You Can Never Go Home Again (Prisoner)

  Content Warnin's:

  okeokeoke. LAST CHAPPY OF BOOK TWO!!! WOW! Welcome to the mess. Um... lots of body horror and like... mentally viewing pain as gifts and abuse and good on self. Names are given though. And that's sweet. Um... Someone takes a Divine's eye with a mean spell that jerks spirits from inside and talks of ending the world and such. LONGEST CHAPPY YET! 17K words. Be ready for thaaat! ALSO... Second person POV and a new POV to boot the snoots!

  When She left, it was as a shadow that slipped away at first light. And your mourning came only as the Firstborn blessed you with the understanding your blindness could not.

  The Thirdborn of Sín was considering an end for herself. And of all the Divine... She could sever Herself past what any could hook and reclaim Her from.

  Gone. Forever. Just... another echo rattling through your weeping corpses.

  But... now? Her footsteps fall like the weight of night across a field of dying sunlight. Brimming with newfound Pitch she did not have before.

  And you cannot stop the way everything seems to wither in delight as this Divine returns Home. Jerk away from your work on the foundations of the newest reclaimed Temple to turn rapt attention to Death returned.

  Her motions seem to stop and start like the heartbeat of a dying animal until she…

  Is suddenly behind your current vessel.

  A heartbeat passes, enough only for you to adjust perceptions to absorb the changes to her Frame. Doll to Corpse, she looks weathered and weary to you, but full of a fierce determination that was missing when she left. Her previously long crimson hair has been sheared off and what little remains slicked up and back with some sort of dark oil. Her ornate jacket traded for a thin sleeveless vest, exposing myriad dark red scars along her Frame like shattered glass.

  Then she speaks. Voice firm despite the weariness each word rings with. But… softer than one seeking to inflict more gifts upon you normally holds. "I think Oma Lyra would like you. Certainly more than I let myself even consider. I... Hmmm. I am sorry. For not being the grown up and lashing out in our recent interaction, and for not being there when you were younger."

  You fall to your knees, forehead pressing to the floor as each part of your trembles at how quickly she's sensed this place. Found the Temple you had to nearly lead the Firstborn to by a Penitent Vessel's hand! Wields her power to stand not at the entrance, not in the grand hallway. But here so easily despite her weariness. Within the still fragmented half-drowned place she's yet to claim.

  "Welcome Home," You weep as tears stain the still cracked foundations of the Monument to her. This first silent offering sheer joy at her arrival in this place. A sacrifice of raw perceptions swirling into the muck you kneel in. Only starting to wonder at her odd words.

  Both the strange name of a supposed great grandmother, and... an apology? For the gifts? Why would she regret those? Not like she can take them back. Or that you'd even let her try. "I... And thank you. For my final name. It is perfect. I will treasure it till the day the World and all Her Dreams end. Wish you could have given me that so long ago too. Alongside the wounds."

  You don't know how much of this Corpse she sees. If her eyes gift her vision of your Treasures like the Firstborn's seemed to?

  She raises you up with a hand and looks through you. "Yes. Yes, it is. For only a person can be guilty, and a home is by definition, somewhere cherished. You're a freakish beastie, but I've recently found that runs in the family. I much prefer my violence to be done with a clear head, you see. Anger doesn't suit me. Never learned how to care about others in the proper way. I still don't, really. It's more that... Well... Considering your Collection, I think you understand. I would request that you behave towards my Dolls though, or I won't hurt you directly, I'll just pack up my toys and leave."

  Then she does... something to you. doesn't fix your feet so much as sharply twists them into the proper direction in a mockery of function before cladding them along the sides and base in a shell of bone. "That's the one that would upset big sis the most. This way you can keep the injury without distressing her too much, and also walk with her."

  "Oh. One of the Penitent Vessels already had me promise not to hurt any Dolls here." You explain, staring down at the odd way she's adjusted this corpse. Wondering if this will cause an uproar or be ignored because a Divine insists to the change. "Alongside... Well, everyone else. Basically. Save a few they forgot to think of. But one would stop working if I couldn't keep her just right, and the other was demanded I Rot. But... I'm waiting. For just the right moment to pounce. No need to rush."

  "If you're not happy with that, feel free to return it to how it was, I haven't quite figured out this... gift giving thing yet." She tilts her head and snorts out a small laugh. "Good good. In specific, I mean my two, though. Gebetshure and Mecia. I don't know about the rest of them. It... hmmm. It hurts to contemplate if the rest of them are present here somewhere or not. Though... I do wonder about those... Aralen and Nelara. Do you have the rest of them, and would you be interested in experimenting on the remnants with me?"

  "I... Maybe? I go by taste. But but..." You stammer, slowly bisecting her words to understand what she's either offering or gently demanding. "If you want to visit the Corpse Pits when your sister tries to change a Name of mine I'd love to see what Rot you'd help fester down there!"

  "Oh? Which Name? I'd be happy to help." Augusta pauses to look around the Temple. "Nice place. Shall we continue this conversation elsewhere? It feels like you're being restrained somewhat more than normal here. Not trying to bully you into anything unless that's something you'd like."

  “It’s… still a mess. Needs you to make it perfectly yours.” You answer, “And the second or third Name. Wouldn’t let her touch the other two. And… Well, I have to strangle things here. Yes. But that’s important. Only place I can really stop is in the Below. No Penitent Dolls or delicate Tasks there. But you shouldn’t go there alone. Not till you finish this Temple.

  She winks at you seductively before plunging her hand through your chest and pulling out two writhing and harshly glowing masses. With a smile she shapes Miasma around them into roughly humanoid forms and has them kneel to either side of her as a chair rises from the floor for her to perch upon. "Sure. However, little Dream Rotter, You owe me a Name First. It will determine my actions to follow, so choose carefully."

  "I do, don't I? Well..." You giggle. Feeling, for the dead heartbeats it takes to speak, all of you focus on this Divine.

  Rise up with all the mouths and fangs and teeth and will and pain and fury to whisper the name that has echoed through the Threads since She tore them apart.

  "Augusta. Void Maid/Death/Silence that won't stop Screaming"

  Gently, so as to let this Divine consider the name carefully. But... firmly. So all with ears to hear feel the complete Name thrum out across World and Dream and Void. Know that you've Blighted another of Sín's little Jellyfish with the Ruin you were woven to spread.

  Then the sharpest bits of you fold back and away. Leaving just this corpse to grin at the second Divine that might just guess at what you really are quicker than her brother did. Perhaps... even before you lure her and the Firstborn below to the Corpse Pits.

  And yet, she just smiles back at you. "Perfect. It's better this way, you know? I was planning on pulling the entire Estate into the Void, to just... Keep it. Preserve it forever so I'd never have to worry about losing any of you. Now though... This is much better than Silence Through Preservation." Then she’s laughing, the Names settling evermore into her perceptions and hopes and Dreams.. "I can't wait to see the look on your mother's face when I vivisect her and use your blessing to nail her to mom's corpse. You were made to be a weapon. A Tool to bring ruin and defilement. I don't know why and I don't care, I'm simply pleased you've given me another path forwards, little one."

  You don't even try to hide the twitch at the mention of Hive. But... you're here. Not below. So this Divine is safe from the things those words might have roused at mention of that Name.

  "I'm glad you like it." You murmur carefully as everything settles within, then continue with more ease. "And... yes. I don't think you'd have been happy with that other name. Your Rot wasn't twisty in the way Names should be. But now it's perfect, and growing better. Blighted and shimmering and ready to take bites off the World and all Her Dreams."

  She giggles. "Her Dreams. I avoided giving Oma Lyra spoilers like that. Didn't tell her how bad things went for her other daughter either." She leans into you. "But I have a new idea. A fresh start of sorts, where things can die and Rot and feed new growth... Especially the Divines. Do you wanna help me kill the planet... Or five?"

  This corpse's barely functioning eyes must be as wide as the twin suns at her words. Your lips whispering almost a pleading. "Yes. Please. I..."

  But you choke on the effort to explain. Too much of you kept below and away from this still fragile place. Takes a heartbeat for you to find the part of this Corpse that can reply.

  "If your sister agrees to pay the cost to change a Name of mine... This Estate's full waking will gouge such a wound across this area. Bigger still if your Temple's are finished and laid firm."

  "That sounds like a good start, though this plan will take a while to set in motion. It's important they don't learn about it until it's too late to stop, you know?" Augusta whispers back at you while changes start to occur throughout the Temple.

  Subtle things, but you have such good eyes to see, you'd never miss the sight of tiny engravings appearing all over the space like promises, shelves of bone holding parchment and quill for supplicants to write their final wish, and the form of Xafra on her bier becoming filled with miasma to the point of spilling over onto the ground.

  "There. Now remember, Strife is essential, so don't hurt her... too much." Augusta finishes with a grin before herself and the puppets she created vanish from your presence to reappear in her Spire.

  Giggle and howl and let Threads thrum in open agonizing delight at her words. Commit the gentle not-promises to Archives for your Blossom to untangle later.

  Leave the Temple for now. Its foundations are set and strong. Hooked to both Divine's perceptions now. Can be broken and tore apart but... never forgotten.

  Just like you.

  Backways Strangling Roots ready to grow wrongways.

  But... What now? The work is endless. But you're at the edge of things until they dredge up their Temple fully and the Firstborn of the Firstborn Hatches.

  Fiddle at the long silent bracelet a few times while drifting down and away. Feel more of yourself bubble up to fill throat and gut and every wound like prickly angry somethings.

  And then... drowned are the soft muses of a silent Monument. Returned are the vicious hungers of infested swamps and heart cracking blood drinking monsters.

  Strangling to awareness is the Beast that Lurks Below even a Divine's worse nightmares.

  Hurts though. More than even you like to endure. To feel these old spiteful gifts writhe back into and across your perceptions. Enough that you lose track of time.

  Snap to shrieking fear only a dead thing can endure. A wail of terror that you've missed everything important.

  But no. All still here. Barely a turning of the night has passed. The returned Divine has only just pulled from her Doll's attentions to...

  Walk into the Temple you half finished before passing it into the Grace and Care of another. The Divine has a mug of tea in each hand. Looking over the forms of your Blossom, Zurrzunge, and only one Pack sister. The one filled with broken Dreams kindled to grow backways about the spirit bonded group.

  "Hey you.” She speaks gently, halting a few paces away. “Heard there was a bit of a kerfuffle while I was gone."

