Private Roots

The Sun was sustenance. Sweeter this morning, spiced by ozone and woodsmoke. And while she wasn't mad enough to dub it Ko, it called to her nonetheless. Still remembered the first time she thought of light as food. Seemed crazy back then. Today...today it was just another truth you learned to accept with age.

She heard when they started calling her Treelady. Suppose it made sense. Even her own name refashioned - Juniper. Because some afflictions didn't need to hurt. And because some enemies would act reckless if they thought her sentimental, mad. And she was, all of these things. But more than anything else, she was worried.

First and Third didn't like each other enough to mediate their conflicts. So it always fell to her. That gave her power, yes – but it also gave her a terrible responsibility. For all three of them were going mad. They were still lucid enough to talk about it. But they were all blighted as it came.

The imperial sporecharges nearly ended the War of Secession – because most people knew to die when hit. The three of them weren't as educated.

Bones always moved strangely. The Guard had been a klutz in life, so it made sense that the flesh kept the trait when it shed the soul. Because clumsy lives spawned clumsy legs. You were what you did, after all. Took him longer than acceptable to bring the goblet to her lips. Saltcopper liquid ran down her throat, reminding flesh to be flesh. A small bit of vanity. Because she did have the most beautiful singing voice.

She started practicing the Guard doing everything for her. Limbs still obeyed, but she was starting to notice the stiffening.

Her bare foot could feel the water, deep underground. Her body was yet to dig into the soil for nourishment, but her toes still played with the grass, eager. The Bark was never her personal garden, but everyone knew her love for it. And as her form changed, they realized it held a tree too many. That, perhaps, they didn't enjoy spending time there after all.

It had belonged to people once. Belonged to her now. What remained of her belonged to Garthvine.

"Fen...please, don't."

Fray was kneeling on the cobblestones, held down by chains. She'd been imprisoned this way long enough for the ache in her knees to grow unbearable and her shivering from the evening chill ever more violent. Metal rattled with each convulsion. But still, she pleaded. He was her twin, her eternal other half. Surely, he would listen. Would see the horrible error of what he was about to do.

"I have to," he murmured, brow lined in concentration. "There is no other way."

She shouted in frustration, her anguish reverberating across cold, unfeeling stones. "That's fucking bullshit and you know it. And for what? For someone who won't even love you? You would abandon our entire family, abandon me, for one stupid, ungrateful bitch?!"

She was furious now, and desperate. Time was draining away faster than it had any right to. She knew in her bones that her brother wasn't going to change his mind. He wasn't the type, had never been. Stubborn to an absolute fault as their mother always said. But the thing he was about to do was too terrible to even contemplate, and she would have happily, gleefully even, given up every one of her limbs if it meant he would change course.

Fen turned to her then. She'd never seen him sadder, his eyes wet and every line of his body hanging heavy with despair. "Maybe..." he sighed, kneeling to caress her tear stained face one last time, "maybe one day, you will understand why. Though, truly sister, I sincerely hope you don't."

He straightened to full height and backed away. Fray howled as she raged against the chains, muscles screaming in protest.

"I'm sorry, Fray. I love you, forever and always."

"No!"

And then he tipped the bright green liquid into his mouth, downing it all in one go.

Fray went limp and watched in helpless horror as her brother collapsed onto the ground. He was choking, twitching. She wept, babbling no no no as she tried one more time to break free, pulling on the manacles around her wrists and ankles until her skin turned bloody. Eventually, he stopped groaning, but then his bones started to expand. At some point, Fray threw up. But still his bones were moving, multiplying, until some tore through his lovely brown skin. New flesh crawled up and out, sliding over the bones of a monster. It looked more bark than flesh, but it rippled unlike any bark she'd ever seen.

After what felt like an eternity, the thing that stood before her completely and utterly broke Fray's heart. Her brother was gone, replaced by a creature of unimaginable ugliness, all lumpen planes and misshaped angles. His once smooth expressions, with his aquiline nose and long, elegant hands, gone. Now, standing before her, was the stuff of nightmares.

"F-FFrrraayy..." it moaned somehow. Fray shuddered and felt more bile rising to her throat. It tried to shuffle closer, almost apologetic in its movement.

"Stay back!" she wailed, her voice going hoarse from so much screaming. "Stay the fuck away from me! I hate you! I fucking hate you and I will never, ever forgive you! You fucking traitor, you monster!"

The creature seemed to recoil at her words, as if burned. It froze for a moment, then moved slowly backwards, until it reached the workbench Fen had been toiling away at only a few moments ago. Turning, it scanned the contents of the bench. It took so, so long, as if struggling to decide. Finally, it reached out, picking up a tube filled with glowing, orange liquid. It emitted some kind of strange creaking sound, and then it tilted the liquid down its throat in grotesque mimicry of its former, human self.

