Phoe

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Oh no! Oh no oh no oh no no no! But, but... without my Castle Csjete and my many, many, oh-so-many servants and my hereditary wealth, I'd be! I'd be nothing more than! I'd!!"

It's like watching a magical girl transformation in reverse. Elizabeth Bathory sobs dramatically as she sinks to her knees, shimmery pink claw nails wiping uselessly at the tears that won't stop pouring from her beautiful gemlike eyes. Her perfect idol's costume, all that glitz and glam, all of it fades away in sputtering light like the dying embers of a long guttering fire. Goodbye, her wonderfully frilly skirts. Goodbye, her slightly scandalous and perfectly fitted top. Goodbye, her dazzling pink-spike heels. In their place are drab browns and blacks, the frumpy threadbare yet still tragically cute linens of a mere scullery maid. In her hand sits a bristle brush, which she dramatically dunks into a bucket of soapy water that only a second ago was not there at all.

And so the Countess of Blood washes the floors.

"Ahhhhhh, what a tragedy♪
"That Iiiiiiiiiii~♪
"Such a beautiful and innocent maiden♪♪
"Should be forced♪
"To toil away♪
"In obscurityyyyyyy♪♪
"By this wicked♪
"Kind of uggo♪♪♪
"Step-Empress♪"

Bubbles shimmer with their oil slick rainbow light around her. Maiden Ellie smiles at her numerous reflections inside of them, and in this moment regardless of rational explanations they look more like jewels from some magical kingdom where this kind of thing happens all the time.

At that exact moment, a doe with a squirrel riding on its back come scampering through the tunnels and perform a cantering sort of dance around her. The squirrel darts about excitedly and together they push a beautiful glass slipper toward the dutiful heroine with her absurdly cute little bandana and her smile so alight with wonder and the endless possibilities of the universe that refuse to be trampled so long as anyone with a beautiful heart and beautifuller face continue to hold onto a dream.

She takes the shoe in her trembling hands, and lets the well worn brush fall with a sudsy clatter on the ground. Music swells in the background, and three spotlights converge on her person. The glass glitters like diamond in all this light: it's as much of a weapon as it is a piece of footwear. The heel and the toe are both covered in such wicked spikes it's a wonder a certain other dancer doesn't want it as a venom delivery device. The drab, ordinary, but still very much a dragon and therefore the cutest possible maiden places the shoe on the floor and slips her delicate foot inside.

It is (of course) a perfect fit.

And suddenly she is not wearing the threadbare costume of a scullery maid, nor indeed any kind of maid at all anymore. Now Liz stands resplendent in a crystal ballgown with magnificent hooped skirts that simply have no front at all, the better to show off her slender legs and the gorgeous pink scales embedded in her creamy, perfect skin. Feel free to ask her for skincare tips by the way, everybody agrees she's an expert. The fabric gathers around her waist and smooths as it climbs up her chest and opens up for a good look at her gorgeous bust and the elegant curve of her bare shoulders before wrapping her arms in delicate silks that open from their skintight deliciousness into the most dramatically flared cuffs a girl could ever ask for.

No longer are her draconic claws painted pink. Now they glitter, like the curved horns atop her head, the color of diamonds. The only pink (which is still the best color) left on her at all sits atop her head in her perfectly styled hair, which is woven into an elaborate up-do bun with girlish flat bangs and lightly curled ringlets framing her princess-perfect face. Top it all off with a tiara and she's ready for the ball!

She gathers the woodland creatures into a hug before punting them off the stage.

"Oh thank you friends, of course of course! It's all so obvious now! The more downtrodden I become the more beautiful the Prince who rescues me! My Prince will always come for me. Why wouldn't she? I mean, just look at meeee♪"

The battle resumes, and though all Ellie seems to do is twirl in glittery light, or wobble comedically on her unbalanced slippers, or enter into a slow ballroom step with her overmatched opponent, the damage she inflicts everywhere she passes is unfathomable. Walls that have stood for probably thousands of years crack at the mere passing of her draconic cinderella power.

"Reality? I don't know her. The Bloody Countess? Carmilla? Oh please, as if! You really make me laugh, you silly goose. I. Am. An. I★D★O★L★. And now we're doing a musical, understand? If you think you can reach into the future and just pluck away my past, then I'll live in a world I make instead. Do you have any idea who you're even messing with?"