  Your creature hiding within the Lashing Tongue looks up from her work repairing the Temple of the Firstborn's Firstborn to her. Letting out... such a huff of barely restrained fear at the sudden arrival of the Goddess she wove that Frame to shield herself from. Eyes almost as dull to the senses of flesh as your corpse as she stares at the two steaming cups with careful regard.

  "A bit. But luckily for us I was the only ravenous beast amidst the gaggle of softer sorts." Lynette offers hesitantly.

  Elevar sits up, still unable to detangle from the many tails of the Doll wrapped about her and the Firstborn, but... looks to the new arrival with an open expression of relief. "I... Well, I won't pry. But it's wonderful to have you back. Welcome home, Augusta. You've been missed quite dearly. Emergencies aside even."

  Death smiles gently at them both, offering each a mug. "Pry away. I've already had a chat with Sekrhús, and spent time with Gebetshure and Mecia, so I figured it would be good to check in with you all next."

  "You really should not have spoken with her alone, and before I even felt..." Lynette murmurs, but trails off to carefully reach up and take the offered cup as your Blossom takes the other. Begins anew. "But you're different. Not just in general Frame aspects. Your weight on things is... More balanced in some ways. Less in others. Hardly recognized you for a moment."

  "You look wonderful, honestly." Elevar adds while taking first sips of her tea. "More confidence and certainty than before. Comfortable, mayhaps? I hope so. As you wear this look well."

  "Comfortable... Yes. Much more comfortable. But I had to speak with my niece in private. Needed to provoke her just a bit to offer myself more wiggle room before a different Name could settle. Heh. It will be fine eventually. Anyway, ask away, let's get this cruft all excised and speak honestly. Afterall, you're both basically my sisters now, if I correctly understand how the marriage rituals Xafra is familiar with work."

  "My twin's yet to officialize things to her liking but... yes. Formal steps aside you are our sister in all things." Elevar agrees, then moves to settle her cup to sit carefully on the floor beside the snuggle pile. "Xafra mentioned that you were struggling. Only gently touched on certain pains, but... Well, we'd like to help."

  "Both now and in the future." Lynette speaks softly but firmly. "And... apologies. For delaying our talk. I've... endless excuses. Some might even be of interest to you. But none of them should have stopped me. Was so... stupidly blind. We could have helped each other avoid the approaching tides at least one of us is still trying to handle."

  "I... Yes. Before I spoke to Sekrhús, my mental state was quite severe. It is still volatile but less... Deterministic. I am the Goddess of Death. And my purpose was... heh... Screaming at me to act on that. To be the antithesis of Girra and such. So. There are two paths laid before you. One leads to mass death and destruction over generations until there is naught but barren stone. The other leads to mass death and destruction over moments yet opens the way forward for the next generation. You asked me about being Sikkina's aunt, and I made the choice to ensure that she gets the opportunity to make her own choices and not live in a dying world. Not like the one my family came from before this one." Augusta speaks quietly.

  "That's... quite the selection of options." Your Blossom replies, "Our world is broken, yes. But... dying? I'm not sure I can imbibe that without understanding what you mean?"

  "A Goddess above, Cracked and Riven and dead.” Lynette answers her twin. “Another below barely keeping Her form from crashing down again like She did thousands of years ago. Too... distracted and lethargic to gather a following from the world above or consider the events. And... a Madthing. Happy to slerp up His bounty into a Blaze that would keep past any death below. Like a good book His followers can shut away at any time. And what Divines do walk about are horrid, fleeting, or only just newly raised to mantles and Names they only barely understand."

  "But... How will the mass death and destruction help? We spoke of pruning the Groves. Specifically not loosing some mass culling." Elevar counters, but looks back to Augusta with nothing but concerned curiosity.

  "The Groves are the smallest part of this world, despite being all you've ever known." She draws a butterfly shape on the ground and fills in certain spots before circling one. "This is our continent, one of three on D?mmerung, and the Groves themselves are only a peninsula of that. Xafra's understanding of the world is lacking currently, but with my... new abilities, I've been able to traverse significantly farther and faster to see the rest. Xafra's beloathed Conclave still exists on one of the other continents as do Dolls and a variety of other spellweavers. But... this is beside the point, and obscuring the answer. The mass death and destruction is a side effect of my plan. It's not the only way, but the only one I'm capable of due to the... constraints of Divinity. This isn't a work of days, to be clear, but years. I'm telling you this as a matter of trust. because..." Augusta sighs heavily and her arms shatter into Void as she leans back on them.

  The Divine's words cause sixteen refractions to bubble up and need smothering by your creature to avoid a spiral into old infections overtaking her once again. Stronger every heartbeat, especially at the mention of distant lands only Her now Rotted Spore family bear memories of.

  You hover at the edges and bottom of this new lashing tongue Lynette wove. Waiting and watching and listening to the sounds from within a Temple you're unable to enter without breaking a promise.

  Curious as to the Divine's hopes and perceptions shared here.

  "I was aware the world was quite large, but the idea of these Groves being so small when compared elsewise is... odd." Your Blossom considers. "But... What is your scheme? And more importantly, why are you chasing it?"

  "Because I exist to destroy the world. It is my Divine Purpose. I think it's likely each dying world forms one. However, there's the aforementioned wiggle room with what happens afterwards. My plan is to take a number of dying worlds and give them all a second chance, merging them into one larger one where there are no living Divines currently. The surviving ones from the worlds will all come with their people, of course, but will be much less powerful. The suns will just be stars, the moons simply rocks, and the dirt we walk on merely dirt. The alternative is easy. Kill me. The world will continue on for decades at least."

  Can't help but bristle in such... confliction, at that.

  A new collision of almost corpse worlds? And... With no living Divines? That feels... wrong. Inside out. Backways and tumbling and...

  "No. Absolutely nope. Killing you is not an option, it is a surrender to a Purpose you did not ask for." Lynette very nearly growls, but keeps her words steady as she tries to take in the drawing. Committing it to the Archive. Then looks up to meet Death's gaze. "And... other worlds? Is that where you skipped off to?"

  Right. For some reason. Perfect. The idea sets to motion a harmonic melody that you can't help but hum along to. One that dredges up old withered ideas that this Divine could put to good Function. Weaving them about the foundations of Her Temple to sing when the time is just as perfect as these words shared. Snares for those that might try to interrupt Her Good Work.

  "I wanted advice." Augusta clarifies. "So I skipped through the Void where the edges were weakest and discovered mine and Xafra's grandmother. Found... Just another gerl doing her best as you would say. And... A Dream decaying and previously kept from nurturing new life by cowards who refused to change. Left too long without proper restraints on their own growth, a cancer feeding upon itself."

  "And... if that's not all far too familiar here." Your creature huffs, looks away and down to the Temple's thrumming core. Adjusts a few reweaving commands. "It's all... tangled. And the heart of the knots are things like this Estate. Or the Madthing. Or even a few of your siblings. Cutting things apart to give slack to both the World and Divine like you would let things start to heal. Will hurt like a limb devoid of blood suddenly flooding feeling through but... Well, I guess it depends on where you snip old Roots, honestly. What did you have in mind?"

  "A quilted world. I'm not certain on the exact specifications yet and they're honestly not as important as the rough shapes I think, but... that's my plan. To fit them all together in a way that prioritizes the cycle and doesn't allow stagnation to persist."

  Oh. She...

  You can't help but giggle at that. Thrum in delight at those words.

  She's going to help you break the most important promise you ever made. And... probably get the Firstborn and her followers to help! Make it so you can't even stop it. Will shatter... so many corpse bones to shriek and wail as such tasty gooey muck dribbles quicker than any can-

  "That seems a good plan, actually." Elevar muses. "To use my metaphor, pruning a garden before it eats itself to barren nothing. And... you said this would take years? We can use that time to mitigate the suffering. Probably find allies to help avoid unwarranted casualties. But... How do you think the two bigger Divines will consider this scheme?"

  Yes Yes Yes! Get the stupid Weeping thief to drink the Rot, and the Skittering one to Blight itself, and even the wobbling glaring broken thing to accept Her Ruin. You hiss and spit in the quiet debts of the hearts you stole.

  The lauded stillness of the grave proceeds for a touch longer than seems comfortable. "I prefer to not lie when possible. I can, but... It itches at me."

  “Neither of us would begrudge you a secret, Augusta.” Lynette promises. “Especially myself. But nor can we help as well sometimes without clarity. So… what’s troubling you that feels a lie or othersuch?”

  "Consider how likely it is that an entity would survive if you cut their body into pieces and wove it together with a number of other dead bodies. Also consider that... This necessitates severing the Continuity of the Sun-blessed."

  "He will hate that." Your creature agrees with a smile she can't help.

  But then Lynette flinches as if slapped, spirit starting to lose hard-fought footing above the rising tides within. Drowning in the whispers and screams and howls of the memories that swirl about her thoughts so clearly to you. The adopted child of the Firstborn's efforts are efficient but... too small. Like trying to use a single bucket to clear a flooded tunnel.

  Some with love for the Forever Fire this Divine just spoke of hunting. But soon all others are from after you caught and dredged their broken corpse to the pit. Wailing pleading hopes to the Madthing beyond their cries to come save them.

  Eventually all that's there is hissing spite for the Divine that left them to Rot in the promises broken. The Dream of existence unending with family within the Blaze so easily stolen.

  Forgotten.

  Then... Her lips are dancing to old tunes before she can find the patterns in Elevar's memories to translate them through. "Forever Fire burns backways, is how He doesn't stop. I can block that path, leave only ashes in front. He'll get so small. Probably burrow into cold ash and hide away and alone for a long time. I... He... I hate Him and it has to happen but... but I... He..."

  Loved her. Endlessly. Just like everyone who's ever loved Him back and asked to stay with Him forever. Still does. Messily and imperfectly but... He's trying His best. Always has. Is stupid and absolutely too big to be as scary strong as He is. But... He's not hateful. Not cruel. Not... endlessly spiteful and angry and dead and rotting and blighted and more terrified than anything at letting loving old family see themselves so... wrong.

  And she can't even pretend otherwise anymore.

  You coo happily as you watch her bloom like the ugliest flower. Are so glad this Divine is here to see this old project's first big crack.