For a moment, nothing happened. Fray's hands were so slick with blood she could almost, just barely feel one of them begin to slip out.

And then the thing that was once her brother exploded. Not into pieces, but into more, so much more. More bone, more bark, more everything. It was growing and growing at an astronomical rate, threatening to fill the whole room with no signs of slowing down even once it did. It was going to bring the whole house down. It was going to kill her.

With a crazed fury, Fray yelled one more time and pulled. One of her thumbs broke, and quite possibly so did one of her ankles. But her hands came free and soon after her legs, too, the screws of the lower manacles loose enough to have been ripped from the floor. The monster before her was shrieking with what sounded like a hundred voices as it bubbled outward in a nonsensical assortment of flesh and limbs. It was also dragging itself toward her, animal in its urgency. One of the limbs, sharp as a knife, reached for her but cut her instead, drawing blood, while another simply pierced her in the shoulder.

Fray cried out and yanked herself free, watching the thorn like object withdraw from her, dripping in blood. And then she ran.

Or, more accurately, she limped. She hopped. At some parts, she even crawled. A fierce, burning desire to live drew her up each time she fell and onward she would go. She didn't even know where she was going, half blinded by tears and pain and bloodloss as she was. All she knew was that she could not stop, for sounds of destruction followed in her wake.

Dusk slowly turned to a very faint, pinkish promise of dawn. She was hobbling at this point, wheezing from exhaustion. Her vision faded in and out, and there was a very strange, numbing sensation that traveled from her shoulder all the way down to her leg. She wasn't going to make it. That much was certain. She was going to die here, where ever here was, while the monster her brother created raged on. She was sure it would kill people. It might even kill everyone. And she would be the first to die.

She stumbled and tripped on something gnarled, falling face first into dirt. And then she rose no more.

They laid the stranger on a cot three steps below the stump. Her 'throne' had started sprouting new leaves since she'd been sitting on it. Because everything grew from Juniper's touch. Physicians whispered below, carefully gathering the runoff blood in bowls. There was no medical benefit to it – but it paid well to keep their mistress away from thoughts of blood. And blood of stranger was much cheaper than blood of colleague...or your own.

A knock at the door. The visitor didn't try to open it when Bones knocked back in acceptance. Servants of the other two no longer entered her chambers. Not since she'd enlisted Elbow who now stood guard outside the door as a quiet reminder. She would've thought it rude. But it was fitting – because fear was correct.

„Lord First would like to meet you later, Lady Second.“
„Alone?“
„Yes, he and... they're not on speaking terms.“
„Understood.“ Looked back to the unmoving stranger. „Tell him I'll come once I'm done here.“
„As you wish, my Lady.“

She could hear the feet shuffling away.

The woman had nice skin. Juniper remembered having skin that was skin. Back when this room was furnished and she didn't speak to people through a door. Seemed distant now. If the visitor failed to wake she'd name her Skin. They could toast in her own blood to the new, elevated position.

She'd been impatient in life. But patience was easy in...whatever this was.

Didn't even notice the humans toiling at her feet.

Not for minutes. Not for hours.

Fray was dead, and in death she dreamed.

She was standing in a river that smelled curiously like the ocean. The Devahni had never sailed before, but on occasion her family had found reason to visit the ports, and the breezes that rolled in often smelled just like this. A little salty, with a touch of sulfur.

The strange, viscous water water came up to about mid calf and swirled in such a way that was decidedly unwaterlike. Fray looked around, taking in the bleak, greyish landscape. There were no defined shapes or lines to go by, only blurry splotches of grey and more grey dotting the horizon on either side of the river. Vaguely, she pondered at her own calmness. Something deeply terrible had happened before she ended up here. What had it been? She shook her head, unable to remember.

A soft sound, like sand shifting, drew her attention to one shore. Her heart thrummed as she recognized Fen, as tall and elegant as ever, standing forlornly amongst the reeds. He smiled at her. It felt sad, and something in her heart twisted. She started to move toward him, one foot rising out of the syrupy water, but froze as he held up a hand.

"Stay there," he said gently. "You'll be okay as long as you do."

Her eyebrows scrunched in consternation. "But what about you?"

His smile held even as his eyes shined wetly. "I can't come with you, but I'm fine. Don't worry about me." Suddenly, he looked up and around, clearly sensing something she couldn't. He sighed. "I'm sorry, you know. I hope you find a way to forgive me."

"Wh--"

A scent hit her nose, so pungent it burned her eyes, making them water. She doubled over, holding her middle. "Fen, wait--" she sputtered between coughs.