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who's the cutest of them all?

"...Wait. What do you mean it's it's a little mint flavored foxgirl?! You stupid mirror, see what you get!"

And she smashes the very magical, very sharp and bleed inducing mirror over Lancer's head. With a sharp kick, she sends the woman flying and falls into hysterical laughter. Her sparkly princess costume falls away and reveals impractical and kind of lewd (but pink! very very pink!) bikini plate mail armor.

Elizabeth the Brave plucks her mighty broadsword from the floor and levels it dramatically toward her foe. Her shining white cape flutters in the hot winds, and her heroic pink hair now falls gracefully down her shoulders and overtop of it. She has, of course, kept the tiara.

This then is the answer to Julia's Noble Phantasm she arrives at. A fantasy bubble to deny the reality bubble. The death of facts and logic: Fairy Tail Erzebet.

"Do you wanna keep going, oh Wicked Dragon King? Because I can promise you this: if you want to turn this into a battle of your ego versus mine??? Then I can't possibly lose!"

Um. Liz? Should you really be so proud of that?

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"I want it on the record! That the only reason I'm losing right now! Is because! I'm too busy! Trying! To keep my sides from splitting! Ahahahahahaha!"

It's true if you turn your head just right! That's legally distinct from a lie! She really has been giggling herself almost to death since the real identity of this creep was made clear. Oh, sorry. It's not about knowing who she is (because honestly, who cares?), but what she is that's so funny. Anyway the important thing is that it's really, really funny ok?

And that is why this whole fight is going backwards at the moment. She can keep herself from rolling on the floor. She can keep her perfect, pretty skirts and beautiful hair from getting snipped by these gross, double ick attacks, but she can't do those things and also outfight someone getting power ups from a monster. At least not without doing things that would compromise her status as an idol, you see.

"I mean why wouldn't I talk about your dumb spear? Look at it, girlie! It's like mud! Honestly, worse than mud! It doesn't go with anything you're wearing, not even the stuff that already doesn't go with the stuff you've got on! Like, I promised you a makeover but there are limits, piglet!"

She just barely manages to duck under the answering swing, but this one was so heavy that Elizabeth has time to wheel her body around and smack her tail into this half-Berserker's face. There's no power differential in the world that could keep her from flying a clear fifteen feet after that. She grins. She preens. She does that little hair toss that makes the fans go wild. Can't you hear them screaming for her?

"I can't, I can't, I just can't with you! You stink so much like that Other Empress I got myself all spun up for the sequel, but what are you actually? You're so pathetic and girl-next-door-with-depression it makes me want to choke on my own tongue laughing. What were you, her secretary? You couldn't be her concubine, not with anti-drip like that. She'd have had you pretty if you were hers. Oh god, you're a stan aren't you? That lance is something she touched once and you just never washed it, isn't it? Is that why it feels so ridiculously cursed? Ahahahaha that's so pathetic~"

Once more, Elizabeth Bathory takes a deep breath to fill her lungs with the power of a dragon. No preamble this time, no show. It's a shame but there's no time to write lyrics about how much this woman sucks, and cyphers aren't really her thing to begin with. A good idol's song should always be about how special and pretty and cute (and pretty!) she, Elly, is. And how much people should want to love her. Besides, why would she waste all that effort on an Empress of Roses stan when a single power note will do?

The shockwave sends the Lancer, stinkiest of all possible classes, flying backwards into a wall. With her magical energy glittering all around her like the very pinkest of fireworks Liz rushes forward, leaps, and begins to twirl like an ice skater (or a drill, if you're very terrible and uncouth) as she hurtles toward her opponent. She knows just what to strike. And she also knows that when it comes to it, this woman will move her lance out of the way from such a dangerous attack and just take it full on in the ribs rather than risk her most precious possession.

Because she knows the score. It's a little bit attachment, but it's mostly the arrogance and raw stupidity that comes with the kind of power you only pick up later in life. You know, the kind that makes you drunk on it. Like if somebody swallowed an artifact of ultimate power and authority and just digested all of its energy instead of learning to wield it properly. If someone tried something like that, they'd be history's biggest dummy.

"One for all, and all! For! Me~!"

The explosive power of her strike (and the real, actual explosions of her strike) would be lethal to even most Servants. In this case, what she manages is to carve away most of those gross vines, and to send that ridiculous laurel crown tumbling. Not to mention causing her opponent to flop face first onto the floor with a deliciously pathetic little moan.