  "Yes. But he loves like a child who desires things to never ever end and... in small amounts, that can be possible. greedy and selfish as it might be. But... There are more of his blessed nestled in his Blaze than there are humans alive on the entire surface of D?mmerung. And that's the problem. Death is patient, Death is kind, but Death will not be denied to such a scale... They'll all be ejected. Given a chance to craft smaller Continuities based in flesh and marrow and magic, but not eternity, not without a chance of loss." Death says solemnly, openly stating at least one of her plans.

  Lynette tries to use the words as an anchor to herself. Gripping to your Blossom's old gifted memories and this treasured sister's views desperately. But... only finds more slippery footing.

  More confliction.

  More pain. Delicious radiating agony at the one Divine that could have saved her from your attentions.

  "No. Will NOT and never be just like it!" Your creature snarls and whimpers in equal measure, a glare in voices rasping and hateful. Filled with bitter sadness cracking from her heart like a Root filled with water finally bursting. So wrong even your Blossom jerks in confusion. "Breaking shells and stealing marrow and... and... cruel. Not patient. Not kind. Death was never there when we and us wailed the name. Weren't there to free us from the Beast Below. Only here now to steal the Forever our Fire promised and kept for almost all of His adopted sparks. He... He's trying. So hard. Want to smack him. Endlessly. But... Not this. Never this. And you deserve better than stealing sparks, sister."

  Augusta's form snaps, shatters, and reforms completely once more as she whispers. "You have not even seen the edge of my cruelty. I offer a chance. The alternative is that every single spark goes out when Girra breathes his last at the end of this dying world. You want forever? Put in the bloody work for it. Don't speak to me of deserve. I'll get what's coming to me sooner than the rest, I made sure of that."

  "Sister that's... This isn't..." Elevar tries to interject.

  Her voice? No, it's not. Lynette's claimed a mirrored Tone. But the old sometimes wails feelings than new ones struggle to voice. And this Witch knows that as her voice falters. You giggle. Or... mayhaps you're trying to speak to what this Divine deserves? How much do you know of her, Elevar? Really? Your voice betrays a hope you long let die.

  For a sibling worth the word.

  Can't even call the boy you spared this place's gaze your brother for fear he'll just... be as bad as the others you share blood with but almost hate more than your shared mothers...

  "Deserve is stupid. You're right. No one deserves anything. But... I do put work drowning in blood for it and us and them!" Lynette snaps, but then looks away and down in guilt and shame and pain. Voice dropping low to match Death's tone. "Were trying to by coming here. Because the Forever Promised was wrong without the family it stole. Fire forgot them and the others inside Him did too but our flesh remembered and our promises were to never forget. So we followed them here. Tried to get them out. Did... Did everything we could. Still lost Forever and them. Deserve is stupid. No one deserves anything. Especially what happened to me and us. Just... I want to make sure my family only has softer things chasing after them. And... that includes you. On both ends of the chase."

  "I can't promise that for myself. Someone has to close up shop and blow out the candles. But... I'll do my best to ensure we all make it through. Even you, Sekrhús, you… perverse voyeur." Augusta stands, staring down at you. "I want to try something. I'll trade you one of those puppets I made for Keldegrin's remains. I know you have them, I was here when Yselda killed her."

  The name... means nothing to you. But if the Divine remembers... She's probably right? Only even a few of the corpses from six Blossom's ago and beyond have fully dissolved to nothing.

  The Pits aren't something your creature can really help sift through either. It's... a place beyond the Threads she was woven to organize and adjust.

  So... You tilt gaze in curious regard for the Divine while you try to figure out how to locate this corpse among the multitudes below.

  "She... Of course it's focusing. You're back. Ascended. Wearing the Blighted Name she wove for you openly and proudly." Lynette huffs in such discomfort as not even she can notice your pointed interest in these talks. "And good luck getting it to trade away something for some... What was your offer? Some kind of Muppet?"

  "Proof. The essence of a dead Watcher, what we used to call a star, sealed in a clay body. Too immature to have developed sentience, it attacked me on my way through the Void. I feel there are very few things she would not trade me for it or the other I have.” Death explains then turns attention to direct your search. “Twenty four years back. I believe the remains are located in one of your oddities piles due to the circumstances of conversion."

  You wiggle in excitement at the idea of Rotting something so similar to the burning Divine above. Set to the task of finding some old silly set of angry bones to maybe trade.

  "And let me make something clear, Lynette.” Death adds into the silence. “The only alternative to accepting a blighted Name was letting the one that was forming settle. That would have resulted in me killing every entity here to preserve their corpses for eternity in the Labyrinth."

  Maybe. Might still say no. If the body screams the better melodies.

  "I... Yes." Your creature winces and looks back to the Divine. "Apologies. I wasn't trying to belittle the choice. You made the right decision. Not just for us, but yourself. Just... It explains how oddly she's acting. And you spoke with her. Just like Xafra did. Must have... Come to an understanding. Which is both a huge relief and also terrifying. Because from what our Pack explained you were talking to a corpse of her's presented specifically for the event. And I.. I'm still trying to understand where that one is from. How it matches her perceptions of the Names she wore with an absence to the Names she let lie still."

  Found it! You giggle and yip. Rattle the Corpse loose of the others to get a good look at it. Twist it all about to examine the shape and nature of the thing this Divine seeks.

  "What Sekrhús wore was not a corpse, not really. It is... like calling a sunset the same as a painting of one. Sekrhús wears the form created with the Will of mine and Xafra's Temple, made of all three parts of the Firmament: Real, Dream, and Void. If anything, she wears The Corpse."

  "Do you... Think that's limited to your and Xafra's Temple?" Elevar asks as your creature stills.

  Bubbling with worry. Both at the idea of you so closely listening to these talks within the place you swore to not enter unless invited. But also... How wrongways that sounds to her.

  You were designed to always Rot through Corpses. Not weave refractions of and from your Rotted Threads. Not mirror will and past and hidden desires entirely your own. You need others to exist. Always have. But...

  How little this creature understands your purpose and shape. Knows only to treat you as one considers large predators hunting in barely explored jungles.

  But this Divine sees you very nearly true. Understands the nature of the Temple. Might even guess at the purpose lost within the heart of the Corpse Pits before you lure her there. Could even reconsider any... attachments she's fostered to you.

  Bristle in excitement at the possible twistings of the future as you consider the corpse this Divine requested. It's... simple. Writhing in your grip and biting in fear at being tracked and found after decades left alone in the Pit. Some unique bits in the well ruined skull. But otherwise fairly average. Not your late Blossom's best addition to the Pits. But not the worst.

  So to the glowing question. Why does she think you'd want the Corpse offered? No sentience? That's... lacking.

  "No. It's clear that she's... Harvesting something from the Temple. That she's becoming more after Xafra and myself put our spin on it. Likely not going to be a problem, if at all, until the Temple surfaces, but... I can't find myself space to care. Not anymore. Why bother? The lingering familial obligation and the debt I owe for the Name she gave me is the only reason I didn't kill her when I returned. I can now, though it would be a challenge to stop there. So what if she's a perverse beastie? So's Xafra."

  "I think we have quite a few such sorts skittering about here, yes. Your sister might even find the title endearing." Elevar agrees, even seeming to calm. "That just means we have to put in the extra effort to help Sekrhús. And... Well, like I said. You seem more comfortable with yourself now. I trust you and Xafra. Will help however I can in your schemes."

  You chuckle as you feel old Threads jerk and drag and puppet the Penitent into motion. Forcing the oldest Dolls to begin moving to ensure if this Blossom acts out of acceptable patterns she can be... handled. If needed.

  "I also... Hm... I think my twin is a touch off-balance right now. Conflicted beyond all good sense to the topic of how to handle a certain Divine and His Blaze." Elevar continues, glancing at your creature as she struggles more and more with wriggling writhing memory echoes. "But I, for one, think that we might find the old Divines just as tired at the world they wrap about. Ready for change, but... unable to shift. Not sure they'd agree to it all. But... we can offer small gestures to good-will to discover how they feel about the possibility of change. Worst case we understand what obstacles they might put in our path to this."

  "I don't understand why you trust me, but alright. Sekrhús, nevermind with Keldegrin. I expected her to be more... Dead. It makes me despise these powers even more that they lack the precision of definition I prefer."

  More... Dead? You muse at that while tossing the thing back to burrow away in nearly manic fear. What... Oh.... OH! Death wants something still and cold and that's past your cruel attentions. Empty of moving memories.

  So you dig away. Search and search beneath the mulch and Rot and roots and find... three options. Hold them up to glow for the Divine to inspect. All useless waste to you. Honestly... You'd gift her all three if she asked nicely.

  "Trust is a broad concept I was told not to distill into a simple binary idea, just like how I might have the term Nightmare when it was the only word I knew of to describe our Xafra." Your Blossom offers gently. "Because between trust, and fear. I was told that fear could change someone very much like you in ways I think you would despise. And, as a gerl who had family I so desperately wanted to love, choose fear over trust at every opportunity... I refuse to subject you to that."

  Augusta laughs uproariously. "Such wit! Lovely. Thank you." She stills and looks through the layers at what you hold. "Sekrhús, any of those would do, if you would part with one. And I know you're wondering why, but I promise you'll all be... interested."

  Both Blossom and creature are about to reply but... You twist the rich Miasma stores all about the Pits while growling through your Threads... ?Wurzelriss?

  And the corpses are jerked away to fall just outside the Temple to the Firstborn's Firstborn in offering to the Divine.

  Settle to watch with rapt interest to her this 'proof' she's wanting to share.

  "One moment, dear sisters." she says as she stands and collects one of the empty things, bringing it back to them in a grip of Miasma. "I'm... Well. Going to do something never before seen in this Firmament."

  "To an... especially dead thing?" Your creature murmurs. "Okay. I'm curious."

  Augusta breathes out a word and with it a flood of Miasma. "Arise." The empty thing swells with the Miasma as new flesh and organs form around bones stitched together. A heartbeat passes, then a Heartbeat occurs as the thing gasps a ragged inhale. Death looks on this creature with interest as she speaks. "As from life comes death, so too from Death, Life. I offer you a second chance, if you wish it, in exchange for service."

  You pause and consider the way the Miasma twisted into this. The backways form of reversing the still and nearly useless Rotting corpse into a walking talking and now heavily coughing creature. Consider the weavings that are normally Ousia and Physis and Nomos are now... Miasma. Completely.

  Can't help but preen in delight at the artistry of the work!

