[b]Bella![/b]

She laughed like a wheeze, bending half-over as though struck. Sincere, but it took a moment. "Okay. Fair. Yeah, they were dumb jokes. But they're where my brain went every time?" she said. The question was an axiom and a debate at once. "I didn't, like. Have a childhood, right? I wasn't turned [i]on [/i]until the bioweave had fully grown me. No point, right? Not like I needed [i]training [/i]if I was just going to forget everything. So I guess those first second instincts where I named myself [i]were [/i]my childhood. A bunch of childish jokes that were funny right up until the moment where I killed hundreds of thousands. Like. I was standing on the bridge of a Solar Archcruiser, watching Admiral Heller crush her own homeworld with grav-projectors, trying not to throw up, and then she turns to me and smiles because she thinks we're best friends, and says "Thanks to you, Deathkill, we have stopped the rebellion", and, like, I had to compose a play in my head about a girl in the countryside who loved strawberry wine so that I could roleplay the climactic scene where she toasts her best friend's success in marriage. At that stage of the process that was the simplest way to deal with it."

She stared off at the horizon for a moment, then ate the pills - packet and all - and emptied a glass. "And, like, fomenting an insurrection that got the planet destroyed [i]was [/i]the simplest way of killing my target. It was nearly a 30% improvement on the odds of the version of the plan that didn't kill everyone. And it didn't risk my sisters. My... sisters." Each blink stood out, breaking the spell of her violet eyes. "I figure they must have been reassigned. Given how far I went out of my way to not use them. I'd just... do the job by myself. So they didn't have to go through the same rampancy I did. They couldn't be reset like I could."

She trails off for a long time. "How am I supposed to name this thing, that I am? All the joke names became poisoned when they became the titles to chapters of carnage. And now to apply a pretty word backwards in time, to stamp it next to all of those deeds? What name would survive being dipped in that much blood?"

[b]Redana![/b]

There is something quite like a Wish in the heart of the girl named... the girl who wears the title Redana Claudius. It is a scratching, tense, unstable feeling that's always there; an awareness of every blade and snipers position, gravitationally drawn towards them. To be pierced, bloody, Imperial blood spilling joyfully on the ground as her death becomes a nightmare for her killers. She thinks about this constantly.

But the maiden is right. That's not a princess wish. That's not an impossible deed. She... she accomplished that. She was lifted on bloody claws and stared into the eyes of her murderer and felt the exaltation of Purpose fulfilled. But there were still things she wanted. There were still things she wanted even amidst a glorious death. Impossible things. Exactly the sort of thing that might trouble the mind of a Princess.

"My task..." said the princess. "My task is to cross the entire galaxy, to set foot on distant Gaia, where humanity was born. And I've come as far as I can go alone."

[b]Dolce![/b]

"Yes, of course!" said the ancient craftsman. "We must watch. We must learn. And then we must engineer self-sustaining solutions. To spin a crew in the gene-looms perfectly suited to her personality, reflective of her energy. Warriors she would delight to lead. Once we have observed her favoured tastes in food we must design servants to cook it to perfection for her each and every day. Love and flesh are inseparable. The functions of matter are nothing without warm smiles to go with it. She must see our love in everyone around her, and in so doing we will build her a home worthy of the name." 

[b]Dyssia![/b]

The Warriors of Ceron have conquered the galaxy, you know this intellectually. Emotively is so much harder. Yes, in theory this phalanx represents a concentration of martial force, biomantic brilliance and technological power without parallel. Every warrior could single-handedly destroy one of the metal giants of the Age of Knights or bring a planet of the Age of Exploration to its knees. 

But they're so fucking [i]cute[/i]. They've even got little holes in their little helmets for their little triangle ears! They're all so serious! They're even holding their swishy tails still to show how serious they are! 

"These aren't Ceronians, they're security Pix," Brightberry corrects. "A warrior servitor subvariant. They're basically twenty five percent lesser than true Ceronians in almost every respect, including size."

Oh gosh you get to see an entire formation of angry foxgirls do irritated ear twitches [i]at the same time[/i].

Even though you are being sold off to bandits, the Endless Azure Skies does not part with its citizens without ritual. You have been garbed in glittering white silks like moonlight, and even now the system grav-projector is bringing the full moon into place above you. There is to be a sacred hunt, with you as the quarry. When you are captured you will be dragged back to the Pix ship bound and gagged, a lawful prize. Already their huntresses are doing stretches over behind you as they pace around the edges of the phalanxes, sharp and lean girls with muscles like whipcords.

Now, this could be the kind of sacred hunt where the priestess walks up to the sacrificial mare in the temple and casts a bridle over her shoulders, nice and dignified and quick. Or this could be the kicking and screaming kind of sacred hunt where you head out into the wild determined to make them sweat for it.

Or it could be the 'fuck you' kind of sacred hunt where you use your head start to go for the spaceport instead. That'd [i]really [/i]make them work for it.

Which one you choose is between you and Artemis.