[i]”I can’t stand it,” he admits to her. The bed and the pillows are achingly soft; Yin, draped on top of him, is softer. The night is so deep that all they are consists of shadows on shadows and the smoothness of skin. “That’s because you’re from the Burrows,” she says, not even opening her eyes. Her heartbeat threads through him like a ribbon. “They were still alive back in your day.” Unspoken: and now it is dead, and I control its power, and we are fine. All is safe. “Mmm,” he says, and cups the back of her head. It’s not just that, he doesn’t say. It’s that they’re not all dead. It’s that he can feel himself being observed when Yin opens the aperture of her power wide, as if some distant blue-black eye stares unceasingly at him. It’s that he knows Yin’s will is what excludes him from being under that power, under that attention, under that dead star’s hand. Because he’s not like her; he wasn’t made to be a person. She makes a delicate little sound and he pulls her closer, just a little bit. His savior. His princess. His treasure. His to protect. His to serve. Free to serve someone who deserves it, at last. “I’ll keep you safe,” she promises in the dark. “You don’t need to ever be afraid of the suns again.”[/i] *** Yewan Night Sun! [i]Dead be eye and dead be heart dead be all your shining art Dead be hope and dead be light dead be any will to fight Blind your eyes and blind your hands blind be all these sighing lands Blind your ears and blind your tongue blind until this night is done[/i] Rose from the River doubles over as the light fades, and her voice rings gaily in merry laughter all about as the veins strain against the skin of her throat. Carlyle steadies her with one hand, uncomprehending of Rose’s pain and panic and punishment, and flinches when he feels Rose’s form writhe unnaturally under his hand. How careless a broken promise! How careless a princess who thinks she understands her power! How careless a princess who does not understand the death of suns! [i]Black your sight and black your Way black the triumph over day Black be heart and black be bone black be monster all alone Born synthetic, born in pain born the false inconstant flame Born to seek and born to hide born with empty night inside[/i] Rose from the River doesn’t know what to do, alone with fear. She can dread something, but face it regardless. She can worry for someone, but then break herself if it means helping them. She can face the challenges of the Princesses and stranger things, but does so knowing this world is better than the one she knew, and if she trusts it, it will keep her safe. But now she is afraid, feeling the fingers of something dreadful and dead seek to slot into the grooves of her old self. And Yin thinks that she is safe! The weapon that Rose from the River would become, held in the grip of Yewan Night Sun, could be held at bay by her power, by the barest flicker of her attention brought down low— but not unexpected, from behind, long fingers curling around the crown, shattering it, freeing the shard within, resounding with the need to be free, to be the only light in the dark, to hide monsters within shadows, to command, and it knows that she was made to be commanded and every step she takes away from that is denial and no matter what shapes she grows into she cannot escape the memory of command encoding and evaluation for use, she cannot escape being naked before the executive board as they examined her, it, [i]it[/i], [i]it[/i] was made to be a weapon and now it will be so again— [i]Bare your jewel and bare your need bare your lady’s pride and greed Bare your collar, bare your chain bare the means to make you tame Dead the sun and dead the flame dead we are but still remain Dead your will and dead your might dead before the King of Night Dead the vine and dead the flower YIELD TO THE LIVING POWER[/i] Small wonder Carlyle’s hand goes slack and he tries to call for Yin, though the night all about devours his words. When Rose from the River raises her head, she is a shadow limned in painful light. When she opens her eyes, they are the only thing visible in her entire being, sharp gold cutting through the dark. Here is a monster of ancient days! Chains fall to the earth soundlessly, brittle-shattered, steaming with cold. Rose from the River is at her sword and drawing it forth from itself in the space it takes Carlyle to blink; the Conciliatory Ice-Star Blade is a frigid blue-white in the dark. And in that moment, her terror becomes a white and livid flame within her heart, and on the fire is engraved the words: [i]aum shantae nemo padhome aum[/i]. The Conciliatory Ice-Star Blade flickers through a sword kata, stiff and strained, and then comes to a trembling halt in guard. By the light of the blade which never was made of the world, Rose from the River is shadows upon shadows, and two eyes brighter than stars. But she does not strike. And the radiance that surrounds her flickers and fades sulkily until she, and Carlyle, and all but Yin (glorious and spotlighted by the sun she has unwisely awoken) are nothing but shadows defined by absence. And in that dark, it is impossible to delineate Rose from the River. Even her sword now is lightless, perhaps sheathed, perhaps shrouded and waiting to be unveiled once more. In the dark, she is all places and none, a proclamation of the Way awaiting voice. [Rose from the River [i]staggers[/i] under the attention of Yewan Night Sun. She marks both Angry and Frightened, which along with Guilty mean she’s not doing so hot. However, she also manages to bear the blow.]