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ladyseaheart1668 · 3 years

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Endless Summer Book 4: Daughter of Vaanu (Chapter 55)

Description: In the aftermath of her daughter’s birth, Alodia fights for her life.

Tagging: @endlesshero1122 @feartheendlesssummer @mysteli @whatmcsaid @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @tigerbryn11

Chapter 55: Inevitability

Alodia

I felt the static creeping in at the edges of my vision even as I heard the voices around me telling me to push. Michelle. Jake. A thousand ageless, sexless voices belonging to the generations of ghosts manifesting around me. Push. Find a breath somewhere in the suffocating fog, gather together the seeds of strength scattered across a barren landscape and plant them in my core, let my tears be rain to nourish the soil, and push against the determined life tearing me apart in her effort to be free. Then I feel her slip free, and her piercing shriek is like music. She is alive. Unto the world, I delivered the fruit of my womb, and she is free of my body. And when the fog envelops me, I don’t fight it anymore. I’ve earned my rest.

I can feel myself sinking. I can also feel myself buoyed out of freefall by countless arms that ease me gently to the ground.

...Alodia...my daughter…

Vaanu? Father? Is that you?

“Hey. heyheyheyheyhey…” Jake’s fierce whisper close to my face, the repeated syllable sending puffs of warm air over my skin. “Stay with me, Princess.”

Aren’t I here? Aren’t I here with him? Where am I? Where am I going? Sudden awareness of a chill at the back of my neck brings the world sharply into focus. Jake at my head, hunched over me. Estela cradling my feet on her lap. And Michelle beside me, a towel in her hands rubbing down the small, warm body on my chest.

“You’re doing so well, Alodia,” she tells me. “The hardest part is over, but you’re not quite done yet. Placenta should deliver in a few minutes. ...Are you okay if I leave you for a minute to check on Diego?”

“...Diego…? Is he…?”

“He’s injured his shoulder. I’ll take care of him until help arrives. Iris, monitor Alodia and the baby. Keep checking their vitals and sound the alarm if there’s any change.” I am aware of her placing my arms around the body on my chest. “...You hang onto your baby, Alodia.”

...My baby...my daughter…

...My daughter…

Oh, no...please, no...please, leave me alone… Drawing breath feels like trying to suck up ice-cream through a straw. I open my mouth, forcing out a word in a weak exhale.

“...Jake…”

“I’m here. I’m right here. I’m right here with you.”

His face is dim and fuzzy above me. But behind him, my father’s ghostly form is bright.

“Alodia. My sweet child…”

No! Jake, don’t leave me! Don’t let me go!

You’re not going anywhere, Princess! I won’t let you!

I’m sinking...

Caleb

I didn’t bother explaining to Ysa what was going on in that house. When we met up with her cousins and brothers, I only assured them that Dragonness and her people were taking care of it, and told them we were getting out of here. They didn’t protest. I don’t know if it’s because they agreed with me, or because they just saw there was no arguing with me, or because they were finally satisfied, or they were just cold and worn out and wanted to be back in the warm van. Unfortunately, when we reach the van, there’s one more obstacle to get past.

“Hi, Dragonness!” RJ calls cheerfully to the masked superhuman leaning casually against the van door. Her hands are folded low in front of her, one ankle crossed over the other. In anyone else, the pose would be non-threatening. But Dragonness isn’t anyone else. I’m pretty confident she doesn’t want to hurt me, but she can definitely keep me from leaving with minimal effort.

“...Thought you were back at the squat,” I say carefully. “...Those people need help.”

“The situation is under control.”

“Is everyone okay who we want to be okay?”

“...I don’t know yet. What I do know is that if you hadn’t have shown up when you did, the situation could have been a lot worse.”

“Didn’t seem like you were that far behind me.”

“In a situation like that, every second counts. ...You know who those people are to me.”

“Yeah. Kind of. I’m pretty sure I picked up the basics.” I pause for a second, trying to get a measure of her intentions. “...Listen, Dragonness...the kids are tired and cold. I’d like to find someplace to put ‘em up for the night, maybe get ‘em something to eat.”

“Let me level with you, Caleb. The authorities are going to be all over this whole thing, and I don’t see a way to keep your name out of it. Me and mine might lie, but I’m willing to bet your...former associates aren’t going to be so accommodating.”

“...So say you lost track of me.”

“I intend to. ...But I don’t want it to be true.”

“Pretty much a given now. Considering you could hold me here with your little finger, it’s really up to you to either let me go or turn me in.”

“...Or I take a third option.”

“What kind of third option?”

She takes a step away from the van. “...You trusted me before, Caleb. I am hoping you will trust me again. I don’t know what will happen in the morning. But I do know somewhere you and the kids can be safe for the night.”

Alodia

Consciousness comes in waves. Between the moments of lucidity there is darkness and silence, but it isn’t sleep. It’s like being shut up in a windowless room. I feel afraid in a distant sort of way. But I am also tired down to the marrow of my bones. Anxiety spikes in consciousness and bleeds out with the tide, leaving exhaustion in its wake. There’s a voice, calm and confident, and commanding my attention.

“My name is Ryan. I’m an EMT, and I’m here to help. Can you tell me your name?”

I hear myself answer, “Alodia…”

“Do you know where you are?”

“...There was a house...it was empty...we hid…”

The warmth on my chest had sunk beneath the threshold of my perception, but its sudden absence is jarring. I hear a tiny whimper and icy fear grips me.

River…

“It’s okay, Princess. She’s here. They’re just keeping her warm.” A painfully bright flash makes my eyes water. I try to close my eyes, but they’re being held open. I push at the hand on my forehead.

“You’re doing really well, Alodia. Can you tell me how you got hurt?”

I fell...I slipped in the dark and I fell down a hill…

I’ve slipped under water. The rushing sound fills my ears and drowns out the voices. I’m in the darkness again. Bone tired and riding a gentle current. Then, flashes of sound and color. Flickering red light. Pressure on my hand.

“...born 42 minutes ago, full term…”

Pain, just a nagging sensation in the background a moment ago, rapidly floods my senses, and I choke on a cry.

“I gotcha, Princess. Just stay with me. I’m right here.”

“Placenta delivered twenty-three minutes ago, apparently complete...laceration on the lower back showing signs of infection…”

I try to roll away from the pain, into the dark and silent waters. But I’m not alone there anymore.

“Alodia,” my father says softly.

No. I can’t go with him. I have to stay with Jake.

“...Fever is 104°...Let’s get a saline drip going. TKO.”

“It’s okay, Alodia.” My father is no longer the ghost I knew on the island. His face is human, the way it was when I saw him in a vision months ago, before I even knew I was pregnant. The fear that grips me at the sight of his face is colder and more visceral than anything I think I have felt before.

No...please. Please don’t take me. Don’t take me back…

“I will not take you back. I don’t have that power. But nor do I have the power to save you. Not on my own. But I may be able to help, if you allow me.” His hands seem to enfold mine. “Trust me, daughter. Please. You must trust me.”

Trust him. As if I have a choice in the matter. I’m terrified and exhausted. Too exhausted to fight. I want to go home. I want to be gathered up and sheltered in a loving embrace. I remember the warmth of Ramona Soto’s arms around me when I was a child, tainted by the distance that formed between us when she turned her back on her son. Sometimes Aunt Molly was tender, too. But she isn’t who my heart aches for now. There’s a word forming in my mind as I look up at the strange face of the long-dead man hovering over me in the darkness. It’s a word that was never mine. But I want to surrender to it. I want to wrap myself up in the word and all the tender love that comes with it.

...Dad...Daddy...I’m scared...

Michelle

Our traveling party has been significantly reduced from when we arrived at the abandoned house, but we still have two rented vehicles that need to be taken back to Northbridge. Sean and I take one, while Estela and Rebecca take the other. We should probably be going home to get some sleep. I think that’s where Estela is going once she drops Rebecca off at the hospital. Back to Quinn, back to her brother and the other Catalysts, back to get everyone up to speed and wait for any more news. No doubt they’ll all be at the hospital at some point in the morning. But I can’t go home just yet. Even if I technically can’t help in any way, I have to be at the hospital with my friends. I don’t even need to ask if Sean feels the same. When I ask him if we should go straight to the hospital, I know the answer even before he nods grimly.

We’re silent as he drives, though he does periodically reach over without taking his eyes off the road to put his hand over mine on the armrest between us. I don’t mind. I’m stewing in the knowledge that Jake--and the rest of us--could easily lose Alodia in the next few days. I find it hard to object to my husband reminding me that he’s alive beside me.

I don’t really notice that he’s slowed down until he pulls over and stops on the shoulder of the road.

“Sean? What’s wrong?” I glance at the dashboard, trying to discern if there’s a mechanical problem. Sean hesitates for a moment before spreading his fingers and pressing his palms into the steering wheel.

“Look...feel free to tell me to piss off and keep driving, but...I would really like to kiss you right now.”

Worried and exhausted as I am, I can’t hold back a smile. “I wouldn’t mind a kiss right about now.”

We lean in and he takes my face in his hands as our mouths meet. I am a little surprised at how gentle he is being. I remember the way he kissed me for days after the showdown between Dragonness and Prescott, the fierce need in the way he pressed his mouth to mine. This is different. This is...more like the way he kissed me on our wedding day, just a few weeks ago. Tender. Loving. A kiss that makes me feel like we’re the only two people in the world.

“You’re kissing me like you love me,” I murmur.