And this would be the time to finish her off. She's got enough space to launch into a musical number of such beauty that it would make the sun itself explode in shame. But Elizabeth does not do that. She plants her foot and calls for a spotlight (which shines down obligingly at the right angle to shine her shiny hair so perfectly that nobody could look at her and not fall in love), but she doesn't use that cue for stabbing or for singing. Instead she just hides her mouth behind her hand and unleashes a noblewoman's delighted laugh.

"You know what your problem is? You tried to cut to the front of the line and now you don't know how to hack it in the big girl's club. You don't belong and you know it. So why not let me do whatever I want with you? I'll make you sparkle, you unbelievable idiot. If you've got your eye on someone special you'll take their heart with a single sigh once I'm through. Nothing so much as breathes near me without being pretty enough. Or if you really are an Empress and not just some sad punchline at the end of my real rival's legacy, why don't you... Prove. It?"

Her smile is darker than the endless night. Her eyes are sharper and more radiant than cut gemstones. Her tail is a thousand times cuter and more desirable than any fox's who has yet walked the earth.

This is not mercy. Or empathy or any other of those stupid soft heart words. This isn't a quiet hand down to somebody in a bad spot because she Gets It and has Been There Before. No. She just said it isn't, so you'd better believe her. This is the proper ruthlessness someone should expect from a good ruler.

"If you've got any pride in you at all, stand up and show me. I'll say whatever the hell I want about your sweaty little lance if you don't. Or I'll just eat you and take all your borrowed power for myself! I bet I can put to waaaaaaay better use than you! Ooh, maybe even concerts... on the surface!!!"

Again, don't get mixed up. It's just, if that monster energy is what's crushing her so flat then pushing her to show her pride would definitionally push that power back out. Right? It's brilliant, right? And then she really will get to eat it. Isn't that just perfect? Isn't it exactly the sort of brilliant plan you expect from Elizabeth Bathory? It is, isn't it? Right? Right????

Breathless Dead

Her tongue is covered in sand. Heavy, dry, gritty, barren. Trapped. The desire to swallow is overwhelming, but it's like trying to do it with a mouthful of cinnamon: all that she can do is choke and sputter. But she must do it quietly, quietly. Oh so very quietly. She has not known fear like this since the Opera.

She can feel fingers of pure ice reaching down her chest and filling her insides with a cold more intense than any weather she has ever known, a thought that chills her even more as it registers across the front of her brain. She cannot speak. She cannot speak. She cannot allow Her to know that comparison that came to mind. The very concept is blasphemy itself.

All she wants in this moment is a whiff of roses. All she wants is the smile that smell implies. It is nowhere to be found. There is sulfur and bright burning metallics and the odor of their conflagration, and there is the formaldehyde miasma of a body preserved well enough to contain a god even in death. Part of a god? Or just an Empress? Her nose cannot tell. She is too busy looking for roses. Roses the Empress has lost. Roses the Princess has given away.

"Your Majesty, I..."

The words drop from her mouth as if shot out of the air with arrows. Useless platitudes delivered in her useless voice to express useless sentiments. This is not her place. She puts her mouth to better use and drinks the tastes and scents of the chamber deeper than before. And there she finds sweat, and ash, and the soot of war. She finds fresh soil and iron and a fear that is not hers.

Redana.

Bella finds her legs for Redana. She stands again even as the anger that was animating her ebbs away into pure terror, all for Redana. She stands behind her and wraps her arms around her shoulders in an act of suicidal possession, where there is warmth and the firmness of muscles still fit for the Olympics (as hers never were) and the grateful pressing back of that beautiful head into her own soft chest. She holds, and is held. She stands.

And even in this, Nero does not turn to her. Not even to frown.

"Y-Your Majesty, can't you see me? Can't you hear my voice? Please, I! Do I... do I have to give It back to you? Because I! I!!"

A mother. A father. It doesn't matter to her at all. She left in the end for the promise of a single tender glance. So why? Why isn't she getting it? What did she do wrong? What has she forgotten to do?

Return to Thellamie

"...Aha."