Light seared her eyes as her lids fluttered open. Everything was hazy, blobby, and shit stained Shroud it hurt. There seemed to be no part of her that wasn't burning with pain. She couldn't even move, except to cough feebly as the horrid smell continued to invade her senses. And each cough, in turn, made her ribs feel like that were cracking in half.

Someone moved the foul smelling cloth away from her nose. Fray could not move. She could only groan as her vision slowly regained focus. What she initially assumed was bright light turned out to be a muted sort of ambience, in a structure the likes of which she'd never seen before. Her mind was still a pile of manure as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. There seemed to be...people. Attendants? They were moving all around her, each doing something different. Distantly, Fray hoped they were keeping her alive, and not dismembering her piece by piece.

She forced herself to blink blearily a few more times before she turned her head. And she was not in any way, shape, or form prepared to see what she saw next.

Panic rose, made worse by her paralysis. Another Blighted creature, that much she could be sure of. It wasn't her brother, she realized with some small relief, as memories of the previous night came tumbling back haphazardly, thrashing her heart over and over. Whoever it was, they also didn't seem completely lost to the Blight yet, a trace of humanity still in tact. She could make out somewhat feminine features, regal even, and their feet were bare as they sat upon a curiously throne-like stump.

One of the attendants made a noise of disapproval. They consulted with the others in hushed tones, speaking frantically, before agreeing on something and turning to the Blighted creature.

"Lady Second," one of them asked with utmost deference, head bowed. "We regret to inform you that the subject is poisoned, and by something you may not like."

Sun had moved away from her, but the room didn't feel darker – only starved.

How much time had passed?

She maintained power enough to have others describe her absent mind as eccentric – instead of what it really was.

Stumpwoman knew better than to try moving from her perch. Voice traveled well enough to talk all things living, and as Bones stood testament – the dead weren't out of reach either. Would've been more interesting if they talked back...but a spade needn't desire the earth to dig.

That's all that mattered in the end. Direction and effort. And if you sacrificed flesh and bone to preserve garden and stone – well, that was...acceptable.

„Can. It. Talk?“ Voicelines struggled to separate. So she had been idle for long.

Someone immediately moved a bloodbowl in her direction. They didn't dare climb up the steps. But she was surprised that they'd become so quick about the whole thing. Did they really believe she would drink them all? Eat them? Maybe wear their skin? It all sounded like entirely too much effort for a bit of vanity. She would keep what she could – and everything else would have to burn...

They were saying something. It brought her back to the moment. She thought someone shrugged. But it was a hard thing to notice, these days. She'd long shed the need.

„This place doesn't bleed, except when it bleeds for us.“ She eyed the wounded creature warily. This was not the work of First. Had it been Third, she would've never been found. No. This was something else.

If there was to be a danger to Garth, she would know it.

Because the war may have been won, but the battle was never over.

Fray winced as the Blighted creature spoke, and then instantly regretted it when pain erupted everywhere all at once. The voice was...unnatural, jarring, like multiple souls trapped together, all trying to make themselves heard. It unsettled the ears in a way that made Fray wish she was unconscious again. For a second, the Devahni considered answering. But when she took a breath to try, she coughed, and shroud be fucked that hurt.

There was, of course, also the way the voice reminded her of the thing that used to be Fen. But she was doing her best not to sink into that line of thought, for fear she might never resurface.

The attendants fretted amongst themselves, voices hushed. A bowl of something got pushed towards the tree like woman. Fray could not bring herself to turn her head, given how much breathing hurt, but she could have sworn she caught a whiff of something metallic in the air.

After a few moments, a mousy looking attendant glanced up and cleared their throat. "Ahh, we believe so, but she may be in too much pain. We are brewing something to help with that, but..."

Turning around, they looked to their colleagues for help. Some of them stared back blanky. Another shrugged. Then they started whispering again, more angrily this time, until one of them pushed the first attendant around by the shoulders and urged them forward.

Tree woman was talking again. Fray couldn't make heads or tails of it, other than it sounded creepy as all hell. Suddenly, she had a bad feeling about whatever was in that bowl.

"Yes, my lady..." the attendant nodded. "Ahem, back to the subject of poison...we--"

The others waved their hands in irritation. "I think it can be cured, but we require certain, um, ingredients..." They gestured as politely they could toward the one they called Lady Second.

Having decided she was no longer willing to hear about how poisoned she was while lying like a corpse, Fray tried to get up. Fire lanced straight through her shoulder and down her spine as she flopped back down. "Agghh!" she screamed. A handful of attendants flocked to her side, some pushing her down while others went to fetch supplies.

"Where the fuck am I?!" Fray shouted through the agony.

Hahahahahaha

Last bits of girllaugh didn't even attempt quiet. Pitched and shrieky. Because she always knew Garth would one day take all of her. But she never expected it to mean the literal bark off her back. There was something soothing in that. That even when she stopped being a person, she could become a mug, a chair, or firewood at least. One last act of service before she burned beyond Sitha's care.