“I do. I adore you. I don’t think I’ve ever been more in love with you than I am right now.”

“What makes you say that?”

He touches his forehead to mine. “...What I saw you do back there in that house…”

“Aww. Did seeing me delivering a baby make you sentimental?”

“Yeah. But it wasn’t just that. Alodia was sick. Diego was hurt. Alodia was having a baby. You were the only doctor there. But you were calm. You got help where you needed it. You made calm out of chaos.”

“...That’s my job, Sean. I’m a doctor. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared.”

“I know all that. Doesn’t make it less impressive. ...You’re a great doctor, Michelle. And hell, I’ll just say it: you’re my hero.”

I can’t help myself. I grin as I kiss him again. “You know, the only reason I’m not laughing at your corniness is because I know you mean it. Which just makes you more adorable.”

He keeps my face in his hands as he nuzzles my forehead with his. “...Do...do you think they’ll be okay?”

I swallow a bitter taste at the back of my throat. “...Diego should be fine, I think. The baby seems healthy. ...Alodia...it’s a little more uncertain.” I take his hands in mine, pulling back to meet his eyes in the light from the dashboard. “It will depend on how much the infection has spread, if it’s damaged any internal organs...whether there are any post-partum complications…”

He nods, squeezing my hands. “...I...guess we should get to the hospital. Be there for them.”

“Yeah…”

He releases my hands and turns his attention back to the car. He puts the gear shift back into drive and pulls away from the curb. We’re silent as he navigates the dark road ahead, and I don’t distract him by reaching over to stroke his arm or shoulder. But it doesn’t feel like we’re distant at all. Being beside him now, I feel as close to him as if I were in his arms without enough space between us for a hair to pass through.

Alodia

I don’t know how much time passes in the fog of light and noise and pain that I find myself dragged through. I am aware of things in bits and pieces. I don’t remember arriving at the hospital, but I find myself there, under harsh fluorescent lights, my nose assaulted by the sharp antiseptic odor. At some point, I realize River isn’t there, and I hear myself call out to her.

“It’s okay, Alodia,” Jake murmurs, his breath warm on my ear. “They’re just checking her over. They’ll bring her back to us soon.”

I’m cold. The air feels too close to my skin. I think I might be naked. I want to move to cover myself, but I am not sure where the surface is that’s supporting me, or whether I’m even upright or lying down. I do feel Jake’s arms around me, and I cling to him for dear life, even as I feel him gently manipulating my limbs.

“That’s it, Princess. Good girl. I gotcha. I’m right here.”

I open my eyes and find myself on a gurney, the filthy gray sweatshirt I had been wearing replaced by a thin hospital gown. Jake is still beside me, but now he’s wearing a mismatched set of scrubs. Pain flares in my spine, white-hot and intense enough to make my stomach turn. I hear myself make a noise like a wounded animal. I feel the pressure of Jake’s grip on my hand, and his cool fingers raking gently through my hair, soothing an intense itch that I hadn’t realized was there.

“Look at me, Alodia. Look at me.” His voice is gentle, but it brooks no argument. I force myself to meet his eyes. “That’s my girl. You’re doing great. Listen...this next part isn’t gonna be pleasant. You got a really nasty wound they gotta take care of, and you also had some tearing during delivery that they say is gonna need a couple stitches. They’re gonna numb you up so you won’t feel the worst of it, but that part ain’t gonna be a cakewalk, either.”

His words don’t help the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I feel my eyes burning. I’m scared. I’m so scared, and I’m so tired of being scared. It all must show on my face, because Jake’s mouth twists into a grimace as he brings my hand up to hold against the rough, days-old beard that darkens his cheek.

“I know, sweetheart. I know. But you can do this. I know you can. You’re the strongest, bravest person I’ve ever known.”

I can’t see my father just now, but I know he’s here. He’s hovering over me and Jake, equal parts a comforting, paternal presence and a frightening spectre I’m terrified has come to take me to whatever afterlife is waiting for me. I grip Jake’s hand.

“Don’t let me go.” My throat is so dry that it seems to chafe with the effort of speaking. The effort of drawing breath is rewarded with needling pain at scattered points on my torso. But Jake tightens his grip and bends to kiss my temple.

“I gotcha, Princess. I ain’t leaving.” The air around me shifts abruptly, and Jake’s grip on my hand tightens with anxiety. Something terrible is about to happen.

Sleep now, my daughter. It will be better if you sleep.

“Look at me, Alodia,” Jake says again. Again, I am compelled to obey, and I look into the depths of his clear blue eyes. “That’s it. Just keep your eyes on me. Don’t look anywhere else. Just look at me.”

But as the pain washes through me in a heady wave, I can’t help but break my gaze. I hear myself moan and Jake seems to press closer to me, even as the rest of the world is falling away again.

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m right here. Just stay with me…”

Grayson

My family has a luxury mountain cabin a little ways upstate. Dad hasn’t been there since Mom died, but once I was old enough to drive, I took over the upkeep and used it for my own private getaway. In college, I always had friends over to the cabin for spring break, and for summer parties. Tahira and Poppy were both frequent guests back then. I haven’t been back since before the gala that changed everything, but I keep it well maintained enough that when Tahira contacts me to ask if Caleb and his runaway children can stay there for a night, I don’t have any qualms about saying yes. Since everything is remotely connected, I am able to unlock the door and turn on the lights and the heat from my apartment. The local town doesn’t have a late-night grocery store, but I do put in an order for delivery from a nearby Chinese restaurant with instructions to leave it in the kitchen.

I don’t hear anything for a couple of hours, and in the meantime, I can’t sleep. I’m sitting up at my kitchen table with a mug of decaf when I hear the tapping at my balcony door. Tahira, in full Dragonness garb, waits for me on the balcony, squeezed into the shadow in the corner to avoid the beam of the outdoor lights. In a big city and a big apartment complex like this, one never knows who might be up late and watching, curious about who Dragonness is visiting at this hour. I flip off the outdoor light before I unlock the door and let her in.

I barely have the door open wide enough for her to slip through before she pounces on me, kissing furiously with her fingers raking through my hair. I push back, wrapping an arm around her waist as I stumble around to blindly push the door closed. I’ll worry about the latch in a minute. Right now, I am aware that my girlfriend is hovering an inch or so off the carpet as she presses her hips against me, one hand tugging at the belt of my bathrobe. My hands are at her back, groping for the mechanized clasp of her supersuit, but I resist tapping it just yet.

“Tahira… your wound. ...Is it safe to…?”

She hesitates, pulling back just a little. “I...think so…” But her feet sink into the carpet again as she presses her forehead to mine and reluctantly adds, “But maybe I should wait until a doctor clears me. I mean, it’s gotten a lot better...but I don’t know. I’ve never been stabbed before.”

I pull back enough to remove the mask from her eyes and brush the dark wisps of hair off her forehead. I lean in and kiss the spot between her eyebrows, then each eyelid in turn, the tip of her nose, and her mouth.

“...I missed you,” I murmur.

“I missed you, too. In case you couldn’t tell.”

I lace my fingers together at the small of her back. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water?”

“How about a shower and a change of clothes?”

“I’m set up for that, too. Actually did a load of some of your stuff just yesterday.”

She snorts lightly. “I’ve got enough clothes here for a load? Might as well be living here.”

“...Might as well be,” I murmur. “...But that’s a discussion probably best saved for later. Did Caleb and the kids get settled in okay?”

“Yeah. Hopefully they’re still there in the morning. I don’t know what we’ll do if they aren’t. Don’t know what we’ll do if they are, either.”

“We’ll come up with something. I promise. You’re the Hero of Northbridge, and I’m the son of the city’s most powerful billionaire captain of industry. Between us, there have to be some strings we can pull to keep the kids together and Caleb out of prison.”

“You’re basically the head of Prescott Industries now,” she points out. “And you’ve got a lot more goodwill than your father. ...I’m honestly less worried about how we’re going to keep the kids together than I am about the whole Caleb situation. I don’t just want him out of prison, I want him on the right side of the law. And that’s going to take a lot of compromise.”

“We’ll figure it out. For now, you need to rest.”

She sighs, wrapping her arms around me and letting her head fall onto my shoulder. “...Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. ...For what?”

“For not asking why I care what happens to Caleb.”

I kiss her hair, letting my cheek rest against her head. “I don’t have to ask why, Tahira. Even if I don’t know. I trust your instincts. If you think he’s worth caring about, I believe it.”

“...I hope my instincts aren’t wrong about him. Because I have a feeling I can’t shake that we’re going to need him on our side in the future.”

Diego

My arrival at the hospital is a whirlwind of doctors and nurses asking questions, taking pulse, temperature, and blood pressure, and sticking me here and there to collect blood samples, place an IV for fluids, and pump painkillers into the space between my shoulder joint and my arm bone before they attempt to put the two back together.

Having my dislocated shoulder put back in its socket is not the most pleasant experience, but it’s also not as bad as I would have anticipated, especially once the painkillers set in. I feel a little heady, but there’s no violent wrenching motion to force it back into place like they show in the movies. It’s a lot more slow and gentle. Having Varyyn there to hold my good hand goes a long way, too. I really haven’t thanked Dax enough for his Christmas present.

I don’t exactly feel the bone slip back into place the moment it happens, but I do feel the pain start to ebb away almost immediately, and exhale with relief. The doctor smiles down at me.

“Think that did it. How do you feel?”

“Waaay the heck better,” I reply languidly.

