" She cuts herself off. "You're darn clever, aren't you? Dragged your chair to open your door?"

She grins. Anyone whose eyes worked normally would have thought she looked like a mess, but Ruby saw her mother's grief and love and pride and pain as a collage. A sea. A painting. Each layer made something more whole, more perfect. Her voice gets ever more steady as she speaks, straightening her back.

"God. Don't tell your mother I said this, but I'm… I'm fucking proud of you. Most kids your age…"

A soft sigh escapes her lips, and one of her hands wipes away her face as the other pats her knee, steel clapping against steel.

"Come on, Ruby. You're awake. So, I should tell you a story to help you sleep. Do you need your cane?"

She nods toward Ruby's blindness cane, an invention of her other mother, a lightweight thing even a toddler can use, meant to help the truly blind to navigate cramped spaces like these. It was not often used.

Cain Thespar, though she did not know his last name at the time, was a very dangerous man. She was not so old as to truly understand what that meant just yet, but something told her to tread carefully around him when she was old enough that her feet might make noise were she to stomp them hard enough. His very presence spoke of an untold violence that was laid beneath a kind, but weathered heart. It reminded her of what Saria was like sometimes, when she saw or heard things that made her still for such short periods that nobody noticed them, not even Raven. Ruby noticed though. Stock still, where her pale skin grew paler, paler than her's, paler than the stone that made up the Tower of Ash, that made up so many of the important buildings of Home.

That wasn't her concern though. Her mind was focused on the damaged and wounded woman that sat before her, a greedy sense of anger flowing up into her as she concentrated her emotions into an angry little ball in her stomach, her stomach that felt so heavy for reasons she couldn't understand yet, sending them all into the dark, powerful man, hoping they would destroy him.
They didn't. Either he was too powerful, or she was too weak, demanding large amounts of pondering over the next time she had time to mull.

Strangely though, he wasn't hurting her. That was obvious because he was doing what her mothers tried to do when he or Marcus were hurt, or when they did it for each other sometimes. Ruby had seen it when she spied out of her window, friends and family. It wasn't working this time, but, even as Cain looked to her with suspicion, she silently, and reluctantly, removed him from her list of enemies for trying to help, even if it was futile. He left, with her giving a small, uncertain wave of her hand as he went, the cracking voice of Saria instinctively drawing her head to look up at her, though her eyes did not follow it.

She was cursing again. Raven had warned her against it sometimes, but they slipped through occasionally. They slipped through a lot when Raven wasn't in the room. Or when she was in the room and Raven was in the same sentence. That confused the toddler, much to Saria's amusement and Raven's annoyance, even as she tried to force down a smile at the weak attempts at cursing.

Despite not quite knowing what she meant, Ruby smiled. It was a beautiful thing, even as some of her teeth hadn't finished coming in just yet, looking like she'd just gotten punched in the face if she was older. It was bright and proud, filling the room up with a warmth that threatened to consume the Witch entirely if she wasn't careful. With naught a word, she shook her head, casting a glance towards her room, twisting about on her toes in as graceful and uncoordinated a fashion as was possible, announcing the Askari and Witch blood that ran through her to the world without so much as a whisper.

Small, pale fingers touched the metal that covered her, curiously running over it, wondering why such heavy, cold things found their way on Saria's body. They wouldn't be comfortable sit on, that was for sure. Yet, she was an indomitable spirit now and asked permission to be lifted up into her proper position, stretching her arms out to Saria, a so close to tooth filled, lopsided grin on her face that it was so, so familiar.

Saria's hands are firm and sure as she lifts her daughter up, pulling her onto her steel-clad knee, which was indeed uncomfortable. A dampness covers Ruby wherever their bodies touch, and they touch in many places, when Saria's hands pull her close. Her mother's eyes are closed, and her head is cocked away, looking distantly out of the window, though she, unlike her daughter, cannot see through her shut eyes. Soft, deliberately controlled breathing takes her, her chest heaving in controlled patterns, her voice, softly humming an old, familiar song, sounding of falling angel dust.

"Ruby, I'm going to tell you a scary adventure story, but I promise it'll be happy in the end. Okay?" Her voice is so very soft, as though she was asking her first love if she could just please kiss her already. As if she weren't speaking to her own child. As if Ruby was an adult that could judge her, as if Ruby was an adult that could hate her, and fear her, and…

A long, low sigh escapes her mother's lips, a free hand running through Ruby's hair, tangled from sleep and carelessness.