But their gods were carpenters – so she hoped it would've been a chair. Had she been more imposing in life, perhaps she could've hoped for a table. But no. Chair was perfect – work of a middling craftsman who'd make sure it didn't break. Who'd make sure your ass hurt as you sat too long. Like it was meant to, before you cushioned your life with softer things.

„Take what you need.“ Arms floated up, but the shoulders didn't move.

Never much liked physicians in life, so she looked away as they harvested. To the rude, yelling creature.

„You are bleeding in Garth. About to tell me what has caused this, Skin...y girl.“ Almost lost it right there.

She hoped First and Third would recover enough to take some of these duties. She could not be trusted.

Fray wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the noise that followed was like one thousand knives hitting the floor. Her ears rung as she shut her eyes, unable to do much more than wince. What was this fresh hell she had landed in? She wondered miserably if the Blight had somehow tainted her life and she would be dealing with it for the rest of her days. It certainly felt that way now.

Lady Second decided to speak after her eerie laughter died down. Fray didn’t understand what the creature had meant until the attendants began to move forward, relief settling into their frames as they worked carefully and methodically.

It surprised Fray that the tree woman obliged so easily, lifting her arms so that the attendants could harvest whatever it was that they needed. There was unease once again settling in the pit of Fray’s stomach. What if whatever concoction they fed her somehow Blighted her as well? What if she was being used as a test subject? Afterall, Blight by potion had been Fen’s contamination method of choice. But even she, in her ruined state, had to admit that that would probably be counter productive. Against all odds, she was being saved…though for what or why, she couldn’t begin to guess.

Blight, Fray was starting to learn against all will, was a funny kind of corruption. It did not seem to manifest the same way twice. It appeared to tailor itself to its host, mutating in such a way that was simultaneously grotesque yet personal. Like an ill fitting suit, it sat poorly and offended the eye, but at the end of the day, it still fit. Evil was too simplistic of a word. There was no evil in Fen’s monstrous form, just like there was no evil in what seemed to grow naturally from Lady Second’s corrupt body. And yet, there was a wrongness. It may not have carried malice at heart, but it altered who you once were, until eventually it did feel, at the very least, ruthless. Such was nature, in all her might. When she changed, she cared naught for how one felt, and one’s only recourse was to simply adapt.

So here Fray lay, hurting in more ways than one, trying her damnedest to figure out how she was going to carry on with a Fen shaped hole in her heart.

As the attendants collected ingredients, Lady Second chose to answer the Devahni’s tactless demands. It didn’t seem to bother her, dealing with one very injured and angry stranger, nor having bits of herself snipped off as she did.

Garth, Lady Second had illuminated with that unsettling multi-voice of her’s. What, in the name of all that remained unblighted and good, was a Garth?

Fray focused instead on the question that followed suit. How was she to explain such a catastrophic clusterfuck of events? To a Blighted being, no less?

In the end, she settled for simplicity. As the attendants busied themselves washing, grinding, and boiling away, Fray offered the truth. She felt she owed that much, after all the damage that the thing that used to be her twin would have undoubtedly caused by now.

“My brother succumbed to Blight,” she explained, watching Lady Second for any adverse reactions. “His transformation was quick and terrible. He grew into a monster…huge, strong, unstoppable. I ran, and he nearly killed me trying to stop me.”

Fray coughed after having strung so many words together. Immediately, an attendant provided water in a wooden bowl, tipping the edge slowly against her lips. She took a sip and sighed her thanks. The water was cool and crisp–a welcome, calming respite after all she had been through. “He tore through our home. It must be in ruins by now, and I do not know where he ended up, only that he must be destroying whatever is around him.”

After that she fell silent, pain crashing over her in a sudden, brutal wave.

Had anything huge, strong, or unstoppable made its way to Garth – she'd have known. Would've felt it. When something big enough walked the grounds, the soil remembered, and the roots were told in turn. People often thought them treefeet, but they were misinformed. They were nerves, and sure some of them were probably footnerves, but there was so much more to them.

If Juniper couldn't sense him, he wasn't close enough to be a concern, yet. And if he couldn't even kill a wounded girl, was she wrong to worry at all? Still, sure as firewood come winter, it paid to be ready. They hadn't survived on a whim, and she had no plans to let them die on one either.

If the thing really was a problem, when it reached the city, the watch wouldn't be enough. One of them would have to step in. Meaning her. And for all the fear townsfolk held, she wasn't physically very powerful. Being hard to kill didn't make you good at killing. She'd have trouble fighting men, let alone giants.

And if she failed...they'd have to call him in.