“That’s what we like to hear. I’m just going to get a sling on you, and send a nurse to take you to your bed. We’re gonna keep you overnight, just for observation, but I’m optimistic you’ll be discharged tomorrow.” He pauses a moment, glancing at Varyyn. “I know you two live out-of-state. Do you have friends in the area who could put you up for a night or two after discharge? I don’t want you to have to rush your travel plans to get home.”

“We have a number of friends in the area,” Varyyn confirms. “And we certainly won’t be going home before Alodia and her baby are discharged as well.”

“Alodia is our friend who came in with us,” I explain when it’s clear the name doesn’t ring a bell with the doctor. “Or probably a little before us. Alodia Chandler. She had a newborn baby. A little girl. ...She was hurt. A cut on her back that got infected.”

The doctor’s eyes flicker with a brief spark of recognition, and he nods. “Ahh. Of course. I remember her coming in.”

“Do you know where she is?” I ask anxiously. “Do you know if she’s okay?”

“I haven’t heard anything since she came in. But she and the baby would have been taken up to the mother and baby unit.”

“Would I be able to see her?”

“Right now, you would be better off getting some rest.”

“That’ll be easier if I know what’s going on with my friend,” I point out. The doctor nods, reaching out to pat my good shoulder.

“Tell you what. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll see what I can find out. It’s quite likely she’s not ready for visitors herself yet, but would it help if I could get you an update?”

“Yeah, it would. Thanks.”

The doctor’s assurance is enough to keep me satisfied for a little while. I don’t badger the orderly who comes to take me to my room. It’s early morning by now, and the sunlight is streaming through the window. The orderly draws the curtains as I settle into bed. Varyyn sits down in a chair beside me and takes my good hand. When the orderly leaves, I roll my head to look at him.

“You’ll be more comfortable in the bed, you know.”

“...Is that permitted?”

I shrug. “Don’t know. At the moment, I don’t really care. If it’s not, we’ll stop when they tell us we have to stop. And I really want you to hold me right now.”

“I’m not very much inclined to argue. I want to hold you.”

He slips off his shoes and lies down beside me, holding me gently. I let my head rest on his shoulder. I feel safe in his arms. For a while, I can almost pretend that he and I are back in our bed in California. But I think the truth of where we really are and what’s really happening is pretty inescapable, because the dreams that take over once I’ve drifted off are anything but safe and peaceful. I wake up with every muscle in my body cramping around my thumping heart and the fading image of angry wasps droning around me. My own sharp gasp is already a vague memory as Varyyn’s soft lips brush my forehead and cheek.

“Shhh. You’re safe, my darling. I’m here.”

The sun is still up, but the light isn’t streaming through the window anymore. “How...how long was I…?”

“Only a few hours, my love.”

“Hours…? But...Allie. What did…?”

“The staff could not say much. But Sean and Michelle spoke to Jake. River is well and healthy. She is in a room with her parents.”

I want to smile at the thought. But the fact that Varyyn started with River’s condition is enough to tell me that her mother isn’t as well and healthy as she is. “Varyyn…”

Varyyn knows what I want him to tell me. He sighs, kissing my forehead. “Alodia’s wound has been treated. The tearing she sustained during delivery has been stitched. The infection is being treated with antibiotics. But...it is simply too early to tell if she will be alright.”

I gulp against the choking sensation in the back of my throat, biting my lip in an effort not to let out the anguished howl I can feel clawing its way up from my chest. I can’t stop the tears from dripping down my cheeks, but I am not going to wail like a banshee in the middle of a hospital.

“I should have gone for help,” I whisper when I can speak again. “I shouldn’t have waited. I should have gone when I knew she was sick…”

“That would have meant leaving her alone with enemies in pursuit when she could not defend herself. You did the best you could in an impossible situation.”

“She might die, Varyyn. River might never know her mother. Jake might lose his wife again…”

Varyyn kisses my cheek. “Diego, everyone knows how much you love her. No one doubts that you did everything in your power to protect her as best you could.”

I roll away from him as best as my injured shoulder will allow. I feel him withdraw just a little, feel his hesitation, and guilt pricks at me. He’s right. In my heart I know he’s right. But that knowledge isn’t enough to cut through the fear that encases me.

“...It won’t matter if she dies,” I say after a protracted silence. “...If she dies, it won’t matter how much I love her or if I did everything I could. She’ll still be dead.”

“Perhaps not. Not right away.” He hesitantly strokes my hair, and when I don’t pull away, he continues. “...But don’t bury her before she is gone. Hold onto hope as long as we have it.”

Alodia

I know that I am a ghost. But I don’t care. I’m home on La Huerta. The place where I was born. And for a moment, that is all I need. But then I see my friends. Jake, Sean, Craig, and Estela. All four are battered and bruised. Estela’s expression is stoically grim, but I know her well enough to see fear in her dark eyes. Sean and Craig are doing a worse job of hiding their anxiety, though they still seem to be holding it together. I guess they think they have to for Jake. Jake’s face is breaking my heart. He’s not crying just now, but his eyes are swollen and rimmed in red, and his face is splotched red with tears. He looks down as he walks, hunched and shaking like a terrified little boy.

Across from them are Diego, Varyyn, Michelle, and Raj. Diego breathes shallowly as he regards the other foursome.

“Where is Allie?” he asks, his voice low and trembling.

Sean answers the question, even though Diego is looking at Jake. Jake raises his eyes to meet Diego’s hard gaze, and there is guilt there. I don’t hear Sean explaining. But I know what he’s saying. They don’t know where I am. I fell from the chopper and they haven’t found me yet. Diego’s fear and grief burn into anger and he flies at Jake.

“You were supposed to take care of her! You let her die!”

Jake doesn’t fight back. He barely flinches to protect himself. Varyyn grabs his lover to hold him back.

“Diego! Diego, stop! She isn’t dead!”

I am, though. I want to tell Varyyn that I am. ...But I’m not. I’m standing at the Threshold, staring numbly down at the eleven graves. I look down at my hands. Wrinkled and papery, speckled with liver spots. But both of them flesh. I’m not the Endless. The Endless is in front of me.

“This is where we’re always going to end up,” she says mournfully. “This is the fate I cannot protect you from. It may be tomorrow, or it may be ninety years from now. But you will always live to see the last one die.”

“...They were protecting me.” I raise my eyes to meet her face. “...That’s what I’ve been seeing in my dreams. I watched them die to protect me.”

“You will always live to see the last one die.” She reaches out to cup my cheek in her good hand. “...Unless you die first…”

I can still feel her bony fingers against my cheek, but I am no longer at the Threshold. I recognize this place. I have danced on this stage for years. This is the stage at the performing arts center where my dance school’s showcases, workshops, and recitals have been held since I was a four-year-old ballerina, feeling like a princess in my shimmering purple tutu with a plastic tiara bobby-pinned to my head. It is familiar, but somehow wrong. Distorted. I shouldn’t be here, waiting in the wings like this. I haven’t been a student in years. I don’t know my choreography. I am in sweatpants, without dance shoes or stage makeup, and my hair is a tangled mess. And I am pregnant. I am sure of it. What other explanation could there be for the potbelly pushing against the waistband of my sweatpants, and the movement behind my navel? But even that feels wrong. Vague memories tell me that I am nearly ready to give birth, but my belly feels too small. The child’s movements are sharp and erratic.

But ready or not, I am pushed onto the stage. Harsh white lights turn the audience into a faceless dark sea that swims beyond the polished lip of the apron. Music floats up from beneath my feet. The Doll Dance. This is the Doll Dance. I have to push.

I don’t have time to question. My Catalysts are rushing in to surround me, all cradling shapeless bundles as they move through something that vaguely resembles the Doll Dance. I lie down on my back and open my legs.

“The doll is almost here!” Michelle sings from between my knees. Diego giggles, flitting between Jake and me, tapping us in turn.

“Daddy Ballerina, Mommy Ballerina!” He laughs wildly, and taps his own head. “Skinny Ballerina!”

Jake laughs with him, and taps my nose. “Princess Ballerina!” Then he and Diego laugh together, the sound morphing into a shrieking cackle as I feel a sudden emptiness in my belly.

“Baby Ballerina!” Michelle crows.

“Where is she?!” I hear myself cry. “Where is River?”

I can’t find her. I am on my feet, rushing around the stage, searching for the baby that was just torn bloodlessly out of me. The Catalysts plié right and left, shading their eyes as they search the darkness of the house.

“Where is River?” They sing in one voice. “Where is River?”

I can’t find her. I can’t find my baby.

“Oh me, oh my! Oh me, oh my!” The Catalysts jump from first position to second, scrubbing at their eyes.

I leap off the stage, into the house. I know where my baby is. The doors at the back of the house are open, and I can see the swaddled bundle in a cone of light at the end of the aisle. I scoop her up, and I feel my heart sink. The cloying face of a plastic baby doll peers up at me with unblinking eyes of blue glass, chubby plastic cheeks tinged red, lips permanently parted in a toothless, saccharine smile...

I’m going to be sick. No sooner have I realized this than there is a bowl under my jaw, and an unfamiliar pair of arms wrapped around my chest from behind, holding me upright. I want to fight their grip, but painful spasms wrenching through my midsection distract me from any potential escape attempts. A sour-tasting wave of liquid fire bubbles up my throat and sloshes out from between my lips.

“You’re okay, Princess. Just let it all up.”

“J-Jake…?” I croak weakly, barely able to raise my eyes to his face before another acid wave splashes into the bowl.

“Shhhhh. I’m right here. Everything’s okay.”