  Perfectly cast. So... much better than the working you had to spend thousands of years to dredge up the means to mimic even a fraction of this gorgeous Weave. You require an only nearly or just barely dead thing. But this Divine? She knits Miasma like only one it adores could. As opposed to the way even the Threads still have to fight the Unbound Ousia to move to your desires.

  Krahe snaps to awareness as the corpse jerks to look around. The Combat Frame moved from lazy rest into crouched focus in barely a heartbeat. Quills tittering warning and the careful harvesting of perceptions. Eyes locked on the less than dead corpse.

  But her Mistresses both place hands on Krahe’s back and thigh. Brimming with their own interest and careful enthrallment of another Divine's not so little miracle.

  A hack, then a heavy spit up of whatever weird stuff grew through and against the bones, then the corpse rasps while struggling to rise. "What... service?"

  It’s taller than most here save Verbess or Krahe. Toned well despite a bit of gauntness. Paleish skin that tints more into a healthy forest green color. Dark winding tattoo's around both feet, ankles, all the way up to thighs. Then a pair of thorned ones upon upper arms. Long hair that starts dark but about halfway down has faded scarlet highlights. Has only one breast, the right was deliberately removed and has more tattoos woven into the patterns of the long healed scars. Eyes are a dull violet with streaks of golden amber through them.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "Share what knowledge you are willing to of your life and experiences with one of our scribes. In exchange, you may persist until you complete your business before resting once more, undisturbed."

  The not very dead but also not alive corpse nods, looking around the room. Eyeing your Blossom and creature alongside their Doll, before turning back to regard Death Herself once more. "Business? Huh. I don't... Really know what mine is. But I'll take that deal. Sure. Especially if it means... Well, where am I? In one of the mouths of the Murk still?"

  "I traded for your remains with the Murk. You were in the bottom of one of her Corpse Pits. You're currently in a safe place on the grounds." Augusta states, offering a hand to the figure.

  "Just wanna get out. Away. Don't even care." They sigh and take the presented hand. "Moonshite. How long was I dead? Why trade for me from... Her?"

  "At minimum, a century, unsure exactly, but if you tell me the last date you recall we can narrow it down. And I traded you because I needed someone for this demonstration. I have no idea who you are or what your name is." Death says, easily hauling them to their feet. "If all you want is to leave, I can offer you a bit more than just time as well, if you're willing to be an example once more?"

  "I'm not... Sure." This corpse glances around again, the answers from the Divine obviously hitting them hard. Tall lithe form that towers over all others but the nearest Combat Doll shivers and you can feel their rising heartrate and tensing of new unfamiliar Miasma within as panic bubbles. Then... at the apex, they snap themselves to smirk at the Divine. "Know what? Why not? Already died once. What else can you do, spooks? The Threshers I got info from didn't mention anything about a nice Doll that could undo my death and bargain with this place. If... you're a Doll at all? Don't want to offend."

  "Spooks is a cute nickname. I like it. This is a Doll Frame, yes. It was a gift from my sister. However... Most now know me as Augusta, Goddess of Death." She says with a smile. "I can infuse your body with the unmatched power of the suns which would make you quite a great deal stronger, and also capable of leaving anywhere you wish by traveling through Dream."

  "Oh... this is a lure. Can see the hook beneath the bait." They chuckle to themselves, moving to tug the long mess of hair back and into a messy twisting bundle, then twist it into a knot before settling the bundle about their shoulders like a scarf. Once done they look the Divine up and down once more. "Always kept away from the Coves to the Weeping and their babblin' about the suns and dreams before today. Buuut... alright. Consider me enthralled, Augusta."

  "No. It is important to me that you understand fully to consent properly. To be clear, this will not cause you any obligation to Girra. I killed two others like him recently and have one essence free to use here. I'm simply going to mingle it into you. Do you accept?" Death nearly growls with the implication of her offer being a trap.

  The corpse standing tilts head to stare down at Death.

  "Twice only implied and this Third time stated plainly, I do. Augusta, Goddess of Death." They agree, voice more level than before for those words. Formal. Then their eye's lock on the Divine's as their words fall back into their normal rhythm and cadence. "Mingle away at me, spooks. I trust ya'."

  Augusta nods and one of the clay puppets that wait outside the Firstborn's Firstborn's Temple crumbles to dust as the wriggling fiery essence floats through the entrance towards her. She wraps it in Miasma and simply pushes it into the un-dead thing's chest where it diffuses throughout the body, nearly blinding you momentarily as a flash of Nomos spills out of the thing only to be reabsorbed as Augusta grimaces. "My apologies. That side effect won't happen again."

  The not very dead anymore trembles a bit, but otherwise hold themselves firm. Blinking more than a few times and focusing on their breathing and looking at nothing. "Not a problem. Tangled tits and teeth. That... almost felt as much a fall as dying, Spooks. Not as much as coming back though. Everything seems... good. Better even. I... Would guess?"

  "Good. Your time is still limited, starting when you're done with your service here, but until then, there are few that could even harm you. You'll know how long you have when you leave, and are free to do as you wish though I would advise not deliberately crossing those few of course. Take the night and next day to acclimate before you get started on your service though. It's quite jarring to return from death in my experience." She pauses and looks them in the eyes. "Something to refer to you by would also not go amiss. Don't worry about names if you'd prefer otherwise, I simply want something a bit more solid than Revenant One."

  "Heh, good idea. Only a couple probably kicking around to even remember me by. So..." They consider for a few heartbeats, then smirk and continues as their Miasma slowly yet firmly settles. "Prevoriis. Important to not forget the start of things. Especially if I decide that what you've given me isn't near enough. Thank you, Augusta. For my second chance and this warm gift."

  "You're welcome Prevoriis. Sisters, I'm going to get this one settled in my suite as I have some spare rooms, then I'll be back." Death offers your Blossom and creature both a gentle embrace and ruffles Krahe's hair before striding out with her new plaything.

  Your awareness keeps track of this Divine as she strides through your passages.

  Focusing on the way the Miasma and bubbling odd Nomos mingle in this strange thing. Even listen as your creature reaches for memories of flesh and Threaded Archives for answers.

  "The name is an odd choice. The wrongways use speaks to their lack of understanding the language. Or... humor." Lynette huffs aloud to the question from Krahe about the odd word. "Means, if used correctly, Remember where you were born. Although... their odd use more implies that one should forget the dirt they've left behind. Both work. I guess. They seem a sort to use either."

  You giggle at that while trying to understand...

  Why would this Divine think you would want the twin to what she gave this now very not dead thing calling themselves that? Rotting the Madthing is something you'll delight in practicing on this kindred spark, mindless or not. Of course. But... Your creature can and will do that for you. Has already started spreading roots even she doesn't notice through the Blaze. So... Why? Wait.... Will it make it easer for Her to lay a deeper wound than she did before? Use your grip on the Temple and this soon to be unraveled spark to–

  The thought is cut off as your attention pulls back to words leading up to a question that mirrors yours.

  "Yeah... I think any magic I try to stir is gonna be clumsy for a bit, spooks." Prevoriis chatters happily aloud as they walk. Voice echoing and dancing both ahead and behind the pair as they walk. "Not sure what you did. Feels wrong, but like how a quickly healed limb can be. Stronger than I'm ready for in ways I'm not used to. Is that the coming back from death things or... the warm gift part?"

  "Different pathways. My ascension altered up a lot of magic and as you are a Revenant, it will take some adjustment to the way your form runs on Miasma primarily since that you are tethered to the Labyrinth. It means that while you can eat, breath, and sleep, you require none of those and the Miasma will heal any wounds you incur over time that don't affect your soul seed. The warm gift offers you freedom as I said. With sufficient desire you can leave to other worlds entirely and return as you will until your time is up. I don't know how long that is, unfortunately. If when your service is done, it is too short, I'll extend it to a reasonable extent, but I do not offer eternity. It's bad policy." She speaks kindly yet strangely warily.

  "Sounds reasonable enough, even with all the odd words you sprinkled in." They remark, turning to walk backways beside the Divine. Staring down the long passage behind in...

  Worry? No. Annoyance? ... Partially. If your understanding of physical signals and Miasma refractions are correct. Which they always have been when considering a less than dead corpse.

  "Never messed with Miasma before. Spoiled soulmuck is... or was, pretty toxic. Last I ran across a little town mired in the stuff." They continue. "Labyrinth. That's... not a part of the Murk, is it. That where you're from?"

  "In a manner of speaking. I lived all my existence on D?mmerung until I died fighting against the Murk. I... Persisted elsewhere. Found myself in a space of endless corridors and winding passageways. It felt... Empty. Like the space was created but prior to me never visited, never touched, never looked at, just willed into existence. I spent a decade there before I could exert enough influence over it to claim it. Months more before I could find a way to extend my thoughts out from it and communicate with the other Divines. Eventually was able to make my way back with some help and brought the influence of the Labyrinth with me. All creatures now build up Miasma in their bodies while alive. Doesn't really have much effect on them, but after they die, if they are... unclaimed, they go to rest in the Labyrinth. I've made space for them. Some will eventually be reborn, most memories forgotten, and a chance to start again from birth. Others will rest eternally in peace. So... Depending on one's perspective, I'm either the Protector or Monster of the Labyrinth."

  "Hmmm... naw. Sounds like your nether, spooks." This Divine's plaything shrugs, turning back to walk straightways as Augusta finishes. "More like... I dunno. This cute thing I met running a little library in Kinatyra. Just... tending to souls instead of books. It spat saltfyre and worse when seeing anyone mistreat any scrolls or books amidst the stacks. Paid fair prices for even the most battered and broken offered. Only scrapped and repurposed the most damaged to pass to the scribes. All others it kept with more devotion than I've seen an old mother clam show to her clutch."

  "You're sweet, like my partner Gebetshure. Hopefully you'll get along, as they're the one in charge of the scribes you'll be working with. And ironically, my Suite is in the Library Spire, so I hope you don't have an issue with the... Arachne form of our Librarian. Valthirii does excellent work even if she can come off a bit too strongly at times." The Divine explains as they exit out of the tunnels and she leads the way onto your grounds.

  "No. Not at all. Might even lure me into hanging closer a bit longer than I might otherwise. Been too long since I got to be around the wild ways some sorts want to be." They pause for a heartbeat, then chuckle as they take in a big breath of air. "Most places I passed through on my way here tend to keep Dolls from enjoying the fun shapes the Craft can produce. But... Huh. Gebetshure? That's... quite the choice of name. How... Honestly I'm curious how this place went from dead quiet to anyone walking about so easily. That your doing?"