He'd protect the city if she asked. Probably. But once he started, she couldn't stop him. Few could. No. He wasn't a solution. Just a card desperate played once all others were discarded. Enemy of her enemies. It would be foolish to hope for more.

There was always the option of leading the creature away...but that risked setting new flame to their conflict with the Arashakans. A huge beast of blight would be assumed as her doing. Show strength, they wanted to fight. Showed weakness, and they came to take. Best not to communicate with them at all.

But choices had to be made. Even when you had two turds, you could still rub them together. Wondered where she picked that up...probably one of the mercenaries.

„Send scouts beyond river's edge. Quietly.“ Rumors could never be contained, because people couldn't be trusted.

„Inform Third. Her, personally. None of her attendants.“ They started moving, but the dead were yet to open the door. She let them get a few steps in, resting her voice.

„If the First hears of this...“ But fear could be counted on. „I will enlist you all into the Guard.“

No need for anger. Just a reminder of truths of the world.

Bones was already at her side with the bloodbowl. Didn't even remember issuing the command. If they were deciding things on their own, she would need to retire them. If it was her memory...hmm salty.

Everyone nonessential to keeping the stranger alive was gone.

„Tell me of your home.“ Felt strange, speaking to a creature as you drank their blood. But perhaps Dinner was a better name than Skin. Dinner could yet leave Garth alive.

They had many neighbors, and if the girl ran on foot – it was one of them that was getting trashed.

Silence stretched on, long enough for Fray to start doubting whether the tree woman had heard her. When Lady Second responded at last, it was with that eerily discordant voice of hers.

Her words were to the point, her command unquestioned. Attendants found themselves reignited back into motion. Fay half listened, fading in and out of pain-riddled consciousness. Just when she felt she might be on the brink of slipping, someone held a small wooden cup to her lips. She drank it with as much hesitance as if it were poison. The substance was thick, almost milky, and tasted so astringent she almost spat it out. The attendant, however, wouldn’t let her, pushing the cup against her lips so that none of the strange, bitter liquid would dribble out.

It wasn’t until Fray properly emptied the cup that the attendant seemed satisfied and shuffled away. They came back shortly after, this time with water, and the Deva was almost tricked into feeling grateful. She was coughing, struggling to get the medicine down and therefore accepted the water eagerly, only to find that it was just a diluted version of the original substance. No doubt the attendant had poured water in and swished the cup around to use up what remained of the thick sap-like concoction. Economical, yes. Unpleasant for Fray, also yes.

From somewhere in Lady Second’s direction, a sound vaguely akin to sipping could be heard. Fray looked over and saw that the blighted creature was drinking mystery brew as well. She suppressed a shudder, refusing to properly guess the contents of that bowl.

The space became significantly more empty once the various underlings left to do their lady’s bidding. Fray laid there, not entirely uncomfortable, feeling the surprisingly swift effects of the bitter, milky medicine. The pain was already subsiding, but more importantly, the horrible, nauseating pulsation of evil in her veins was beginning to simmer down to a low boil of malaise.

The question surprised her. She cleared her throat before echoing it, unable to keep a note of despair from creeping in, “My home? My home is gone, nothing but rubble now…but before…”

Fray took a breath through her nose. For the first time, her nose could reliably pick up a scent. This place smelled wood sweet, like when a log, lightly soaked with rain, was freshly split open with an ax. There was, of course, the bitter smell of medicine still lingering on her lips, but it mixed in with everything else harmoniously, the damp and the wood and the whisper of smoke all rolling together to form what she was now understanding as “Garth.”

“Before,” she continued forlornly, “it was filled with life. There was always someone yelling, laughing, debating. I was always trying to get mother to spar with me, and Fen…my brother, was always arguing with father. Disagreeing about the nature of this chemical or the benefits of that plant. It was never not noisy. And, Blight be damned, how I miss it now.”

Fray was aware that she spoke of these things like they had only been taken from her days ago. But, truth be told, their family had been falling into disrepair for some time now. If it hadn’t–if their parents were still around to bicker lovingly and scold them half-heartedly–Fen would have never gotten this far. None of this would have happened.

"My home was warm. Violent, maybe, but alive." She spoke with more conviction, a warmth spreading in her limbs that pushed out much of the pain and fug. "Each of us had a gift and the luxury to hone it. We were a flawed household with many cracks, and eventually those cracks won...but for a long time, we were happy."

She let her gaze wander from staring at what she could only assume to be a ceiling, over to Lady Second. "And what of you, my lady? Is this Garth your home, or did you have another before?

Perhaps another name, another face and voice, too, she wondered, though she did not yet speak it aloud.