Everything is clearly not okay. But I don’t have the strength to worry about more than emptying my stomach right now. When that’s done, I sink limply back onto the pillow, shivering as Jake dabs at my forehead with a sponge.

“Here…” I open my eyes as I feel something poking at my lips and find a straw. “Have a little water.”

I obediently close my lips around the straw and take a few cautious sips as I take stock of myself. I hurt. That much I realize right away. My back and between my legs are the worst of it, but most of me aches like I had every muscle in my body clenched at the same time. I know where I am, even before I realize that the unfamiliar arms that held me up belong to a nurse. A few gaps aside, I know what happened before I arrived at the hospital. But there is an image in my mind of a plastic doll swaddled in my arms.

“R-River...Jake, where…?”

“She’s here, Princess.” I hear his voice catch, and I manage to look up at him to see a shaky smile on his lips. “...She’s perfect…”

“C-can I see her?”

“Of course. Doctor says you might even be able to feed her later if you were up to it.”

Jake looks somewhere to his side, and I crane my neck to follow his gaze. I can just about make out the bassinet at the end of the room, and the nurse bending over to carefully collect the yellow-swaddled contents. For a moment, my stomach lurches again. I’m not entirely convinced that the nurse is not about to hand me a plastic doll. But then the bundle squirms and whimpers. The nurse passes the bundle to Jake, who gently places our daughter beside me on the bed, keeping his hands on her for support.

The chubby face that peeks out from a cocoon of yellow blanket and a pink crocheted hat is no plastic doll’s face. She’s been cleaned since she was born, but her little face is still rosy over a warm complexion. Above a pudgy little chin, tiny pink lips are drawn into a pout that shows off their perfect cupid’s bow. Her round little nose wrinkles as if she smells something foul and her eyes are puffy around the edges. But then her eyes open, blue as sapphires, and her gaze cuts through the feverish haze the clouds my head. I carefully place a shaking hand on her chest, stroking her lightly through the blanket.

“Hello, River Skye McKenzie,” I murmur. I feel the corners of my mouth lifting into a feeble smile. “Aren’t you the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen…”

“She’s an angel,” Jake agrees. “Here, take a look at this.” He gently pulls off her little crocheted cap, revealing a fine layer of downy chestnut hair. I bite my lip, feeling tears pooling in my eyes.

“...How did we live so long without her?”

“The same way we lived without each other: incompletely.”

I raise my eyes to his face. Something cold has begun to thread through my veins. “...Jake...is she real?”

Jake’s expression falters just for a moment. “Of course she’s real, Princess.”

“I...I think I was dreaming. ...I found my baby, but she was just a doll…”

Jake’s face softens as he brings up a hand to stroke my hair. “It was just a dream.”

“...I’m afraid of my dreams. I’m afraid to go to sleep again. I’m afraid that when I wake up, she will be gone…”

“I won’t let her disappear.”

“...What if you’re gone, too?”

He presses his lips to my forehead, holding them there for a long moment. Long enough for me to realize how much his breath is shaking. When he pulls back to smile at me, his eyes sparkle.

“Then I’ll fight until I’m at your side again. Isn’t that what we do, Princess? They pull us apart, and we fight like hell until we’re back together?”

Even heady with fever as I still am, I hear the catch of desperation in his voice, the pleading note under his fierce words. He is as scared as I am. He is scared that he is watching me fade. He is scared that he’s watching me die.

...I will live to see the last one die. Unless I die first.

Aleister

How to describe the moment when I see my wife descending Castor’s boarding stairs. I hear myself speak her name, but it comes out as a gasp as I start toward her. The moment her foot hits the tarmac, she breaks into a run, arms outstretched. We meet in a small collision, arms closing around one another in vise-like grips. I feel my throat tighten as I rest my cheek on the top of her head, savoring the familiar texture of her narrow braids on my skin, and the sweet scent of her honeysuckle lotion. It has not been two days since last I saw her, but it feels like a lifetime. From the strength of her grip, I can tell she feels the same.

“...You didn’t bring Reggie…?” she asks after a moment.

“He’s at home with Estela and Quinn. I am fairly certain that looking after him is all that is keeping Estela from getting herself arrested for disorderly conduct by marching down to the police station to threaten those cunts who attacked Alodia and Diego at the abandoned house.”

I feel Grace pause for a moment. “...That’s strong language for you, honey.”

“...Can we agree that I am justified under the circumstances?”

“Absolutely. ...How are they?”

“Diego has a dislocated shoulder, but he should heal. Thus far, it also seems that the baby is well and healthy. Alodia is being treated, but it is simply too soon to know how she will respond.”

“...I think she will be fine,” Grace says decidedly. “She knows how much she’s needed. She won’t let a little infection beat her.”

“I sincerely hope you are right.” I keep an arm over her shoulders as I begin to steer us toward the car. “...I don’t suppose you learned anything of interest from your mother? Anything about where Father was planning to take them, or what he intended to do with them? Even if...when...Alodia recovers, this is far from over.”

“...I did learn a few things,” she confirms, though she waits until we are in the car to continue. “She has reason to believe Rourke has a base in the Greek Islands. Specifically Ithaca.”

I can’t help rolling my eyes. “Of course it would be Ithaca,” I mutter.

“But that’s not all. Aleister, I think Yvonne is alive.”

Jake

The minutes and hours melt into each other while my wife is sick. The world tunnels and fills with static at the edges. All I can focus on is her. My princess. My princess and the little angel in the bassinet at the foot of her bed. I almost never don’t have one of them in my arms. Except when Rebecca or Michelle or my mother force me to get some sleep on the couch. I don’t generally fight them on it. One of the advantages to Alodia being in a maternity suite is that the couch is in the same room, a feature that surely exists for anxious partners waiting out a long labor.

I don’t know exactly when my mother and father arrived with Alodia’s aunt and uncle, Diego’s parents, and Raj. I know it was sometime after Alodia gave River her first feeding. It was mostly successful. Lots of pillows and my hands helped to keep River safe and supported, even with her mother feeling as weak as she is. I helped the nurse bathe her in a process that seemed like a compromise between a sponge bath in bed and a full shower, with Alodia seated on the shower seat while I helped wipe her down and rub dry shampoo into her hair. By the time that was done, the fever seemed to have sapped her strength again because I almost had to carry her back to bed. By the time her bandage had been changed, she’d slipped back into a fitful sleep. She hadn’t awakened yet when the anxious faces of our families appeared in the doorway.

I don’t really like all our folks being here. I don’t like the way Alodia’s aunt and uncle are hovering over her bed like loving parents, kissing her hands and stroking her hair. I like it even less when Diego’s parents do it--especially because I know from Raj that they’ve been decidedly cool to their own son since meeting his husband. I don’t even like the way my own parents are hovering right now, trying to help me with River. I don’t want help with River. Not yet. I don’t really want anyone but me and Alodia touching her right now. Somehow, letting someone else change her diaper or rock her to sleep makes me feel like I’m letting Alodia’s nightmares come true. Like somehow letting someone else touch her will turn her into the doll Alodia dreamed she was.

...I know it’s irrational. Especially because I don’t feel the same fear when one of the Catalysts offers their help. Knowing that it’s irrational doesn’t stop me from feeling the fear. A part of me feels guilty for it. But the fear holds on.

At some point after drifting into a doze on the couch, I hear familiar voices over my head. I’m not sure if I’m mostly awake or if I’m deep asleep and dreaming when I hear them, but I know the voices, and their words are clear.

“If the worst happens,” Diego says softly, “...will he have it in him to look after her?”

“Of course he will,” Rebecca replies. “He’ll need her more than ever.”

“...I watched my best friend grow up knowing she wasn’t wanted by the people who were raising her. People who took her in because they didn’t want to lose the last piece of her mother that they had. ...I don’t want to watch the same thing happen to her daughter.”

“Diego. Trust me. If the worst happens, River will be what keeps him alive.”

By the time I come fully awake, Diego and Rebecca are gone, replaced by Molly and Rob. Both Alodia and River are asleep. Molly sits at Alodia’s bedside stroking her arm, while Rob stares stoically out the window with his arms folded. Both of them melt into the scenery as I approach my wife and take hold of her hand. No matter how many people are around us, when I hold her hand, it’s just me and her. I sink into the chair, gripping her hand in both of mine and kissing her fingers.

“Stay with me, Princess,” I whisper. My chest is tight. I feel like it’s been tight for ages. I feel like I’ll never breathe free again, but I know I will if only she gets better. “You’re doing great, Alodia. Just hold on. Just keep fighting. Please...I...I can’t lose you again…”

“No one is going to lose Alodia,” Rob mutters. The reminder of his presence sends irritation threading through me, but I let it go.

“She’s a fighter,” Molly agrees. “She always has been.”

“She’s going to bury us all,” Rob adds with conviction. Now I properly grimace. It’s all I can do not to deck him. Instead, I press my lips hard to my wife’s fingertips, screwing my eyes shut as I exhale to a count of ten.

“Do me a favor,” I growl without looking at him. “Never say that in front of me, or her, or any of our friends.”

“...I...what? ...Why?”

“...If you’d been on the island, you’d understand. You just gotta trust me on this one.” I give Alodia’s hand another kiss and stand up, moving to gaze down at my daughter, sleeping peacefully in her bassinet. I reach down to stroke the back of her tiny hand, soft and delicate as a rose petal.

I’ll never leave you, Angel. It’s a silent promise, but I mean it with all my heart. No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.