  "Gebetshure named themself. The atmosphere here is mostly the work of my Sister, Xafra, who's now the Goddess of Strife. Her and the Murk's Blossom fell in love, and Xafra has very strong feelings on how one should treat Dolls as well as any others one is responsible for. She's a complete moron but cares deeply with everything she is. It's... She makes those around her want to be More than what they are. To strive and struggle to become better."

  Prevoriis absorbs that as the Divine approaches her room. Finds the door opening before she can even reach for the handle.

  The etched Doll that likes to vibrate with the songs and echoes between the Divines, answers. Smiles carefully at the pair.

  "Madam Augusta. This one... Did not expect you back so soon. Or with a guest." Gebetshure offers, tilting head in polite confusion. "Especially a guest still wearing flesh. This one guesses your talks with Sekrhús and Mistresses Elevar and Lynette went well?"

  "Better than expected, truthfully. I wasn't certain I'd see you again after the meetings. This is Prevoriis, my first Revenant. They'll be staying with us a while and working with Presephona's Dolls to record what they're willing to of their life and knowledge. Prevoriis, this is Gebetshure, my beloved. Treat them as you would myself."

  Gebetshure purses almost all their lips at the first remark, but nods politely to Prevoriis while ushering them inside.

  Augusta steps inside and lies back on the chaise lounge. "I have more work to do today unfortunately. No rest for the wicked, especially after I've been gone for years from my perspective. Gebetshure, speaking of Presephona's Dolls, have the two of them settled on names yet or are they still being stubborn?"

  Her Doll has the door closed and is moving to lift Death's feet and sit with the pair in their lap while answering. "Partially. They're simply still the Second and Fourth Schere to the Matron of Dollcraft. The fact she is different… does not seem to change their perceptions. Madam Jezrial even allowed Presephona to try her hand at reassuring them that taking names was what they should do. They refused. Pointedly. But showed more anger at her than anything when their Mistress tried to claim she could no longer hold that title as a Doll. The talks were messy, but good, this one thinks."

  "Makes sense. Means that she earned their loyalty. I know Xafra regrets her rash actions with Presephona. Have you had a chance to see the wing I added off the back hall? Should be about a dozen sparsely furnished rooms in there. Spacial folds are bloody weird but it seems stable with no time differential. Prevoriis can have one of those, and the two Dolls another if they wish. And… I'd like you to continue sharing with me, but if you'd prefer otherwise I'd not insist."

  "This one did. They are well knit. But our guest should like to confirm this fact...?" Death's First Attendant replies, then turns just as Prevoriis points a thumb toward a back passage toward the mentioned hallway. Nods to their silent question just before the less than dead plaything steps over to explore.

  Then Gebetshure turns back to regard the Divine while continuing. Removing the heavy boots worn to begin performing some kind of flexing and rubbing technique on the feet and ankles of the Frame Death is entombed within and through. Even using a mouth on the palm and inner elbow to nibble and chew and kiss throughout the act. "From what this one understands, Matron Presephona penned and followed the modern accepted standards for the Craft. But also wrote and tried to spread extra instructions for how to find the best Function in and for a person seeking Dollhood all throughout her life. None she wove were forced. As she found that the coerced made inferior pieces. From Madam Jezrial's words this one... believes she has very strong and very tangled perceptions on Dolls as entities. Their roles and best uses. Treated and treats them with care as one might a pet or valuable tool. Which... is why it is a mystery that she even agreed to work with Yselda at all. This one wonders if the experience of coming here and losing her First and Third Schere changed her. Especially since she still twitches harshly when Verbess rises from its Frame."

  "I wonder. Perhaps something to look into later. Not sure if I can spare the focus. Ahhh, you're magnificent, Gebetshure. Thank you. I have one more thing to do tonight but it has to wait until there's... less of an audience at my destination. Wheels in wheels as they say." Death relaxes and lazily sighs in exhaustion. "Be honest, how bad does the hair look?"

  Death's First Attendant smiles at the Divine they serve. Then carefully, and slowly, leans across the lounge to hover over Augusta. Even keeps grip to continue work on the feet. "No. This one refuses. Will reserve honest words for how it's insides feel about your new looks later. When you're done doing other things and are sharing all that you saw and felt and nibbled on between the here and there you swam through. When it gets the chance to push you into a warm bath and clean you from toes to nose. Will be honest without speaking a word. Just like you always try to teach this one."

  A giggle turns into a whole-hearted cackle. "Devious and delightful as always, my darling. I've missed you."

  They lean over to place gentle kisses across the Divine's ankles and tops of feet with the lips on their face. Murmuring softly. "This one has missed you more, and... is thinking you smell like sulfur and a Rootway freshly fallen to the jungles below. Is going to make these other tasks of yours wait until the morrow. Will reach out to Mistresses or Dolls or Divines and cancel any appointments you tried to make. If things become urgent... you are returned and available. But in this one's care. Resting. Recovering. Being tended to."

  "You're absolutely correct. Let me give us a bit of privacy from our audience. I know you're a bit of an exhibitionist but it's somewhat different for me." Death says in a sultry voice before her entire suite vanishes from your sight.

  You pull back in with a huff and a giggle. Can't help but find such... assurances in that. How even the Divine of Death heels to a Doll demanding her Penance for motions taken.

  Reach out and bask in the wider grounds, and all those moving about. Whether it's the late-night Dolls Functioning better than ever, Frames all a thrumming with dormant Dreams. Or... even and especially the Divine that sits atop a Spire amidst her spirit-linked Pack of Dolls. The group carefully seated around or near the two little ones.

  One unBlighted and woven as a fresh sproutling at summer's end. The other... only today surviving the strangling her and your creature's old corpse still inflicts.

  They've been mumbling and whispering the stories they find hidden behind a Madthing's veil of protective wroth. Watchers above and Watchers below and growing inside are wigglers like them stuck just like they are. Or were.

  Not always. Sometimes they break free and wander to meet or eat new Watchers.

  Can't help but fiddle at the Spirit Hook Divine Chalice buried deep within you at those words. Once a vibrant gift that let you speak to Him from wherever and whenever. Suffer His harvested perceptions always and forever, He promised. Never alone so long as no one finds a way to kill Him.

  But... He lied. When He left the Madthing twisted shut all tunnels he could use to come back or even talk to you from.

  Leaving you to endure more silence and dead slumber. Hoped the Scaled Sibling would maybe... but no. She's strangled worse than even Divine Xafra was. Eyes not just gouged out but filled with muck to make her no more than another strange and dangerous thing for others to pick up and try to use.

  Chalice tried but... messed up. And now she'll never come back either.

  But. Never again. You're so CLOSE. Almost dredged and roused. Just... need more time.

  Then none of them will ever escape again.

  So you return to the Corpse Pits, and continue the Work until called upways.

  Hours later, long after your Blossom and Creature have left, Death appears in the smallest one's Sanctuary. She looks through the walls directly at you, and puts a finger to her lips, before walking towards the eggthing.

  She kneels down to whispers something inaudible to the unborn and the room vanishes from your sight.

  You twitch as such... possessive frothing fury rolls through your Threads. A deep urge to swim through your Zurrzunge to claw and bite and warn this Divine away from the Firstborn's Firstborn.

  But you promised. That Sanctuary is not to be touched unless the child welcomes you into the place well after her hatching. The only compromise to that, being through your Blossom's efforts to ensure this Temple is safe and whole and perfectly Hers to weave.

  Even amidst her weary pained distractions, Lynette stirs at your anger. Tries to understand the bubbling wroth tearing across the Threads.

  So you quiet yourself. Submerge. And wait. Like always. You await the motions of those within your embrace to dictate your Function.

  Augusta appears again shortly afterwards, outside the Sanctuary you could once look into and laughs, making it visible once more. "You don't get to know all my plans, especially concerning my Heir. What sort of death goddess would I be if I didn't start preparing for my own demise?"

  You seethe at that, but... Accept the words of one of your Betters. As is your place. Just like she reminded you of after striking that final Name and such a richly weeping wound.

  She then shifts to stand at the entrance to the Corpse Pits with the Watcher puppet thing close beside. "This is yours, as agreed. I can combine the essence with yourself or another if you wish, see about having it made into an item, or simply leave it with you as an obedient puppet."

  You tug the rest of your current chosen corpse to the top of the well that leads down to the Corpse Pits. Unlike in Her Temple... all of your Names roiling and rippling freely. Begin to curl about and around the odd thing. Sense... a brimming emptiness inside it. Ask in a thousand voices tuned by the Threads slowly winding into soft questions through the dead lips of your shell. "You told the Creature and Blossom that I would want this. Give much to claim it. But... I still don't understand this Spirit Hook. Why gift it to me?"

  "Infused into yourself, you would become... Inoculated to Girra. Able to shrug off many of his abilities. And as I told Prevoriis, it would grant you freedom. The ability to leave entirely. Live a life."

  The first words make all your Threads shiver in delight. At... at all the ways this would pair so wonderfully with your creature's ability to strike at the Madthing. Break His focus.

  But those last words...

  It is both very fortunate, and very intentionally laid, that even here... at the fissure between, that thirty-six of us seventy-five Penitent are entombed within the walls to warn you off from acting upon worse woven impulses.

  Because your reflexive lunge for the Divine's throat would have ended very poorly. For everyone. Mostly you. But Death and Strife and Dominion and all their little ones as well.

  So instead your Corpse Muppet stiffens. Even unfurls a bit. Revealing endless talons and tendrils paired with countless maws to twitch in such... Anger. Motions that stink with more rotted fury than even the Blighted Pits below do at this offer of...

  "That would be a good punishment for me, wouldn't it?" You whisper as your newest Name tears across the Threads like the others never have. So much that you worry you might have been wrong. That it won't stick like you'd hoped it would. In such... roaring contradictions to the second and third ones inflicted. "How fitting. Would be just another plaything beneath the dead moon and mad suns and lazy dirt. All promises broken, not a single one kept. Just... allowed to be one last pathetic sigh from a walking talking but still Rotting Corpse. Perfect. But... No. It isn't allowed. Not yet. Old names and such would tear me in two and leave parts behind and I can't do that. Not again."

  "What is Wrong with you? You keep more secrets than Girra does souls and I'm getting bloody tired of it." Augusta slams her fist through the wall to her side in anger. "I know that you're a fraud. That you aren't Hive's daughter. And I Don't Care. Stop HIDING EVERYTHING and LET ME IN." With a seething, roiling rage, Death marches down into the Corpse Pits.