The more she touched a thing, the more she became it – a curse of Juniper's existence. The slow flaw of redsalt gave her kinship with the creature's plight. But she was no more a Skin than she was a Birch. Perhaps life would've been simpler had she the willingness to relate to the humans...but that desire had left her about the same time her left knee gave way. But that was what happened when you drank a person. You gleaned things. Most people housed in soft flesh were even softer on the inside – so it was important to carry varied vintage. Drink too much wideeyed blood, and she'd die an optimist. Wasn't a luxury she could afford. She was not put in charge to be their friend. She was there so they would outlast their enemies.

Cracks. It made sense. Because things never knew how to properly break. There was never a momentous snap...just a growing gap in form. And then one day it was more gap than hold. One day it finally gave way. Wasn't a whipcrack, just another shrug of a clothesline overburdened.

She felt sap forming around one of her many eyes. Cracks. She'd drunk too much. Allowed too much weakness.

In one of her rare bodily movements, she swiped the bowl away from the servant's hand. Bowl to floor, blood to form – it was all...flawed. It was all cracks.

Blood flowed down the steps, a creeping advance towards its original owner.

The servant overcame his panic quickly. One had to when they served Second. Weakness got you enlisted.

„Leave it.“ Visibly upset. „And leave.“ Bones opened the door before she'd finished speaking. The attendant gazed at her, mortified. It was good to know she was still feared. The red wisdom told her that it always went one of two ways – madness was either pitying or horrifying. So she had chosen well. Would continue to do so.

„I was born here.“ And she would die here, or here would die trying to outlast her. But there was no place beyond home. Not any longer. She hoped the flesh won their little contest – because she'd given much of her life and fraying sanity to the pursuit of their longevity. Let them die small boring deaths of peace and sickness and full bellies.

She wondered if the girl knew she'd killed her brother in coming here. Perhaps he was dead already. That would be some mercy – that the soul had long left and they needed but put husk to pyre. But it was never that simple. If that was easy to burn the Blight, they would not call her Second. Wouldn't call her much of anything at all.

„I remember the time before the sporecharges. Before...“ She was reborn into the form she'd die with. She didn't have to voice it, the Guard outside was already making long steps towards Twenty-Seven. He was yet to be bled this quarter. It was important to carry harsher liquor. Too much sweetness didn't only red your lips, it coated your hands. She was starting to realize she would have to give up the blood eventually. Give up voice that remembered soft, tongue that was a tongue.

But sacrifice wasn't a bad thing. Just another currency.

„Why did your brother do it?“ Her own hands were testament that she too was only clever too late for it to matter.

There was a clatter. Fray flinched, and the pain that accompanied was fuzzy, dulled to a tolerable ache. When she snuck another glance at Lady Second, she felt unease crawling back up her spine. The matriarch was clearly upset. Blood pooled on the ground beside the abandoned bowl and a faint scent of iron invaded Fray’s nose once more.

A panicked servant tried to clean up the mess but was tersely dismissed. As they hurried away, Lady Second attempted to answer her question in earnest.

The Deva had not been expecting that. She would have been less surprised if orders were given to chop her up and throw her into a warm stew, or for her question to simply be followed by good old fashioned silence. But neither happened. There was also no denying that she had been well tended to, albeit in a sort of perturbing and alien way. It was generous on principle, if not necessarily steeped in kindness.

So, with nowhere else to go and nothing else to do, Fray listened.

The tree woman was frugal with her words. In the end, it wasn’t what she said that intrigued Fray, but how. The effort, the hesitance. The strange way her features moved to accommodate an act that seemed painfully foreign. Perhaps exhaustion and the after effects of milky medicine were making her see things that weren’t there, but Fray thought she detected a certain level of acceptance. Surrender, even. It was, she decided blearily, the difference between someone who embraced their circumstances versus someone who fought them.

Her brother had fought. Maybe that was why his transformation had been so violent. Maybe his rage, his regret and frustration and heart break, added a kind of fuel to the fire of metamorphosis that the potion alone could never have induced.

Fray fought, too. Every damn chance she got. Stubborn to a fault and doomed to repeat the same mistakes, as she’d oft been told. And, oh, the pain she brought onto herself.

But Lady Second…she gave the distinct impression of someone who knew they were saying goodbye for the last time. Of someone who was aware that their attempts to linger were futile, and yet, they did so anyway. Fray happened to be well acquainted with this singular state of being. If not personally, then second hand, having witnessed many people reach this point of no return. Usually, it was in the face of death. It made her wonder for the dozenth time how much of the tree woman’s humanity was left. Though, it was not lost on Fray that there was a nebulous force behind Lady Second’s actions. A sense of purpose that kept her rooted in that uncanny space between mortal and Blighted.

At the creature’s next question, Fray’s mood took a turn for the darker, and she fell silent for a while as pain ebbed and flowed through her chest.

After some time, she said with difficulty, “He did it because he thought he found a cure.”