Slowly, though, the cloud of fear and uncertainty hanging over my family begins to dissipate as modern medicine starts to do its job. Alodia’s fever starts to dwindle. And three days after the birth of our child, it breaks.

#pixelberry choices #choices stories you play #Endless Summer #hero #playchoices

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mermaidmafia-official · 4 years

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{PART II: THE BLOODMOTHER}

written by: @bebemoon

outfit ref: n/a, see the above image .

tag list: @interluxetumbra @ayzrules @vampirkaninchen @blubbingbeautifully

Soundtrack: AMOR EST MORTIS, susanne sundfør

[THE FAVOURITE]

"MISSING ELDER MYSTERY DEEPENS"

Beneath the headline emblazoned on the front page of the Halacre Herald, there was a photo of a toppled vehicle in a densely wooded area. The caption mentioned that it had been discovered up in a cluster of trees but had fallen through the forest canopy after the authorities were called.

And it was found to have belonged to the Maminots, who had been missing a week over by that time.

Zammurad had taken her "clean-up" duties a little too far.

"What does it say?" Lia asked softly.

Darling Amaelia was beside Ysabelle as she read the newspaper at her vanity. She had taken up a silver-handled brush to run through Ysa's long, dark hair, and until she spoke, she had been humming something under her blood-sweetened breath.

Ysabelle folded the paper and placed it on the vanity table. She leaned back in her chair with a sigh. "The authorities are wonderfully dim," she replied flatly. "Zammurad has managed a confusing scenario- I doubt they'll be able to suss anything further."

The authorities had, of course, shown up to Bilitis House asking questions since it was the last known location of the missing Historical Society elders, but Ysabelle was able to successfully divert the police- bending their senses in a different direction. Well, several different directions.

Still, the mortals weren't the only ones to be dealt with.

Poppy was still confined and under heavy guard. Last Ysa spoke with her, the girl had revealed her utter unrepentantness regarding the knotty situation she had created.

"I need to send Poppy away," Ysabelle said to her own dark-eyed reflection. "She is a threat to this coven's survival as long as she remains here. The Wolves are circling as it is."

Lia paused momentarily in her brushing. "I think Poppy's awful for having placed you under so much stress," she said, her tone strangely tender. Her bronze brows furrowed then. "And you've been so forgiving... . She deserves much worse, in my opinion."

Ysa's eyes drifted upwards of her own reflection to regard the ghostly-pale woman standing over her bare shoulder. The flesh of a white rose, the intense jade-stone eyes wreathed in gold-

Amaelia was still overcoming her bloodlust, but there had been much improvement in her over the past days. She was no longer in constant, blood-curdling agony (though, it still came and went, contorting her body disturbingly when it did come). The whites of her eyes had returned, her fangs were finally retracted. And, strangely, her hair was becoming steadily more pink. It was subtle against the fawn-colour, but nonetheless, she seemed to be pinkening- even her brows and eye-lashes were changing.

It was a pleasure to have her Amaelia back in lucidity, her gentleness and devotion returned. The awful gutting Ysabelle felt while watching Lia become delirious and wretched with pain caused her a sort of anguish she could hardly name- could not recall enduring, not even when Amare had clung to her like a petrified child ages ago.

Ysabelle leaned forward to prop her elbow on the vanity table. She rested her chin in her palm and continued to watch Lia as she brushed her hair and slipped her fingers through the dark, silky tresses with each stroke.

Little by little, the pair started to grin, and their grins deepened through the mirror. Knowing one another's thoughts precisely.

"The house is so still with everyone away," said Lia, a suggestion in her tone. Her voice was soft and her reflected eyes half-lidded as she slid her fingers about The Bloodmother's throat. She leaned closer to place a kiss on Ysabelle's shoulder...

And when she did, something heavy and cold thumped into Ysa's back.

Ysa reached over her shoulder to grasp whatever it was- a familiar pendant on a necklace that Lia was wearing.

She turned fully in her chair to face the consort, never releasing the pendant. "What are you doing with this?" she asked firmly.

"I...found it among your things, in a dusty little chest," Lia replied innocently. She gestured vaguely to the armoire. "I thought you wouldn't mind since it was so buried-"

"Mistress?"

Lia started at the sudden appearance of the cherub Weep-not, who, unlike his bald brother, had been blessed with a mop of golden curls. The angelic feature was greatly juxtaposed with his wretched little visage.

Ysabelle exhaled impatiently. "Yes, what is it?"

Weep-not waddled closer, his eyes cast downward. He would have possessed more confidence with his faithful porcelain doll companion, Marguerite. However, the word was that she was indisposed, of late- whatever that meant.

"Mistress," he began again, "I do not wish to disturb you, but Mr. Durwin is back. I s-spied him through the drawing room window."

Bothersome man.

Roland Durwin was Paulette Maminot's older brother and the man that sold Bilitis House to Ysabelle in the first place. Dutifully, he had shown up on the house's doorstep each night since the police informed him that they had cleared its inhabitants of any culpability in his sister's disappearance. Durwin, it appeared, was not convinced. He wanted an audience.

"Persistent, isn't he?" Ysa muttered, casting a glance to the draped windows. "Go. Leave him to me."

"Yes, Mistress," Weep-not mumbled. He executed something resembling a bow before backing out of the room through the heavy drapes.

Ysabelle, not overly concerned with the mortal on her doorstep, then returned her attention to Lia, whose fair features had fallen into worried lines.

"I would prefer it if you did not look through my belongings," said Ysa, her tone mild. She reached out to retake the ancient rock crystal pendant into the palm of her hand. It was in the shape of a scarab beetle.

Immortality, resurrection, transformation-

Unbidden, Amare's voice swept in an echo through Ysa's mind. It has the hue of clear moonlight.

The Bloodmother cleared her throat of emotion before continuing. "I was going to give this necklace to Amare," she explained. "She admired it, and I wanted to pass it on to someone who would care for it as I have. Before I could gift it to her on the anniversary of her death, I was forced to put her to sleep... . Since then, I've kept it safe and tucked away... . Not unlike Amare."

Lia, lips apart, pressed a hand over her still chest. "I’m sorry, I didn't realise-"

Ysa quelled her with a wave. "It is a beautiful necklace," she said gently, a smile playing in the corner of her mouth. "Someone ought to wear it."

Lia beamed, her green eyes alight. She clutched the delicate, braided gold chain to her chest and half-spun herself on the balls of her feet. In the midst of her thrill, she seemed to have a sudden revelation and paused, sweeping blushing hair out of her speckled face.

"Could I see her?" Lia wondered. "Amare, I mean."

"What for?" Ysa asked.

Lia dropped herself into Ysabelle's lap. "Almost everyone's in Bay Haven tonight," she said, low. "So there's no one out and about in the house to threaten to 'make my bone dust into baubles'-"

"Zhang," Ysa guessed.

"-which means you can let me out just this once to look around, right?"

"And you want to start with Amare? I doubt Sabine will allow it," the Bloodmother replied.

Lia's brows lifted. "Can a servant like Sabine disallow you from anything?"

Ysabelle emitted a small noise of disgust and pressed the other woman out of her lap. "You do not need to manipulate me," she chided but only half-heartedly. "You had to know I would take you."

(Soundtrack: LE CYGNE, camille saint-saëns)

[SLEEPING EVIL]

Amare's chambers were strung in sheer drapes, gathered and hanging over every corner of the room, obscuring everything like an ethereal, ebbing mist. It would have been dark within, save the flickering candlelight, but the gossamer brightness of the drapings caught the moonlight pouring in through the uncovered windows, lending the space a great deal of soft light.

Sabine did allow Ysabelle to enter Amare's chambers, and Lia along with her, but only after assurances that the newest coven member would not touch her sleeping mistress.

The servant walked briskly ahead of the pair and moved one of the veils of gossamer aside, revealing the bier and bed of Amare wreathed in golden candlelight. Amare, too, was covered completely in a sheer shroud, her form and features just visible beneath the white film.

Lia wasted no time. She gathered the skirt of her nightdress and stepped up onto the dais to lean over the sleeping form bedded in dahlias and orchids.

Sabine stood in rigid silence just behind Ysabelle. The woman was noticeably tense, but Ysa assumed she was anxious due to Lia, a virtual stranger, being so near Amare.

"You needn't be so alarmed, Sabine," Ysa said without turning to face the woman.

She kept her eyes on Lia, who, even as a mortal, seemed to possess the curiosity of a child. She could be almost alien-like in her fascination with beauty, with finery...with blood. Her eyes would become large and her lips would part with a soft gasp...

Ysabelle pressed the image down. Cleared her throat.

When Lia flicked the shroud back from Amare's face, Sabine started forward with a scolding behind her teeth, but Ysa held her arm out to prevent the servant from performing any violence.

"Be still," said the Bloodmother. She was not curt, only good-natured. After all, protectiveness—particularly over someone she loved as her own child—was not a sin in her book.

"She's beautiful,” Lia breathed and laughed. “Like a doll.”

She sounded like a little girl in a toy shop.

Silence reigned for several moments following. Outside, the moon disappeared behind the clouds and plunged the chambers into near-darkness. The candles haloed the scene on the dais. Everyone was still.

Finally, the moon reappeared and Lia turned away from Amare’s sleeping form. The crystal scarab gleamed at her sternum in the moonlight.

“Could you put Poppy to sleep like this?” she asked, stepping down from the dais. “Actually, why haven’t you put Poppy to sleep?”