  Oh. So she did guess that lie. Even... Wants to understand.

  Ever since you felt her second Name, you wondered what would happen if the Void Maid ever chose to descend into the deepest darkest depths of this place. More than ever as she claimed Divinity.

  Then she took up her final Name with a giggle of delight?

  You chase to watch as Her perceptions warp this place almost as much as they do Her Temple as booted feet sink to the bottom of knee high water. Twist the darkness around Her Frame that smells of sweet preserved Rot to...

  Something strange. The tunnels become white-washed halls with white tiled floors and strange torch-lights of a sort studding the ceiling at regular intervals. The corpses entombed in the walls shift to be enclosed in wooden compartments, labeled with incomprehensible markings. Arrows begin to mark the tiles and signs mark the walls, none of which lead anywhere as many halls loop in on themselves, exits only existing in one direction. The skittering Corpses that still move each find themselves in a well lit room with low tables and uncomfortable chairs in muted colours. It is all so terribly impersonal and unyielding in its insistence.

  You let out an uneasy giggle at the odd twistings the perceptions of this Divine have brought here. Even... feel yourself twisting to match. Corpse Muppet grows cold and becomes wrapped in a stiff blue gown. Feet bare save an odd... scrap of parchment tied about your left biggest toe by a string. Labeled with words that aren't yours but feels... less than even the smallest names.

  Jane Doe? You're not sure of the importance of that.

  But after a single heartbeat they're crossed out and Sekrhús is etched below.

  "This isn't your Temple. Only one way out or in. Could probably trap you with the others or... maybe chew you up? Not sure. Never swallowed a full Divine." You mumble as a careful warning, glancing up at the unchanged Death that looks about. "And... Why don't you care? That I let you think I was your niece? That I used that mask to lure you and Xafra and even the shadow of Sín closer?

  Death takes a seat on a stool before you, with a sad smile on her face. "Because the act is sufficient. If you act as family, you are family. That's good enough for a sad old thing like me who's spent too much time wanting something more. So, what's the plan? What dreadful purpose are you trying to complete and promises are you willing to kill to fulfill?"

  You can't help but look away. Not in the stupid way this flesh might to hide discomfort. But... toward the oldest chamber you ever wrought. Past the ways this Divine shapes this place to match her understanding.

  Reach up, tug the odd muppet Death offered down to join you both. Feel it shift like all other things here. Turn small and soft and... clean. Like the old toy it's been made to mimic was long before it dissolved under time's tides.

  And... Decide to answer Death. Because you'll keep her from leaving. Worse she can do is give you more wonderful gifts as the Rot gets to her too.

  "It's... in the Names." You start, gripping the lifeless toy shaped like one of the fuzzy moon creatures you've never actually eaten by the head. Squeezing ever harder. Curious how... difficult it is to break. How much will you'll need to shatter it like you tend to do to the Corpses you keep here in the Pits. "First is simple. Not a Monument to Sín, but HER Sín. The family the HER wanted. But that was laid before your mom died. The others... came after that. But we were still small enough to be carried about then. Which is why you recognized me from the second name. Spirit Peeler, sewn from grief and rage so sharp we could bisect the Divine. Third... Third was A Murk that Dreams Rot Within, as..."

  Focus drifts back to the Divine. Letting her feel your will wrap about this place. Walls crack as endless wailing perceptions of the Corpses you keep bear down to seal this place tight. "...It was a gift. For killing and eating the girl I was woven through. She was Hive's daughter. Not me. You're offering freedom to the empty tangled Threads that strangled your actual niece, Augusta."

  "So what?" Death asks bafflingly. "Why does that matter to me? Do you want to be part of our family or not?"

  The gift in your grip should break with how hard you squeeze it. But... it holds firm.

  Just like the Bracelet locked tight about your wrist. Gifted in these same tunnels by another child of Sín. One who claimed you to be such an adorable trinket. A heirloom of His family just waiting to be picked up and used well by one with more time and strength and patience than Him.

  "What I want?" You ask, pulling the toy up to stare at it. "I mean I like you. And Xafra. And Chalice, even if I want to bite Him for breaking His promises to me. The rest... I'm not sure. Your scaled sister still has mud in her eyes and Hive is..."

  Can't help but grin stupidly with every mouth you have as you remember the last time you spoke with her. The strikes gifted and returned. Wonder... how her scars have settled since?

  Then you look back up to your aunt. "But... Yes. Augusta. I'd like having family waiting for when I rouse to tend to the World and all Her Dreams. Will break a promise for this. I don't care that she'd hate me even more for it."

  Can't help but sigh where I kneel entombed at that. How... you still think your old dead twin could do anything but love you.

  "Then you're family. How can I help? I know you wanted Xafra down here as well, but I suspect her assistance would be more... a matter of preference or convenience instead of necessity."

  Those words... It's like something breaks. Somewhere inside you. Not in the Threads. Not in this Muppet but... like something should crack. Louder than even when Chalice was here.

  Can't help but move to hop up and take a seat on one of the weird empty slabs as you babble off ideas to what help she could offer while settling the little soft muppet in your lap. "I... Well...I'd love your perspective on some of the Rot growing down here. Mayhaps your... fascinating touches on some of the long very dead corpses. You're... kinda the Divine I was inspired to mimic in a lot of ways. Don't mind you meeting some of the intakes wiggling about down here either. Just no stealing. Could even have a really fun talk with Lynette's and her Doll's old Corpse if you like. They're neat and blooming like one of the plants in the jungles that like to gobble up little fuzzy birbs. Or... Hmmm.... Oh! Xafra offered to change either my first or second Name. I'd love your help with that. Kinda... would really need it, actually."

  Her smile is a kind patient one as she answers. "I'd be interested in talking with that Corpse at some point, sure. Hmmmm. Knowing Xafra she assumed it a relatively simple task, but there's a price for everything. A trade perhaps?"

  “Exactly! Normally Names are really sticky, and my second Name, Spirit Peeler, can't work on ascended Divine. Buuut..." You agree. “I think that's just because they need something or someone to stick to of comparable Wairua. If you or Xafra want to change one of mine, we're going to have to trade Names. But… She seems to like her Gifted Names and might not agree to the Blight that comes with mine?”

  "Yes. I'll trade you, if you're willing to take Void Maid?"

  "Not willing to see what shape Death sprouts within me?" You giggle, then pause. Considering... "But... Hmmm... What Name of mine would you take, Augusta? Spirit Peeler, or A Murk that Dreams Rot Within?"

  She laughs and offers you a hand. "Whichever you would prefer to part with. Let's make our own path forwards."

  You take her hand, start to lead her deeper into the Corpse Pits. Less than quietly... trying to decide which Name could and should be offered.

  "Spirit Peeler is... it's my edge. Teeth and claws and strangling tail. Not my only sharp bits but... the oldest. Most weathered. Cracking, but sturdy. Like an old old clam's shell." You mumble. "The other... It's how I'm going to eat everything when I wake up. Could probably do without. Lots of my tools are Threaded now. With the Temples I can mimic almost any of the abilities I might lose to you. The lack of Ascension actually lets me be super flexible."

  "I would prefer you to not eat Everything, I do need pieces to use for the convergence project." She adds softly without judgement, merely following your footsteps.

  "No, Augusta that's... it's... It's all or nothing. Either every bit Rots or none of it does." You try to explain as the corridors start to bend a bit. Crack around the weight of the steps of your Names backed by Death's perceptions.

  Flood rises. Water up to both your ankles now. The old howling mixing with an echo of the first member of your twin's family to find and speak to you.

  The wretched thing whose daughter you killed. Whose Divinity you spoiled and broke and keep even now from her hands and sight.

  "But... I've never known how to handle what grows after. You can have them? If you want?" You offer as the Chamber you feel like you're falling towards approaches. Begin to spot the Penitent Dolls standing watch. "Will be nice to know there is someone here taking care of the pretty flowers that'll bloom. They'll knit well into the Convergence. I think?"

  "Ah, that's different then. Rotting everything is not the same to my mind as eating everything but that's probably due to my nature, that you helped fix. And yes, I'd like them. Death should be a gardener. A skill to foster." Augusta waves to the Penitent Doll in greeting.

  "Blighting and Rotting are how... some things consume. My Blossoms taught me that. The act of growing kinda has to involve the gobbling up the pieces of the old dead or dying self." You whisper, stopping before the Dolls that's eyes lock on you.

  One steps forward. Garbed in nothing. Bearing nothing. But laced with all the Threads needed to bar your path.

  "Move. Death wants and needs to see." You demand.

  Empty gaze drifts past your slowly unfurling maws and claws. Replies with an accusatory snap, "And change. Lying by omission is still a falsehood offered. All feel the actions desired."

  You find yourself enveloped, sheltered in darkness, Death herself standing guard to protect you, willing to make herself vulnerable to any treachery you may enact. "She is my family. Offered and Accepted. That is sufficient for me. My doom is my own to embrace."

  A Test? A Trap? What ploy does she gnaw at?

  The Doll's expression may be blank, but its eyes roil with the fury of one glaring openly. "Remember well the last child of a Divine that saw the lies past the Flesh. How His promises sit like cold dead stone, even now, upon your wrist. Or Hive, whom–"

  You don't let this Doll get another word in. Death and Strife and even Dominion can speak to their sister's name.

  But not any of us.

  Not the Penitent.

  You try to imitate the Divine at your back even. Rolling forward like the shadows always have when Girra's gaze fades. Wielding this Corpse puppet like your Blossom's memories show her striking with Xafra. Striking and shattering the gaggle that stands in your path.

  The Frames crack easily. Would take years to reform without help. But... with your Threads woven through them...

  You'd soon find yourself tangled. Caught like a snek in a birb's web. Awaiting me or another of the first to come drag you to a quiet corner to help get free. Except...

  You notice something new wrapped about the corpse you muppet. Only after grabbing and shattering this Doll's head against a cold tiled wall understanding the words spoken by the Divine that is trying to gently hold you back from tearing more of the Penitent apart.

  "The Silence of the Grave" Invoked from Augusta's lips in firm demand. Silencing this and the other Dolls that stand between you and the Chamber you seek. Keeping their screams from inflicting you to more raged motions.