Eclair's summoned heartblade is a match for the one she pulled in Mayzie's presence back during the duel in Vespergift. Her second heartblade matches it, now mirroring the two she wielded against the Architect Knight. Her third and her fourth are new to anybody she has met since she ventured forth from the Manor on this ill-fated mission. These beautiful, curving, single-edged blades join seamlessly together to form a pair of double-bladed polearms, which she twirls with such adroit cleverness that they seem to slice the idea of sound from the air itself.

She tosses the pair of them up into the air and they separate back into swords once more before burying themselves into the floorboards down to the hilt. One in the North. One in the South. One in the East. One in the West. The floor of the room lights up like a stormy sky, flashing pearly and purple lightning across the meager bedroom and turning it into an arena of legends.

She pulls a fifth sword from her heart, this one as pliable as a whip, and wraps its edge around her left fist.

"A contest between heartblades is not a contest of skill or experience. It is merely an expression of willpower. If yours remains inviolate, then even if your entire body should fail you, victory is still possible. Conversely..."

There is some clever and possibly horrifying bit of Maid-Knight magic to the technique of Reduced Earth. Whatever that is, it is not to be revealed here. Still, Eclair is an adept student: in a single violet blur of motion she crosses all the distance between herself and Mayzie, and now looms large and imposing in her glittering dress and armor in front of her childhood friend.

"--If one heart is defeated..."

Her sword-hand grapples Mayzie around the wrist, seizing control of her dawn colored knife.

"--Before the fight begins..."

Their faces are touching now. Eclair plants the softest and sweetest of kisses on Mayzie's cheek.

"--There is no need..."

She pulls Mayzie's arm forward by the wrist and thrusts the dagger through the crack in her armor.

"To fight in the first place."

Eclair takes three slow steps backwards, pulling free from the kiss. Free from the knife. She stands there in silence with her back as straight and proud as can be, and everything about her stance and expression exuding the confidence and power of a Maid-Knight in full standing who truly believes she could fight the entire world and win. At least with preparation.

She snaps her fingers and all of her weapons dissolve into mist. Then she dips into a low curtsy.

"Once again I have underestimated you, Mayzie. I was all too aware that the money I had offered you could not be stretched far enough to repair a broken city and I confess that restricted my thinking. No wonder I found you working another service job. You fool, what was there to be embarrassed about? You should have been gloating!"

She reaches for a mop and begins to clean up after herself until the room is spotless, well beyond the level of clean she found it in. She glances often at Mayzie's reaction as she continues, most especially to make sure she's still standing there. With a single relieved huff, she finishes and draws out her tablet in its place.

"A moment, if you please. Your heart is as beautiful as you are, and I can only hope to match it. I am going to inform my Order of the current status of my investigation. I am also going to requisition time off to accompany you until the restoration of Vespergift is well in hand. To arrange the transport of all the food and materials a clever mind might have purchased will take more work days than you can possibly afford right now. But if you simply hire me, I can accomplish all of this trivially. Distribution, construction, and especially cleaning are also skills I possess at a passable level."

She turns her head away and blushes, visible despite her very valiant attempts at hiding it.

"I am... sorry that this means you will be forced to continue looking at my face. I can wear a mask if that will help. I have... mmf. Simply realized there is no honor or kindness in disappearing or in aiding your dreams if I do not at least fix the things that are holding your dreams hostage in the first place. So I will. Be there. To pay back all the pieces that loved me. And t-the... ones that hated me as well. If I wish for you to think well of the Aurorae it is my job to prove you should. Not yours."

With a single, awkward glance at her friend she buries her nose in her tablet and begins writing with quick and feathery taps. For all her speed it's a thing that still takes quite a while, because in writing any missive to the entire Manor at once she will always find she has a lot to say. There isn't enough time or space to write down all the little bits of love and longing or every fastidious detail she copies from her notebooks, but the basic thrusts are these:

1. That Timtam is very decidedly not acting alone, though the full extent of her resources remains unclear
2. That she has employed multiple channels of misdirection, and that her sisters-in-arms to take care to scrutinize the rumors that filter in from the world
3. That even if she has betrayed the Order utterly, Timtam's heart remains her own. It is Eclair's recommendation in the meantime that the Maids and the Dreamers at the very least do not give up on her just yet.
4. That Timtam is limited enough after current events that Eclair feels comfortable prioritizing the wellbeing of Vespergift, recently destroyed by the sudden reemergence of the Rot Star.
5. If anybody from the Order wishes to criticize, chastise, or otherwise admonish her, they can find her in the city that fights the forest. Where there will evidently be a ball of some sort? She will be in attendance if there is any chance it could be mission relevant to either of her current goals.
6. Though owing to a mysterious and unprovoked aggression from the Civils, she may be forced to don a disguise or four. Send only Maid-Knights or couriers who could know her by her eyes.