Ysa folded her arms. “Putting Amare under nearly killed me. She fought it—it was weeks before she finally succumbed and the spell took hold,” she said. “And then it took months to recover from the effort. That was years ago. Aged as I am, I do not think I have it in me to do it again- in particular with Poppy, who once assured me that she would have the Devil himself devour me ‘from the toes up’ if I ever tried to do the same to her.”

Lia lifted her eyes to the ceiling pensively. “Couldn’t Zammurad assist you? Maybe if you both tried-?”

“Lord Greggor is searching out a new bride,” Sabine quietly put in.

Ysa looked back at the woman. “Really? What happened to the last one?”

“The Lord said that she’s missing,” replied the servant.

Given Greggor’s portliness and inability to stand on his own two feet (indeed, his servants carried him around on a covered palanquin), the usual underworld gossip was that he devoured his brides on their “wedding” night.

Ysa was certainly angry with Poppy, however, she did not want to see the girl sold into marriage and eaten.

The Bloodmother released a sigh. “It’s a discussion for another time, then,” she told the two women. “Sabine, thank you. We will let you return to your duties. Ah- actually, if I could make one more request of you-?”

Sabine bowed her head. “Anything, my lady.”

“Has your mistress been fed yet?” Ysa wondered.

The servant shook her head without raising it.

Ysabelle smiled. “Fantastic. I have a loose end that needs tying off,” she said. “There is a man outside the front door- tend to him, won’t you?”

Soundtrack: WHEN THE LORD, susanne sundfør

[AWAY FROM THE DARK. SOFTLY...]

The Bloodmother dreamt as the sun rose:

Ysabelle could see them standing together by the window,

but she could not make sense of it.

Why would they two be together? How did they come to be acquainted?

The shorter of the two figures was livid with bloodstains, her face was slick and glistening with blood, her hands were gloved in it. She wore the crystal scarab,

but she was not Amaelia.

The taller figure, a broad-shouldered man, naked to the waist, was concealed in shadow,

Nonetheless Ysabelle knew him. She knew his stench, she knew the way he carried himself. She could hear his heart thrumming, almost humming with the hunt.

They were together, but it was impossible. Impossible.

“Mother,” they said.

Impossible.

#C O M P L E T E #i hope you all enjoy ! aaaa #ysa doesn't go to the race because loud rowdiness isn't really her ~scene~ but #hopefully it's still interesting..#btr #btr: story #written by fanfan #btr: the bloodmother #btr: ysabelle #there's soundtrack for each part because i am ~obnoxious

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eldermillarmissionblog · 3 years

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Mountain YSA Transfer 2 Week 5

Good morning!!

I am alive, happy, and doing well!! I apologize that I have been inconsistent with writing emails recently. I'm not the best at time management on p-days and have run out of time to write before I have to get back to work at 5:30 pm. I'm writing early this morning so I don't run into that problem again…haha!!

First and foremost, I'll give y'all a little update on those we are teaching:

Juan is a stud. A few weeks ago we stopped by a house looking for a member of our local congregation but found out that person didn't live there anymore. We started talking to the man who answered the door (Juan) and just had small talk. He said we could come back another time but didn't seem too interested. Well, we've now gone back multiple times and he is very open to talking with us!! We've come to find out that during high school he had a lot of friends who were members of our faith and frequently went to activities with them. He even attended seminary. After high school he made a few wrong turns in life and has had a lot of challenges, but now is looking for a new start and change. He is so humble and ready to let God into his life. Without us even talking to him about it, he has already begun to pray often. He goes on walks and listens to General Conference talks, and since our last visit he has started to read a little in the Book of Mormon. It's so wonderful to see his progress and see light and happiness return in his life. Please keep him in your prayers. He has such pure and honest intentions and is seeking a better life :)

Brandon and Jason: both of them are people we met on Facebook and have been talking to for the last little while. Brandon doesn't live in our area so we will have to refer him soon to missionaries near him, but we have had two lessons over video chat and he is so awesome. Jason is a young man who actually lives in a neighboring town to Snowflake and we are trying to schedule a time to visit. Just like Juan he also grew up around members of our church and is open to talking with us. I will keep you updated on how it goes with them :)

P-day shenanigans:

Our p-days recently have been jam-packed. Two weeks ago we went down to a town called Show Low and played tennis, frisbee golf, and Spikeball for like 7 hours. To all my friends in Provo...get ready! When I come back to BYU you already know we're gonna have Spikeball tournaments…haha. Then last p-day we went on a hike, played board games, and ate at good ol' El Cupidos (a Mexican restaurant that is pretty famous here in town). Thankfully, since we are already at 6,000 ft elevation, we didn't hike up mountains like we did in the valley. Instead, we went down into a ravine and walked along a dried riverbed. There were some old Native American petroglyphs which were pretty cool. I'll include some pics.

Random people I've met:

So I haven't met anyone famous recently, but I have run into two people who know my family. One older gentleman I was talking to asked if I had a grandfather from Idaho. I said yes and told him his name. Well, come to find out, my grandpa performed a quadruple bypass heart surgery on his father and saved his life. It's a small world…haha. Then a few weeks later we were standing in line at a restaurant and a man started talking to all the missionaries. When he saw that my name tag said “Millar” he asked if I knew Benny Millar. I told him yeah that was my dad. Turns out he went to medical school with my dad, and my grandma is the reason his wife agreed to marry him…haha (long story). Crazy times!!

Mission tour:

This past week we had a mission tour with our Area President Seventy named Elder Pieper. We had one or more meetings each day throughout the entire week. He talked a lot about the principle of faith unto repentance and also how we can improve as missionaries and change the way we teach. I'll include some of what I learned as part of my spiritual thought today, but the whole week was just awesome. It has honestly changed my mission and helped me view the gospel in a whole new light. I am exceedingly grateful for the inspired men and women that have been called of God to lead this church. :)

Spiritual thought:

I love hope. :) There is so much that changes in life, but there is one source of perpetual hope, truth and stability—Jesus Christ. During our mission tour this past week, I learned much about what hope is and how we can have more of it in our lives. One thing I understood is that hope is the ability for and expectation of change. It is a desire for better circumstances, more joy, and more stability. Well, Jesus Christ is that source of joy, stability, and ability to change. To elaborate more, it's important to recognize this truth in reference to the Savior's sacrifice for us. Yes, Christ suffered and died for our sins, but He also suffered for all our trials, sicknesses, weakness, pain, and shortcomings. He knows it all, and He knows how to overcome it all. In turn, He knows how to help us change, or have hope. This change is often referred to in the scriptures as repentance. Repentance is such a wonderful thing. :) As we exercise our faith in Christ unto repentance, we can change for the better and find incomprehensible happiness. Sadly, there are many external circumstances that no matter how hard we try we cannot change or get rid of completely. However, through Christ and our efforts to become closer to Him, we can always have hope in Him that change is available, whether in the near future, or in the eternities. Find one way to draw closer to Him this week. :) Have hope through Christ. Do what you need to to have faith unto repentance (change) and I can promise the Savior stands by you every step of the way. In the name of Him who is the source of all that is good, even Jesus Christ, amen.

I love you all!! The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true. God is good! Have a great week!

Elder Millar

Pics:

The hike

Me and the legend Elder Walker

Blurry pic of petroglyphs

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rrrawrf · 7 years

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2 & 6, "Id rather see the world end, in all honesty"

2 is eli and 6 is arvio, and i cannot honestly come up with a way to shove them together in the same place, so i am going to write a quick little thing for each one and just be happy with that (hopefully). we’re gonna start with arvio bc i have a clearer idea for him. @knowledgeispowerandimcorrupt, for this prompt thing.

ARVIO

Arvio’s hands itched to run over the sleek frames of the machines arrayed before him, to pry off their covers and peek inside. He wanted to see if their guts were as well-designed and put together as their outsides, but before he could take more than a few steps forward, he felt a warning squeeze around his ribs.

The mechamancer shot an irritated look over his shoulder. Mock hung between one large man’s thickly-gloved hands, and the only thing that showed the machine was still alive was the occasional, irritated twitch of Mock’s metal tail, like a frustrated feline. Mock was still only about the size of a housecat; six months since its resurrection hadn’t been enough for it to get any larger. Of course, this time, it was for the better - it was impossible for Arvio and Mock to go unremarked, not when one was a mechamancer who should have died decades ago, and the walking, sentient, cat-like machine he called a familiar. The man holding Mock squeezed it again, and Arvio felt a corresponding pressure around his sides.

“Stop that,” he said quietly, stepping back. They couldn’t really hurt Mock just by shaking the little thing around, but Arvio still felt irritated and anxious that they had his familiar, and he did not. “I just wanted a look.”

“We’re not that stupid,” Clara said, and gestured with two of her fingers. Two of her soldiers, a man and a woman, moved up to take Arvio’s arms. For all that he was supposed to be the rebel Straxians’ one last hope at restoring the country to a monarchy, he felt more like a prisoner than the king they decided he had to become.

Arvio didn’t resist, even as the man’s grip on his right arm was tight enough to bruise. Clara stepped past Arvio, her boots clacking against the floor as she looked up at the enormous machines of war ranged around them. “They are beautiful, are they not?”

They were, in a frightening, fascinating way, Arvio agreed. “Who designed them?”

“Lux,” Clara said enviously. “We found these blueprints in his lair, once you had - disposed of him. I couldn’t find a team of engineers up to the task of building them properly… but you can fix any of their mistakes, I’m sure.”