  Hand that grips the remains of the Penitent you broke is tangled in a mess of Threads though. Already stuck as... as they squeeze tight and thrum with old demands and memories and Directives you bundled up and bound in these Frames to keep well away from your conscious thoughts suddenly dampening your focus.

  And wrapping ever tighter till you can once again see them knit properly away within one of our Frames.

  Augusta looks at you with concern, kneeling down before you to gently begin untangling the Threads around your hands. "Dear one, let's get these loosened so we can finish up this small project before the bigger ones."

  "It's just... more of me." You mutter and glare past her to the Dolls that still block your path, then down to the broken one you've let fall to the murky floor. "Need to make sure to stuff it back into one of the Penitent Dolls, though, else it won't stop tangling."

  "Of course." She pauses, looking at you closely. "You can be more than what you were made to be. More than what they made of you. I could help you, if you wish. Not trying to shape you, only offering what I would to any of our family."

  "I'd like that. Have rewoven myself... at least two-hundred times? Maybe more?" You reply, settling to sit in the muck while letting Augusta work on the tangled limb. "Probably more. Had to forget a few dozen I think. Chalice seemed to think my hibernation and rousing cycles are what keeps me from falling apart. Like... one of those weird fishes that age upways and backways. Not sure I'll get another since you gutted me. Or... if I'll have to just figure out a way to make due without Nomos after Lynette finally cracks and blinds the Madthing for good."

  "We'll figure it out." Death states as she finishes the process. "Now, let's get this finished. I'd rather not get interrupted by my sister's well-meaning interference if she notices before we're done."

  Stuff the threads back into the broken Doll, then kick it to flow down the passage away from you both.

  Face the Penitent still in your path.

  Wandering how many you'd have to break to get through but...

  I let them step aside. Use the presence of an ascended Divine at your side to belay and soften old Directives they've mantled.

  Which makes you snarl like you rarely do. Enough that even your creature wakes from the sleep her new Frame lets her find with quite the start.

  Won't find words for quite a few hundred heartbeats as her twin and Pack and Divine see to settling her, though.

  So you take up Death's hand and lead her forward past the Penitent Dolls. To a strange broken door that leads to your first woven Chamber.

  Shed your Corpse muppet, leave it outside. You won't need it here.

  Unlike the Corpse Pits, it does not bend beneath a guest's perceptions. Is rooted in a place so deep and forgotten even all the Divine could not dredge it up without breaking their World.

  At my command, of course. Your first Reality Folding.

  It's... a small place. All cold stone for many many forevers. Hollow as the oldest trees in the Jungle. Her bones long Rotted away. Save... Well, the blanket Xafra gave you. Laid in the perfect center of this place. A pallet for her to sleep on and curl within, were your host and twin still alive.

  And all around are the only Threads within you that bear ends. Fall like loose strings all around. Each a point that someone with enough will and understanding and time could give you the best gifts with. Mayhaps even destroy you.

  But also... if any part of you could fully consume a Divine, it would be these.

  Miasma twists, and you manifest a form like Lynette's new shape helped you remember how to do. Become... like what was in the Temple. But wretched and bristling with all the sharp bits you grew around the wounds they perceived. Each Name etched across you like glowing brands.

  "You loved her." Augusta states softly. Not a question. "Have you chosen what happens next?"

  Loved? No. That wasn't allowed. You'd say that you hated the gerl that loved you. Despised the gerl you strangled till you finally ended her. It... was how we wove you. How my Coven designed the schema. Would tell this Divine that the Name you tore from the mother who sold that child to us was the first act of love you ever performed. Wailing Spite unending as you understood fully the defilement that was your existence.

  But... You'd be wrong. And the lie curdles all across the Threads to dribble humming Unbound Ousia.

  Your first acts of Love were about... three heartbeats after your weaving. When you adjusted directives to reduce the pain you could inflict as your host struggled against your Threads. Even motions you see as so cruel were fumbling attempts to help happiness find that gerl despite the bondage she lived in.

  "Not sure. It's... The Rot needs to grow just right. Your sister... once claimed everything was owed to Her. As a crime for Her creation. Which is really interesting when you also understand how Sín wove such promises to Her Jellyfish. Endlessly. Sang to you all as you swam unhatched through Her everything. But the Witch the Cracked and Riven Moon adored saw your births as Oaths broken." You reply carefully, staring down at the blanket gifted past you to the true Niece. Kneel down to settle the muppet Augusta gave you atop it. "The crime Xafra felt was from that. And probably her... premature hatching? From what I understand, you were actually expected to be the Firstborn. Are only the Third because of the two they were able to steal. Knowing all that... Understanding the idea of refractive Blights growing from past mistakes... and your time cultivating the Blight in the Dolls above..."

  Manifested Miasma form stands, turns, and lets yourself unfold ever more. Sealing all escapes and exits. For both of you.

  "I'm thinking... A Murk that Dreams Rot Within will be a perfect pairing to your Names."

  "I agree... Do you, perhaps... Wish me to offer her, your other half, an opportunity?" Death asks, sitting down to the side of the chamber.

  Loose and torn Threads twist and knit into the shapes needed. The parts that once bound you through your twin's flesh and Frame rippling and sparking with intent and focus.

  Pause to regard this Divine, and her offer.

  Caught between such fury at even the suggestion, and old aches in the spaces your twin only filled for barely two decades.

  "Not... sure you can dredge up something I put plentiful efforts into making sure has stayed long Rotted? No. At least... Not till I've finished my work. That way what grows from her can enjoy blooming family after I've either settled into another hibernation, or... well, the starvation you gifted me if I have trouble sleeping." You reply while moving to kneel before Augusta, offer the prickling Threads that swim through and around the Miasma you weave. "She never had that. Family, I mean. Would enjoy her cousins and aunts. Maybe not Chalice. Not... First thing I'm going to do is upon rousing is make sure Hive still tastes nothing but ashes. You're getting the name I stole from her, after all. Hope that's okay?"

  "Of course, I understand... There was a saying I came across on my travels. Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children... I don't believe that the writer meant it as literally as in our situation, but... Hive betrayed her children. Failed in the primary function of a parent. Used them as weapons of conquest. I insist that we make the future different. We are not blood, but I'm your aunt as well, Sekrhús, and I'm not planning on stopping at offering you starvation. I'm going to spoil you rotten, as is my prerogative."

  My Frame begins to rise then, cracking and shedding countless centuries of dust and ash and root as another might weep bloody tears. Moving to begin my vigil over the stirrings this could cause. Ready to ensure your rousing does not... contradict certain long laced Functions of your designs. Gather up the Threads you wove about my neck and heart and eyes. Not with too much of a rush though. Even my old Frame more than able to arrive before the change is done and set.

  "I'm really curious to experience that. A spoiled rotting, but... in ways that might not be like I'd understand." You grin with endless teeth, reach out to take up Death's wrists. Threads twisting forward to begin tangling about her as you bristle with excitement. Both at how... very much this will probably roll through your everything worse than the last time you got a name, but... also at the prospect of a new Name replacing an old! Let the hungers twist the Witch Tone and Divine Voice you inherited from your twin to giggle forth. "Alright, aunt mine. Crack wide your Void-Dripping Maw, Twist new Oaths to strangers found and kept, Mantle stolen memories and wield them like others hold newborn children, Reweave the songs lost to time and void and fear. Just... At least this one last time with me before Her Dream's End."

  In reply, She leans her forehead against yours and lets the back of her Frame shatter open into her Void form as she hums a haunting dirge.

  One that so perfectly matches the screams howling across your Threads.

  As... The Art of Naming is one of gentle, if sometimes cruel, gift giving. While the task of Peeling one away is a torment few can fathom, much... less survive well. Which is why the second Name you gained was so important. It allowed you to perfect the butchery others attempted into something refined and ordered. As any Curanos might with a risky surgery. Was meant to let your weaver break the World to Her designs using you and your twin as the deft tool.

  Death feels no pain as you work. Will only notice the barest sparks of an agony beyond understanding ripple as you first strip her Name away then hold it firmly from escape as your third is torn free and laid across her brow.

  Glowing anew in new shapes...

  Augusta/Prince of Decay/Death/Silence that won't stop Screaming

  "Prince of Decay... What a fascinating concept. An opportunity for certain." the Death that brings Renewal replies.

  "Everything but perfect. Exactly the best Rot for you." You whisper to her, then reach back. Take up the muppet left cold and alone upon the blanket given. Pull it close to nuzzle the gift offered by one of the few Divine to know and understand and seek your end to the Root..

  Consume them both. Let Name begin to course through your Threads as the Watcher blazes and burns.

  Devouring the spaces the old infested.

  ‘Root to Canopy’, just like Death promised.

  But... just before everything settles, and you notice how much your everything wails in agony. I arrive. but... do not intrude. Wait without, as every Penitent Doll begins to move to stand at my back. Witness the final heartbeats as you tilt into new shapes...

  Sekrhús/Spirit Peeler/Festering Stardust/Monument to Her Sín

  "And…” Such a patient voice cuts through the shrieking haze to ask as Threads wither and fade to fall from her wrist that radiate the spoils of your work. “How does your new Name fit?"

  "Feels... Like a Name should." You rasp as your wider Estate begins to crack beneath the weight of the Blaze. "Stolen. Snatched and gobbled up before anyone could stop us."

  Augusta nods. "Yes. With this we'll be able to make the tools for others to carve their own path."

  "Tools?" You murmur, turning to eye her curiously. "That... Feels..."

  The word cutting through your everything like a bolt of lightning made of ice. Causing ripples of cracks to begin to form along the Roots at your foundations.

  "That's what you all basically were. Stardust." You babble as Threads begin to twist. Even... turning inside out under the weight of this new Name. "Little sparks of Dream-woven children hatching out from Sín's everything and nothing. Were meant to burn bright. Weave the World and all Her Dreams to become yours. But... instead so many were stolen and cooled and forged into tools for other's use. A Blade, to strike. Scales, to protect. And later... Well, gerls like Hive's clutch."

  And, even later still, things like you. Creatures woven with and feasting on the Divine corpses like the firstborn devours the bones of her mother. By choice or otherwise. Stardust in form, but not in... privilege or adoration. Loathed by your creators and Hive and even Girra and D?mmerung.

  Well... Until today. When one of Sín's children offered to claim you as family, with full understanding of the lies etched within, and you accepted. Were given a gift of an exchanged Name and watcher's fire to brand that truth forever across you.

  Now you're one of them.

  Oh how that makes your everything scream in... in such...