"Once, a long time ago, in a place far from here, there was an island, where a wolf and a lion lived. This island was a beautiful place, where all creatures could live in abundance, where there was nothing but peace, where all creatures could love each other. And the wolf and the lion loved each other very much. They did. They… They did." Saria's stuttering is solved by a smoothing of her voice, even as her tone grows ever more sad, remorseful, and storied in its misery.
"You see, the island had not always been peaceful. Things had not always been abundant. For the lion, she had two brothers. They were mean, and cruel, and took things that were not theirs. They demanded the other animals follow them, because their father had been followed, and because his father had been followed, and so on. And the lion's brothers? They used the island and the animals, and they fought. They hurt each other, and they hated, and they used their bloodright to act like tyrants. The wolf watched in sadness, waiting for a hero to save the island, to bring peace, to bring happiness. To stop the fighting, and to make a better place." An old sort of happiness tinges Saria's voice, and though her daughter cannot see, tears stream down her cheeks, along her smiling lips, falling into the hair of her daughter.

"The lion - the good lion - she loved the wolf, but her brothers, who believed they should rule, and tell everyone what to do, they did not approve. They said to her, 'But lion, the wolf is not like you. She is not a lion. You should marry a lion.' And the good lion said to her brothers, 'But can I not love who I wish? Can we not be just and peaceful?'

"Her brothers had no response, and so they left. All the animals on the island rejoiced to see the happiness of the wolf and lion, who loved each other so very much, and when they were due to be wed, all the animals of the island came to see them. The other lions and wolves. The birds and the bees, the fishes of the sea and the insects of the dirt. Monkeys of the trees and boars of the swamps. Even demons, Ruby. Even demons rejoiced in their love, in the goodness of the good lion." Another tear streaks down Saria's cheeks, her eyes locked tight, shut to everything, as though all that mattered was this one moment.

"But the good lion's brothers, they were not happy, because they were angry creatures, and they believed that the lion and the wolf should not love each other. They arrived just before the good lion and the wolf were due to be wed, and shouted to the gathered animals of the island, 'Stop! This is unnatural!' And they were ready to fight, as they had fought before, as they believed was their right. But it was not right, and the animals of the kingdoms, all the beasts of the earth and the seas and the air, they guarded the good lion and the wolf, and they challenged her brothers to get through."

There was a soft, almost choked sigh, and Saria continued on. "But the good lion was horrified. After all, she hated fighting. All she wished was love and peace, and how barbaric would it be to stain such a beautiful day with hatred? And so she stepped through the gathered animals, to her two angry brothers, whom had, for once, set aside their hatred of each other to fight her. But she did not attack. Instead, with a voice filled only with love and hope, the good lion said to her brothers, 'Do you not realize what you can do if you work together? The three of us could, together, make a new island. An island where all the creatures of God's kingdom may live together, happy, in abundance. There will be no more pain, no more sadness, no more hurt. If only you would see. If only you would not hate."

"The good lion's brothers looked between themselves, but they were not convinced. Because, you see, Ruby," a shiver takes her mother, "These lions were not so easily talked down."
"Instead, they attacked! They attacked the good lion, and instead of bidding the animals to aid her, instead of fighting her brothers, she shouted at the others to stay back, and she held off her brothers, speaking all the while. She told them of her dreams, of her loves. She told them about why she loved the wolf, and why she loved her brothers. She told them of a time they did not remember, when they loved each other. Of a time when all animals lived in love. And slowly, her brothers did not want to fight anymore. They stopped. And then they looked at one another. And they turned to the good lion, after so nearly killing their sister, and they apologized. They wept for their sins, and cast down their crowns at her feet."

"But she did not take their crowns, because the good lion knew that there would be new lions and wolves of her own womb who would hate as her brothers had once hated. Instead, she cast the crowns into the sea and let them sink to the bottom, and she said to all the creatures of God's kingdom, 'Are we not one and the same? From the lowest creature to the highest, we are all one. And if one of us must rule, it will not be because we have a crown - but because we have the love all the creatures of this island.' And, all at once, the beasts of the island bowed before her, even the two lions, even the wolf, because they did love her. For they did not want to hurt each other. Because she was wise and kind and brave, because she saw the best in others when they did not see the best in themselves. Because of so very many reasons, Ruby, they chose her to rule. There was rejoicing that night, and the wolf and the good lion were married. All their friends, even her brothers - they all laughed and cried tears of joy at their love. And there was peace."

Saria, out of breath, stops speaking, and simply runs a hand through her daughter's hair, holding her close and tight, love in her words, her eyes, her every movement, her tears just as abundant as before, but for a far better reason. But then, she slides Ruby off of her, onto the couch beside her, and she rises, holding a hand out to prevent Ruby from moving. "We're not finished. That was only the first part."

She strides across the room, toward the open window she had been looking through, and leans across the sill, eyes looking out, burning a deep violet. Ruby can see her flame like a maelstrom, raging through her, reigned by love and pain.