It was ludicrous even saying it out loud. So much so that when her brother had first suggested it, she had doubled over laughing. But then it became clear he was being dead serious, and there was no more laughing after that.

“My brother,” she continued, “understood things in a way that seemed to skip steps. He could arrive somewhere in seconds when it would take other people days…”

Her voice faded, memories dragging her down. When it returned, it was fueled with hatred miasmal enough to be tasted, throat pushing the words out like acid. “But of all the things he could have used his brilliance for, he used it for her. That lying, scheming wretch.”

Fray had to make herself unclench her fists for fear of puncturing her own skin. “Her name was Stella. Stella Altaire. Leader of some bat shit cult that called themselves the Children of Purification. They were out of their minds, and I told Fen as much. But he wouldn’t listen. He was convinced their prophecy was true. That they would one day find a cure and rid the world of Blight forever.”

Talking felt ridiculously easy now. Whatever sap-like substance they had mixed into the tonic must have been filthy strong.

“He’d lost his best friend to the Blight,” she finished softly, repulsion draining as quickly as it had filled. “They were only children. He was obsessed with finding a cure after that, and the moment Stella found out…she preyed on it. Used his pain like she used everything and everyone else around her.”

Fray looked over at Lady Second. “I used to think that Blight was evil. That it was always bad. But now, I see that is not always the case.”

A pause of hesitance, then, “If you don’t mind asking, my lady…what…how did you come to be…the way that you are?”

Cure. The word caught in her many eyes, face betraying the desire for it. Hope wasn't always a sliver, and this one stuck her like a splinter. What would that even do? She'd done too much to put her hopes back into flesh. Too much had been invested into outlasting the threat to leave room for plans of after. Once it was done, if there was such a thing, who would fear her girlflesh? And once they didn't fear her – what would keep them in check? What would keep the other two under control?

Too many questions. Dreams. Impossibilities.

And she wasn't here to question herself. Because she could not be trusted to do so. It was her duty to question the world that was out to subjugate them, and the other two could do their best to question her. On their better days, it took three to be of one sane mind – but good days had a habit of not sticking around.

The rest of Skin's words were less impressive. A genius, then? Another man who failed to explain his process to the point of being a liability. Juniper always found it reprehensible – that some brilliance simply couldn't be explained. Which was a crock of...was it shit? Shit sounded right. She would remember more when vintage twenty-seven arrived. Some minds were too precious for explanation. She found her ears too precious to listen in those trying times.

But you did not call their blood a liability when they were opening. No, no. That was a closing argument. And there was no reason for her mouth to close. Each new word was a potential revelation, and one never knew what information would become useful in the future. So you learned to listen. And you learned to keep attendants once you could no longer trust your own focus. It was easier to have clean records with several keepers.

Another mortal ruined by love. She remembered liking those stories once. Of marriages that weren't arranged, and families that weren't planned at least two generations in advance. But even back then, she remembered how most stories had everyone dead or worse off. Becoming Juniper hadn't made her softer.

„You will give a detailed description of Stella to the scribes when you recover.“ It was not a request.

She would've shook her head at the thought some years back, but now she was just surprised by the scale of the delusion. Some people garbed themselves in hubris and called it purpose. Perhaps she would have to drink of this cult leader to understand.

Blight was not always evil? Well, of course – no more than the land was evil. Just another element of life. Some people harnessed the elements and others were consumed in turn. Was she...ah, so Skin was looking at her. Unlikely to be flattery, but flesh was known to be foolish. Perhaps it was just them agreeing on a thing, quietly.

„We were an imperial province once. Overseen by layers upon layers of bureaucracy and judgements made by the properborn.“ Flesh would've laughed then, but laughing hurt and she could always employ someone to laugh for her if she missed the sound. „But the taxes were too high, and the overseers too harsh...“ Still remembered the initial discussion, back when there were over twenty of them to give voice. How they all feared traitors and discovery. Felt like giving power to the people back then. Now...now, it was just funny.

„They tried to fight us first.“ Pride in her voice. „But our walls are tall and have stood longer than their god.“ But it never was that easy. „Then they tried to starve us, but we are of Garth and even before...the land was fertile. Grain stores well maintained.“ She considered her next thoughts, because they weren't in line with the truth spoonfed to the public. „Someone had an idea then...kill the people without harming the infrastructure. What was a city worth once it was decimated? That's when the sporecharges came...“ And it was an excellent idea. The execution left much to be desired.

„Many died. Too many.“ She looked to the small slit of light. „But not enough. The ones here today are those that outlasted the plague.“ Wraith of another life looming just beyond the sorry excuse for a window. But sadness was just another way to lose moisture. Meaningless. Useless.

„And who will you become?“ She did not name the woman Skin. Did not name her Dinner. Because some names were only discovered with time.