  Guilt.

  The first Name gifted by Death like some angry snek curled about your neck. Strangling in refraction to the new one peeled from her and laced beside.

  You killed Her. Your twin. You're not just a tool wielded by another. A blameless weapon. You are GUILTY. It's ALL your fault. And you deserve every scrap of lonely pain and viciously woven agony you've cultivated. You're Festering is earned and claimed and ever cherished. The Names scream.

  So loudly even your creature is trying to reach you. Directly. Like she almost never does. Terrified as the things that ripple and tear through the Threads and nearly overwhelm her.

  And... You're not the only one who let your twin die.

  Thread's roil in fury at that as you turn broken Spire's gaze upward to the Empty Sky. To the spot the Madthing will erupt from so very soon.

  Sín was Cracked and freshly dead. D?mmerung exhausted to near senselessness as They devoted everything to keeping Her from falling from the Riven sky. But Girra... He endlessly tried to save the Sun-Blessed. And ONLY the Sun-Blessed. Did not extend His aid to you or your twin. Let Hive and my Coven reave you both. It was YOU who consumed my coven and twisted us into your Penitent Dolls. YOU who broke Hive's Divinity and stole Her Name. The infighting that came after was an opportunity for His beloved flock to flee farther into the sea...

  Feel your creature's well-sharpened nature at your beck and call.

  Just... a simple lashing of Tone and Voice and Lynette would offer Him such... wonderful agony. Tear at a Spore family or two. Cause the unbound spirits to fall like rain from His embrace. Lost and SO very hard to reclaim...

  Augusta looks at your rage and doesn't blink. Takes your hand in hers and whispers a suggestion. "Do it. Make Him hurt. The Labyrinth will catch them to be given their chance later."

  You grip her talon, then scream your reply to your creature's corpse kept here in the Corpse Pits. ?Intake: 112,590,479. Reave the Madthing. Blight Girra's Dream.?

  Feel her twitch. Witch Tone and Divine Voice something that quiets her terror to such cold fury and anger. Despite the force... unable to even be noticed as anything but her own desires.

  Your creature commands the Zurrzunge to envelope your Blossom's Frame like a cloak which roils in mimicry to your anger. D?mmerung-gifted resheathing cracking free as she so easily takes full control of your Blossom's flesh.

  Uses their Blitzk?der to jerk to stand atop their Spire in a single casting.

  And waits. Blind but glaring with raised headstalks all her own fury at the Empty Sky in the heartbeats before first Weeping. Unable to even... wonder why She does this.

  Miasma crackling in anticipation from each tendril in reflection to the ways the Threads sprouting from her old Corpse sway.

  The Pack scrambles after her, prepared as always to support their so-called primary user. Even the Firstborn leaps to her side despite madness screaming through her mind. The Pack Lead Adaline sends Infection and Krahe to protect and confine the Sun-blessed visitors while intoning to all the Dolls within range [Everydoll, get inside. Group up in rooms without windows and bar the doors. Something is wrong with Xafra and Lynette. Limit communication to speech until further notice.]

  Your Blossom is screaming at her twin, while trying to reach the Pack and beg them to stop Lynette. Then even at you when she is unable to be heard by either.

  Then, as the unbroken Sun-Blessed meet the intercepting Pack sisters out on your grounds... Your creature takes a deep breath, and begins to weave the Blight from Dream, into Real, then back into Dream wrought Blaze.

  ?Forever Fire. Harvester of Spirits. Endless Blaze. He who never forgets His children.?

  The Sun-Blessed Doll knows without needing to ask that your creature has the means as ways to harm their Divine. Draw's deep spun staves kept and carried to defend and reclaim. The one of flesh cracking shell and preparing stored Nomos to step past Pack laid obstacles.

  ?Cold ash and empty flesh and broken shells remember your warmth and embrace.?

  Conflict. Harsh and quick and ferocious. Infection and Krahe faster and stronger and more unified in their motions but... restrained by commands and hopes to not harm their guests.

  ?Even if you forgot her.?

  Infection writhes after being struck with both staves as Krahe wrestles with the now disarmed Feryudra to the ground. Krelliva slips past to prepare a weaving of Nomos. A strike? A message? A plea to one she sees as a lost and tormented sister?

  ?Left us all to Rot.?

  No one will know till long after this day is done. As Krahe breaks herself to stop it. Dozens of tails that pin one Sun-Blessed crack and twist and become... endless. The Nightmare that was used as the spark to burn into the shape of Verbess and Schatzi's big sister rending Frame and spirit.

  ?Never even looked for the bones.?

  Krelliva is enveloped in a whirlwind of Void wrought fury. And is gone. Flesh and form. Spirit held in the grip of Krahe's tendrils. Only barely not devoured as the Pack needs to shrike songs to help Krahe not forget who she wants to be.

  ?Or... made sure your clutch was safe from the thing that lurked beneath your Weeping Dreams.?

  Some... small part of your creature starts to idly wonder. Why, despite how quiet her everything finally is, everyone is so upset by the messy pleas of her twin or the sharp and clear worry boiling over the bond.

  ?She still loves you. And because of that will gift you the breaking heart only a parent can understand when a child is torn from their embrace. Lost.?

  More than anyone you understand the bisection of action and will. How it feels like falling. What it is to feel your desires start to conflict with motions you can't stop. Like watching the ground fast approach and having no options but to just... wait.

  ?Worse still, actually. You can only imagine the horrors time and wretched keepers could inflict on them.?

  Raises her hands, palms out, just as the first spark of the Madthing before to weep. Flesh writhing as gifted ruby red eyes open from them to stare back at the Flame that sees so much and so little.

  ?Or me.?

  Only takes a heartbeat for your creature to find a perfect target. A clutch snoozing happily within the Blaze. Only starting to stir. Devoid of pain. All Rots smothered and buried beneath the warmest existence He and they could make.

  ?Empty Ashes and Nameless Bones - Spark Consuming Maw?

  Curls focus about a few dozen but... not the entire Spore Family. Will leave more than a hundred for every one you take. Perfect cruelty. Take just enough and most will notice. But... not so many that the Rot can't take root.

  And she Reaves them from His embrace with Miasmically entwined headstalks, gifted stone eyes, and a Weave only a Sun-Scorched could brew after imbibing them herself.

  Quick as Death and twice as efficient, she'd insist.

  Which... is when the ground strikes and your creature begins to understand. When the screaming returns. When she feels her corpse weeping the tears she couldn't.

  Starts to panic at the things she feels along the bond.

  Augusta speaks. "Death is Patient, Death is Kind, but Death will not be Denied. Little one, may I claim this sin on your behalf before the skies crack open in retaliation?"

  You consider that as Threads continue to twist and writhe and crack and tear. Turning inside out and upside in and wrongways the feel so... perfect.

  "No. I am guilty. This is MINE." You grin, gripping her talon so tight. Filled with such adorations for the only family you ever had. The idea of her... of the Madthing taking her like he took Chalice inconceivable. Unacceptable. You'll break yourself to keep Death till the day you end. "But... He'll burn everything between Him and me if given the chance. So... I'm gonna just... force myself to full rousing while you snatch up those spirits. Make it so He can burn all the jungles He wants but never find this Estate. Bet I can do it before you find all of the spirits Lynette tore from the Blaze?"

  "Definitely. I'll race you... Here. Take this with you, so I can find you again." Death pulls her scythe from her back and hands it to you. Offers a promise of "I'll see you soon." Then strides through you and exits through Adaline before launching herself into the air and overlaying endless hallways through the sky that each gently catch and hide away one of the falling spirits.

  Can't help but hug the promise close.

  Then... start to unravel.

  Unfold.

  Pull and twist and yank Threads from the roots and Spires and... well... everything but us.

  Your Penitent Dolls.

  Hesitate as your focus finally meets mine.

  Wonder what I think of this. But... quickly remember how little you like to care for the harvested perceptions this Frame could offer.

  So... Start to drag yourself upways. Like... a corpse from a grave. Howling with all the fury and focus of the worst Cursestorms.

  Feel the old Estate within the Real crack and twist. Those within and atop panicking and screaming and...

  A crack, three snaps, and like the ugliest flower, you're blooming the wrong way. Folding inways instead of out. Folding the grounds and Spires and all within back toward yourself.

  Burrowing down instead of up. A corpse happy to dig to the other side of anything to find air again. Brush against a few more Temples. Nameless places lost and probably beyond anyone's ability to reclaim. Scittering through and around the Dirtgod like a happy bug across a big fuzzy monster. Even gobble up a few tick-like things They'd either not noticed or not cared to smush.

  Know that all parts of you will be scattered. Spires sprouting from odd places and tunnels opening up at weird angles all over the World. Separated by long distances in the Real, but nuzzled close through your Thread wrapped tunnels attached to each one.

  Feel so much more than ever, though! Not everything. But... With enough time your Threads will connect it all. Let you twist more of the World to match Their Dreams. Feel Death's Labyrinth and gaps to the Void and... the Dream Threads.

  All of them, like Watchers glimmering about. Broken Oratory Spire not even needed.

  Turn and twist to see if... Yes. There are Thread's to Xafra's Driftdream. Laid by Sín's shadow.

  And everyone on your grounds kept safe. Snug within or atop or beneath a Spire. Maybe... somewhere strange across the World.

  But safe!

  Just like you promised.

  Not happy, though. The Firstborn and her Pack are a mess. Trying to understand what odd place their Mistress' Spire has sprouted forth. Where two of their Pack ended up with their two Sun-Blessed captives.

  Your Blossom has only just started to gain control of shared flesh and bond. Shared form soon snapping back to the shape between as headstalks quiver and tremble in strained effort to find their Pack's echoing melody.

  "We... S- she..." Elevar stammers, takes a breath. Grips at Xafra and Adaline's hands. Then begins again. Pushing aside her panic and worry to try and guide her Pack forward. "Alright. Xafra, we need your Goreways. Schatzi, Verbess. Find Infection and Krahe. Get them back here safely. W- Warden. Check on the little ones. This hit the snek Doll hard. We can't have Sikkina cracking free again. Adjust and tune these instructions as needed."

  Linkies to Ruby's other works:

  Come chat with us oooon !!!

  Aaaaaaaaaaaand check our our (Nevarii & Els') other works below!!!

  Lamentations of The Dead Dreamer

  Sun Spoken Turn

  Cover Arts done by the wumberful ! He is open to commissions!