"The happiness did not last. The good lion had to leave the island, amidst tears and sadness, because she had to stop their great enemy. She journeyed across the ocean with her greatest warriors, leaving behind the loving wolf, the wise owl, and the beautiful pixie to rule in her stead. And because they were her friends, the people of the island loved them, too. And though there was happiness, there was peace, too. There was abundance. It was…" There's the slightest tremble to her voice. "It was good."

"But then? Ruby, there was a dragon. A big, mean dragon, from another island, where only the strong survived. Where the weak were hated, not loved. Where they did not realize that the weak were merely the strong at the lowest moments. That the ugly are merely the beautiful seen through an imperfect window. They were big, and violent, and hated the islanders."
"Because they were evil, and the islanders were good."

"This dragon, biggest of all dragons, meanest of all dragons, rained fire on the island for days. He burned the trees and groves, boiled the springs and rivers, and broke the homes and castles. There was pain and sadness, for his fires hurt the inhabitants, though the clever wolf and wise owl were able to save him from killing any. Even the two lion brothers helped, and, in the memory of the good lion, they did not hurt the dragon. They talked to him. They sang to him. They made jokes for him. But he did not stop burning the island, no matter what they did. There was fear. How could they stop something that would not be talked down? Something that had never been loved? How could they have peace when their enemies sought only war?"

Saria is quiet for a very long time, until her daughter grows restless. And, in a cold voice, far different from before, she says, simply.

"They couldn't. Only the wolf understood. For she was not as good as the lion."

"And so the wolf followed the dragon as the other animals hid, and she waited, and bid her time, until it snuck to where she could go. It went underground, into a rabbit warren, where the good and innocent rabbits played and frolicked. Where they loved and ate and danced and sang and did all the things that good creatures do. They were kind creatures, and when the dragon came into their warren, they did not fear him. After all, they had not seen the destruction he had sent into the world outside. And they offered him carrots, and celery, and lettuce. They were rabbits, after all." She chuckles. And then Saria turns to her daughter, her eyes dim.

"He slaughtered them. Every one of them. He killed the young and the old, the strong and the weak, the wise and the foolish. He used his fire and claws and jaws to eat - but not the food they offered. He ate them. All of them. The wolf had been too slow. And when she finally made it into the rabbit warren, all that was left was blood and a fat fucking dragon."

Saria's voice begins to crack, her face taut and pained, forcing her to look back out the window. "And so the wolf, after so long away from the good lion, became angry, and sad, for those dead rabbits. After all, the dragon did not have to harm them. He could have learned, as she had, to eat celery, and carrot, and lettuce. But there was blood dripping from his mouth, Ruby. He was a murderer. A monster. He was evil. I swear to you, Ruby. That dragon was evil. And the wolf wept to see him. He heard, and turned. The fucking cunt was so fat, all it took was one claw. One claw to slice open his belly and let him die. But she didn't do that. The wolf, after so long away from the good lion, was blinded by her rage and grief, and so she tore the dragon to pieces, as he had done to the rabbits. With tears in her eyes, she tore him apart, from his fire-breathing head to his dangerous claws, until all that was left was scrap and a weeping wolf."

A sob escapes Saria's throat. Her eyes do not dare look to her daughter.

"To this day, I can't tell you if the good lion forgave her. She certainly does not forgive herself."
There is a long, deep sigh, but not from Saria or Ruby. Instead, it comes from the doorway. The door falls shut behind the newcomer, and, without turning, both of them know who it is before she even speaks, her presence so strong as to cut through the pained atmosphere that had settled in the wake of the second part of their story.

"The good lion forgave the wolf. She learned, on her journey, that you must sometimes hurt to protect the innocent."

A truly pained, out-of-control sob escapes Saria's throat, and in a matter of a few moments, Raven has crossed the room to her wife, wrapping gentle, loving arms around the woman's chest. Her sobs turn to screams, and Raven's words of comfort are so soft and so very gentle, as though she were comforting a child. The only normal thing she says is when she whips her head back to say, "Marcus. Take your sister to bed, and then do not leave your room."

Marcus, whom had been standing uncomfortably by the door, dutifully walks up to his sister. Though they're the same age, he's nearly three inches taller than her, and has never once smiled. Softly, to just her, he whispers, "Come on, Ruby," hands attempting to drag her to her room, if she will not cooperate.

Years later, two last things stuck out to Ruby. The first was a figure standing beside her mothers, broad and cold, wreathed in the darkness. The second was the hurtling, flaming boulder that tore through the air toward the Tower of Ash, and which slammed into their apartments with a ruinous thunder, knocking her unconscious.

- A scene amongst the opening prologue of the roleplay between myself and my very beloved and cherished writing partner, whom I wrote, perhaps, one of the most ambitious RPs of all time with that went on for nearly a decade.