If Lux designed them, then Arvio’s suspicions were confirmed. These were machines of war. He closed his eyes, and Mock gave a low, ear-grating noise that made its holder give it another shake.

“Quit that,” Arvio snapped, trying to pull out of his captors’ hands. He almost freed himself from the woman, but then she kicked the back of his legs and they forced him to kneel.

“It wouldn’t be necessary, if you would just tell me that you’ll join us,” Clara said. Arvio rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in exasperation. “We know how to destroy a familiar, Arvio, even one so - bizarre as that one. Help us, and you - and Mock - will have your very own throne.”

Clara was wrong. She was that stupid. Arvio could see every one of these machines she wanted so badly for him to bring to life, and that was all he needed. Fine. She’d get her wish.

“In all honesty,” Arvio said, as engines clattered and roared to life all around them, “I’d rather see the world end.”

ELI

Playing a game of ‘would you rather’ with a supervillain was not the way Eli thought he’d spend his Friday evening. It had gotten him out of another three hours of listening to Daniel expound on his list of reasons they shouldn’t sever the knot, though, which was a blessing of sorts. Of course, if one of the questions had been ‘would you rather be here, or at home with your daughters and your rabbits,’ Eli would pick the second option.

Instead of asking that, though, the young man wiped his mouth on his sleeve and passed Eli the bottle. It was a little tricky to drink when one arm was in a makeshift sling and the other was handcuffed to a metal staircase railing, but Eli managed. He wasn’t supposed to be drinking on the job, but in this case, Eli felt it was better to just go along with what Spook wanted, which meant sharing a bottle of whiskey and playing the sort of game college-aged Mormons still thought was a fun way to pass the time, instead of clubbing or tagging trains with graffiti or some other properly risque behavior better befitting eighteen-to-twenty-nine-year-old unmarried adults.

(Eli wouldn’t know, but one of his younger siblings had been hanging around with some Mormon YSAs, whatever that meant, and had all sorts of hilarious stories of how they spent their time.)

He’d stumbled on the idea that Spook might have been raised Mormon quite by accident, but Eli couldn’t be sure; his sister might’ve converted, but Eli still knew very little about that church. On the other hand, Spook was engaging in underage drinking, which was definitely not a very Mormon activity, as well as supervillainy (which might very well be a very Mormon activity. Eli didn’t want to make assumptions about someone’s religion.)

“Would you rather,” Spook asked finally, his words slurring only a tiny bit even though they had already gone through one bottle, “set a bomb where no one would die, or go to prison for twenty years?”

This whole conversation had gone in a similar fashion. Eli considered Spook a little sadly. It was obvious something was wrong with the poor kid’s head, but it was also obvious that he had picked the bomb option. He had very nearly crushed half of Eli’s team last week, when they were all supposed to be working for Spook.

Javed had pulled them off the contract the second it became clear the kid was going off the rails, but it hadn’t been in time for Eli to get out. He had been stuck here for five days, now, wondering what was going on up above them. Spook had finally shown up a couple hours ago, miserable and bleeding from a cut on the side of his face, and for all that he’d nearly died because of the would-be villain, Eli couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.

“Depends,” Eli said, settling back as easily as he could. “Would anyone still get hurt by the bomb?” He didn’t hand the bottle back, because he still felt vaguely responsible for making sure Spook drank as little as possible. The kid was only taller than him at the moment because he slumped over his knees several steps above him; Eli was on the landing. His shoulder and arm ached terribly from the awkward position of being cuffed to the wall, his other arm had a sharp pain that flared whenever he moved, and he seriously needed to use the restroom.

Spook wrapped his skinny arms around his equally skinny legs and rocked back and forth, shoulders hunched. Throughout the game, Eli had teased out what had happened - not only to the city above them, but in Spook’s private life. People didn’t just wake up and decide to terrorize a city with bombs and arson and weird riddles. Something had pointed Spook in that direction.

“Ten people would end up in the hospital,” Spook mumbled into his knees, “maybe - maybe including some friends.”

Eli closed his eyes. Dammit. Spook would be lucky if he ended up with just twenty years in prison, and not have Mercury Independent baying for blood. “Prison,” he said heavily, and watched Spook cringe, as if Eli had condemned him.

It was his turn. Eli took another drink when he noticed Spook reaching for the bottle. A little disappointed, Spook sat back. Eli tipped his head against the cold concrete wall and thought. “Would you rather apologize for hurting someone, or put more people in danger?”

It was as close as he could come to asking Spook what he was going to do - or what he had already done. Eli kept the alcohol close to his chest so that Spook wouldn’t try for it again. The kid let out a sudden wail and buried his face in his knees.

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed, “I’m so, so sorry, I can’t - I can’t stop now, they’ll - they’ll kill me -”

Eli stared, then sighed. Enough was enough. His arm changed from flesh to the same metal that the stair railing was composed of. When Eli broke the handcuffs with a sharp jerk, Spook barely twitched from his fetal position.

The change swept over the rest of Eli’s body; he already knew better than to come at Spook when he was merely skin and bone. Spook flinched when Eli touched him, and Eli tensed in turn - but instead of hurting him, Spook relaxed as Eli gathered him into a hug, ignoring the stab of pain in his broken arm when Spook jostled it.

“It’s too late,” Spook mumbled, letting Eli cradle him like a child. “It’s too late - I-I’m so sorry, I ruined everything, and - and now they’re gonna kill me if I stop now.”

“It’s not too late,” Eli said soothingly, and hoped desperately that he wasn’t lying. “It never is, Alma.”

Spook flinched at his real name, and Eli just held him a little tighter. After a long, long moment of Alma sobbing into Eli’s chest, he pushed the bigger man away, and then fumbled something out of his jacket, and into Eli’s hand.

A chill ran down Eli’s spine as he saw what it was.

“Would,” Alma started, choking down a sob and staring at the floor. “Would you rather - would you rather kill one person and save the world, or - or watch it all end?”

Alma still held the barrel of the handgun, keeping it pointed at his chest as he forced out the words. Eli stared, cold down to his very core. Flinching the entire time, he brought his other, broken arm out of its sling, and forced Alma to let go of the gun he’d shoved into Eli’s hand.

It took a moment, but Eli finally unchambered the pistol, gritting the teeth against the pain, and threw the now unloaded gun behind him, further down the stairs.

“I’d rather watch the world end, in all honesty.”

#asks #answers #replies #idr any of my tags #writing #eli #superpowerverse #arvio #tumblr games #this got real frickin real :|#knowledgeispowerandimcorrupt

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mermaidmafia-official · 4 years

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{PART III: THE BLOODMOTHER}

written by: @bebemoon

outfit ref: i can’t draw to save my life, but i tried ! so, here is ysa’s eros costume for the ball- metal armour chest strap, pearls and gold harness, four diaphanous trains/veils hemmed in white feathers to mimic eros’ wings, golden armlets and thigh band. bow and quiver of arrows for good measure. yoni-out, as promised.

tag list: @interluxetumbra @ayzrules @vampirkaninchen @blubbingbeautifully

[PESTILENCE IS A REDHEAD]

"Cyborée told me what you and Yinmei want to do."

Poppy's jaw was set. She never seemed more like a child, standing there barefoot and fuming after being informed that she was disallowed from attending Greggor's party.

The Bloodmother used her foot to kick aside the tantrum-made wreckage covering the floor of Poppy's bedroom. Splintered wood, ripped bed clothes, down feathers, shredded books, shattered and bloodied glass. Even the brand-new chandelier was hanging by a thread. The entire room was completely destroyed.

Poppy stood amid the chaos with her hands behind her back, an arist displaying her work in a gallery. She, not unlike her dwelling, was in disarray. Her hair was unbrushed, her eyes wild. Her clothes were ripped from being caught up in the swing of a firepoker- which was rested in what was left of the bed.

Ysabelle sighed, her eyes roving the walls now denuded of their golden Chinoise panels. The remnants lay curled and crumpled on the floor. "Do tell," she muttered, distracted.

Poppy tightened her teeth. "You're planning to put me to sleep. Just like Amare."

"Oh, I would never," replied Ysabelle. "If you were unconcious, who would be here to cause me endless inconveniences?"

Poppy died a child. Of course, she had existed well past her teen years, but she was frozen in the mindset of a fifteen year old. She still threw tantrums when she didn't get her way, and whatever she wanted, she took without a moment's thought. Years with the Coven, and Ysabelle felt it was for nothing. Nothing had settled her. Poppy didn't care any more for her sisters than she did Paulette Maminot.

And, with Ysabelle's agedness apparently catching up with her, she couldn't see herself tangling with Poppy any longer.

The girl shook her head. "No, you can't," she said, her voice cracking. "You can't."

Ysa said nothing. Her dark eyes were pinned to a dark red stain on the rug underfoot.

"You can't," Poppy repeated, low. "If you even try, I'll-"

"You'll what?" Ysabelle finally gave her gaze to the redhead, but she did not lift her voice. She turned her body slowly. "I am curious."

The girl looked away, her jaw clenched.

"Threaten me, Popelina?" said the Bloodmother, her voice soft yet unholy. In a blink, she was before the girl, taking her pallid face between her thumb and forefinger. Her nails dimpled the flesh of Poppy's cheeks. "My eyes have seen much and I have faced grotesqueries no one, certainly not you, could imagine."

Poppy remained still, her eyes downcast from the Bloodmother's.

Ysabelle could overlook certain things, but to be threatened by someone she had moved heaven and earth for on more than one occasion, had threatened the survival of her Coven-

It was like being spit at over and over.