A half grin tugged at the corner of Fray’s mouth, on the side that Lady Second could not see. A direct order. It wasn’t like Fray to be obedient to any reliable degree, but the thought of ratting out the likes of Stella Altaire sent glee shooting all the way down into her toes. She would oblige, with vigor.

When the Blighted creature spoke again, her voices carried enough gravitas to anchor Fray’s oft wandering attention. The invalid listened, weighed down by morbid curiosity. Imperials, taxes, resistance…a tale as old as time, one repeated over and over in the history books. Unlike her twin, Fray had never been particularly inclined toward academics. The wars, however, had always interested her, and of those she managed to remember bits and pieces. It all sounded at once familiar and unfamiliar. As one of her old mentors once said, same shit different pile.

There it was again, Garth. The Deva turned this word over and over in her mind like a well worn stone. It was a strange word. Old, too, no doubt, as old as Tree Lady felt. Then again, many things seemed ancient to the likes of a hot headed youth like Fray.

The next part of Lady Second’s story, however, froze the blood in Fray’s veins. Sporecharges…the thought, at first, was too horrible, and her mind naturally resisted. Bad enough to witness someone you loved succumb to Blight. And willingly, at that. But as an act of war? A plague orchestrated for the sole purpose of weakening an entire population? Fray had no words for the horror coagulating within her pounding heart. She grit her teeth at the vileness of it all. So many innocent people. So much life, corrupted and transformed…

She imagined the destruction Fen had caused, the entire building he had brought down. And then she multiplied it by the hundreds, until her imagination stretched to its limits and could no longer contain the awfulness of it all.

In the end, Fray wasn’t sure if she was grateful or not for this partial knowledge of Lady Second’s past. It was a hard thing to hold, the knowing. And yet, she supposed it wasn’t so different from her dropping half dead at a stranger’s doorstep, bringing with her all the burdens of injuries and ill omens.

Eventually, the tree woman fell silent. It was the most amount of words she’d said in a row thus far, and in that thick, weighty silence, Fray pondered them. She was lost in thought when another question came.

And who will you become?

She frowned deep, brows creasing. A difficult question to be sure, loaded with emotions she did not enjoy feeling. Fray knew she would become nothing good. That much was certain. For she was without a home or family now, uprooted and left to tumble through life alone. She hadn’t even believed she would survive this long, let alone possessed enough luxury to wonder what tomorrow might bring.

The answer came of its own accord. A sentient thing, almost, that crawled up and out of her mouth before she could find the wisdom to stuff it back down.

“Death,” she replied flatly. “Mine or others, who’s to say. Just lots of it. Heaps of it. I don’t know how I know. I just know it will follow me wherever I go.”

It occurred to Fray, belatedly of course, that this was probably not the most diplomatic or strategic answer to give while relying on someone else’s hospitality. But it also occurred to her, a little less belatedly, that Lady Second must be quite familiar with death herself. Lots of it. Heaps of it. More than even a feeble-minded Fray could grasp.

There came a noise from somewhere beyond the room. A door perhaps? Fray could not crane her neck enough to see, but a muffled voice came through, carrying with it a tremor of fear.

“My lady,” an attendant called out, “your attention is urgently required. News has come of a Blighted creature nearby. There has been…a significant amount of damage caused. And we think it might be headed this way.”

The answer was refreshing. They normally pleaded. Promised great things. To be good and better the lives of others as well as their own. But that was a miscalculation on their part. Because she had too much to worry about to care about the plights of things passing by in the night. They were like pieces of art in her galleries – a curiosity you liked to gaze upon every now and then, but your attachment was never personal. So to hear someone name Death and paint their future in those colors...was refreshing. In a way she was already pursuing her purpose. Because Juniper would have her brother killed at best. Experimented on by the Third at worst. But he would be stopped. Because if anyone had a cure for the Blight, it would pass over her colleague's desk. But sometimes the cure was worse than the affliction.

The blight had been cured, after all. Forty six times. The end result varied, but none of the cured wanted to live on. Really put things into perspective. They could all get cured tomorrow, but would probably kill themselves within a week, if they even had limbs left to accomplish the task. The Third was...thorough. In a way she admired the tenacity. Back when they were all human, she was the most charitable among them. And perhaps she still was, but now all her gifts carried teeth.

Panic beyond the door summoned back her sense of urgency. She could think of how defiled the idea of salvation was another time. After the day's affairs were properly seen to.

„They always need something.“ And she remembered the girl's words. „Loads of it. Heaps of it.“ Didn't sound as good in her wornout voice. Funny way to say it.

„Arrange to have us carried.“ It would probably be faster to simply go there herself, but decorum was important. Besides, the human should have a chance to see her kin off.