"A spoiled brat with the cognitive capacity of a pond leech, I do not fear," said Ysa, and she released Poppy's face, leaving behind a pair of thin lacerations that healed over almost immediately. "Do not forget, I rescued you from under the Shiveleys. And all you have done since to repay me is routinely step out of line."

Poppy's face was pinched with distaste over being handled. She eyed Ysabelle but wisely kept silent.

Ysa turned away, her mind already made up. "You have your wish," she said. "Get dressed."

Though she was not looking at Poppy, she could feel the tension lessen. She said, "You mean, I can go to the ball?"

"Yes, you can go."

Poppy was baffled into a few beats of silence. Then: "Why-"

"Oh?" Ysabelle lilted. "Shall I explain myself to the likes of you?"

With the prospect of a little freedom looming near, all defiance had melted away. The response was quick. "No, Mother."

The Bloodmother went to the bedroom door and knocked to be let out by Zammurad who had been keeping a watchful eye on Poppy over the past few days.

Before Ysa left, she told the girl, "I will send someone to fetch you."

[A LITTLE PARTY]

The night deepened, and the Coven, in all their costumed finery, gathered in the garden to travel as one.

By flight, it would've taken some time to reach Lord Greggor's island. Therefore, the method of travel was a simple step through space and shadow, through a world known only to the half-dead. And, in a blink, where once the Coven of Bilitis House had been standing together in their own frost-ridden gardens, they now stood on a broken stone terrace that was being gently lapped by the night-black Adriatic.

Even over the din of the sea, the sounds of string music and lifted voices could be heard. Beneath the salty air, an unmistakable, redolent scent.

Ysabelle, in the (un)dress of the god Eros, gathered Lia to her side and led the group up a set of ancient steps to a loggia where shadows moved here and there, appearing and disappearing in pairs. Hushed voices tickled the ears of the undead.

Beyond the loggia, the moon lit a courtyard of spindly trees and a massive, ornate fountain where dozens had gathered in mirthy spirit. The smell of blood was strong there, and already much of the Coven was moving away from Ysabelle, drawn towards the fragrant scarlet waters spilling from the mouths of stone fish and the breasts of nymphs, staining the white stone tiers dark. Vampires were swimming in the fountain, splashing in it, screaming delirious in it, unaware of all else around them.

Even Lia, her butterfly wings shivering on her back, was being lured away, but Ysabelle held her close to her side. The blood fountain was nothing, she was certain, compared to whatever was to be found within Greggor's villa.

Once they passed through the courtyard, only Zhang, Poppy, and Pixie remained with Ysa and Lia. The five stepped through a stone archway and into another walkway with worn mosaic floors depicting bloody rituals and bacchic scenes of debauchery, most of which was so perverse as to not be suited for the eyes of...well, anyone. And the awful string music swelled in their ears as they neared a marble terrace with rows of Ionic columns, lit with warm light spilling out from within the villa.

In the light of the lavish villa entrance, a raving cacophony of raised voices and hellish strains met them first, followed by the overwhelming scent of blood. But that was to be expected.

Then the wide open spread of the banquet hall, brimming with warm-lit bodies in outlandish, ancient raiment and one or two wearing comically-costumey minotaur heads (and not much else along with it). Dancing, mostly, but there were quite a few...feasting, as mortals were present. Most of their young eyes were unfocused and wild. Drugged, Ysa guessed.

To the living present, the villa must've smelled terrible.

At the head of the only table was the host, Lord Greggor in the animal-skinned attire of Dionysos. He could not be missed for his girth was not something at which any mortal could survive. Nonethless, he was ivy-crowned and glittering in golden baubles, surrounded by his surviving brides (who were all dressed as nymphs in airy chitons). Two of the women were carrying around amphoras of blood to serve the guests, while another pair bore golden trays of what could only be desribed as "viscera" for their husband.

Ysabelle leaned into Lia so that she could hear her over the noise. "I need to speak with Greggor," she said into Lia's ear. "Stay close to Zhang."

Lia only nodded. Her bright eyes were all over the place, attempting to take the entire scene in.

Zhang, on the other hand, appeared as through she would've much rather plucked out her own eyes than spare a moment to watch over Lia. But she would do it if she had to, at the Bloodmother's behest.

Ysa mouthed a quick "thank you" to her friend before taking hold of Poppy's wrist. "Come," she told the redhead. The music was screeching insistantly now.

"We must greet our host."

[SEND IN THE WOLVES]

As Ysabelle led Poppy through the crowd of revelers, Poppy's head swiveled every which way- her senses pulling her in every direction.

"Why do I have to greet him?" Poppy asked, raising her voice as they slid through a tightly-packed group of Vampires.

Ysa pretended not to hear.

They reached the table, and Greggor spotted them immediately. He chortled, setting his belly into motion, and seemed to have an epiphany. He gave a small hand signal that apparently released his wives from his side for they all stepped away as Ysa and Poppy came forward. The brides left the hall together, tittering excitedly among themselves.

"My Lord," said Ysabelle pleasantly. "Eros greets you."

Lord Greggor regarded her costume and chuckled again. Then: "My Lady is daring as ever."

Ysabelle brought an openly beumused Poppy forward, ignoring Greggor's comment. "Lord, I heard of your recent loss," she said, pressing her hand over her chest to indicate her sympathy. "I wanted to offer mine and my Coven's condolences."

Greggor's grin slowly faded into an expression of profoud wistfulness. "Morbida, you mean," he said on a sigh. "She was...a disappointment. You must know how difficult it is to find true companionship at our age. I suppose we had little in common, but...she never gave me a proper chance. I had to do what I did."

"Anyone who would treat you so poorly deserves their fate," Ysa lied. "If there's anything I can do to help-?"

The corpulent Vampire brightened immediately. "I am searching for someone new, to take Morbida's place in my heart and mind," he said. His beady eyes did skip to Poppy but only for a moment. "If you know of anyone suitable...?"

Ysabelle feigned a little gasp. "It's fate, my Lord," she pronounced, indicating Poppy at her side. "Popelina would be perfect for you. What do you think?"

"Mother," Poppy uttered sharply, clearly panicked. She could not outright reject him. Greggor's ego would not stand for it, especially before all of his peers- there would likely be violent reprecussions if she spoke against him.

Lord Greggor beamed, ecstatic. "Eros indeed. Do you know, I was just thinking the same," he laughed. He beckoned Poppy with his swollen hand. "Come, come, my dear. Come stand next to me. Let us get to know one another."

Poppy hesitated, but helpless, she eventually did as she was told.

Ysabelle regarded the pair with false softness. "A match if I ever saw one," said she, spreading her hands.

She did not intend to give Poppy over to Greggor, she only wished to frighten the girl into better behaviour in the future. Before the night was out, she would perhaps see that some things were worse than being put to sleep for a few years.

Greggor motioned to one of the trays left behind by the brides, and Poppy, indignation colouring her aura, leaned over the table to take up a handful of gore to feed the Lord with her own hands. It was an upsetting scene for anyone to witness.

Ysa turned away as if to leave the table, but Greggor called her back.

He said, "You might want to stay put, my Lady. I have a surprise that I think you might enjoy. My brides are fetching them now."

Out of politeness, Ysabelle remained at the table while Poppy continued to feed Lord Greggor. Surprises, she did not care for.

Across the hall, she could see Lia who was being twirled by a mortal, and by the looks of it, it was not anything the mortal wished to be a part of. She twirled and twirled, her butterfly wings fluttering prettily behind her. Then, without warning, she snapped at his throat.

At the same time, a terrible stench was growing. And there was a sound that would set any Vampire on edge.

Ysa wasn’t the only one to hear and smell it. Almost everyone was craning in the same direction now- towards the back archway the brides had disappeared through earlier.

The music continued on.

And a moment later, the brides were back, but not alone. In a display so strange, Ysa could not have concieved of it in her most diabolical nightmares, the Lord’s cackling brides appeared holding thick silver chains at the ends of which were thickly muzzled Wolves. Five, all together. Restless and tugging at their restraints, but impressively, being tightly controlled by the brides, some of whom were at the reigns of more than one Wolf. The biggest, for instance, seemed to be limping, but was still being held by three women.

The Vampire and mortal crowd responded instantly by backing up, murmuring sharply and cursing among themselves.

“What is this?” Ysabelle demanded.

Greggor bellowed in laughter. “My friends!” he shouted jovially. The music stopped then. “A treat! You see my brides captured these fellows on a hunt- and I thought I might share their triumph with you all!”

A smattering of applause followed that, but for the most part, the Vampires were wary.

Sensing this, Greggor added, “Come, come, my friends. There is nothing to fear- these dogs are wrapped securely in silver! Pathetic, aren’t they?”

Some agreement went around the room.

“Tonight,” sang Greggor, lifting his arms with some doing, “we take the mutts’ heads!”

At that announcement, the Vampires roared with approval. The music and dancing started up again.

The brides went to chain the Wolves in the courtyard so that they could be observed by the guests.

“And how fortunate,” Greggor added to Ysabelle, “to have the fabled Mother of Wolves present for such an important event.”

Ysa watched the prisoner Wolves being paraded through the hall, being hissed and laughed at...

No good would come of this.

#C O M P L E T E #btr #btr: story #fanfan's writing #btr: the bloodmother #btr: ysabelle #please please please enjoy and PLEASE let me know if this messes with anyone's plans #i can change anything needed !

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