It goes on like this, for endless paragraphs that name over six dozen individuals she wishes to send her love to. She asks if anybody knows whether Evening liked her picture. And for endless paragraphs more she begs everyone for their patience and understanding as she unwinds these unexpectedly complex threads. Then she (quite unnecessarily, given the... everything else about it) puts her signature on the bottom in her usual idiom.

As if anyone at the Manor wouldn't know the title she gave to herself when she was barely more than a squire.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Um? Excuse me?? Do you mind??? You're ruining my show????"

That last one isn't a question, but she's built up too much momentum to keep the rising inflection out of her voice. The effort it would have taken to wrench her voice down to the proper octave also would have risked making her sound uncute, which is just flagrantly unacceptable no matter how you do the math.

Plus, maybe it is actually a little bit of a question. That she, Elizabeth Bathory, media darling and dragon idol, was in the presence of the saddest sort of loser imaginable there could be no doubt. That this yappy little drag was committing the ULTIMATE CRIME of not paying attention to the greatest concert in human history was likewise not at all in question. Unless she's just waiting for Love is Dracul? Some especially rude piggies do wind up being one-song stans sometimes. Always a risk when your debut hit is that perfect. But that can't exactly be overlooked in the face of the EVEN MORE ULTIMATE CRIME of being so unbelievably cringe that it's making her revise her Empress Tier List. Do you realize she actually misses that idiot right now?? What's up with that?!

But it might not be so unacceptable, you see. Because it might be an opportunity. Is she an idol or is she an idol? Then it's time for our challenge of the day!!!!

"Ohhhhhhhh," she chirps, "Iiiiiiii see what's going on~"

Ready, and! Hop! Pose! Sparkle! Flash those gemstones in the spotlight, girlie!

"It's our contest winner, lovelies! Isn't this great? Production scoured the whole, entire earth just to find the saddest, most bedraggled little puppy that's ever been born!"

Her smile is beatific, but her fangs flash hotter than dragonfire. There's murder in her soulful, starry, gorgeously turquoise eyes for those with a mind to notice it there.

"But don't worry! Your hero Elly's here to fix her all up! Game, set! Mission: Makeover! Let's start!!"

No more singing. No more singing yet. She'll croon over this idiot's broken corpse in a minute, just be patient! But right now she needs all of that magical energy to sprout big, glittery wings! She needs to well up a big store of power in her tummy like one of those weird martial artsy guys in those movies certain (beloved but don't tell them that) dorks (do tell them this!) like to watch way too late at night, so that when she takes off there's the might of a peerless warrior behind her attractive and girlish figure. Hero of Charity? Eat your heart out, sun-boy.

"I think! We should!! Start off!!! Wiiiith~! That stupid!!!! Lance!!"

The stompy, deliciously pink kick leads with is actually aimed at this disgusting Empress' face, but so what? She'll probably block! Probably, right? And if she doesn't, then hey! The follow up Tail Slam will crush everything that's hers into little bitty bits anyway! It's actually magnanimous to not be so picky. Or something?

Whatever!

Breathless Dead

The red eye witnesses. The gold eye watches.

Bella smoothly bows before her Empress, sliding onto one knee and bowing her head in worshipful respect. The beauty of that throne has not declined in centuries of death, and she does not dare to profane that divine perfection by trying to scrutinize it. It is enough that She is here. It is enough that She is speaking. Her heart is all aflutter with love and with longing and with the deep-coded desire to be as pleasing as possible.

Bella's legs are trembling. The pressure in the air is like a poison, like gravity itself. Though she fights to keep her feet next to Redana (her wife who needs her now more than ever), defiance is more than her body can stand right now. She collapses. She feels the weight crushing against her skull, bending her neck, forcing her eyes toward the ground. Her claws dig into the floor with a musical chirp. She refuses to be bent. Not like this. Not in front of this woman, with her contemptible reek and her desiccated, plucked apart face that still dares to hint at a smile even after everything that has happened. And worse, dares to seem sad.

The red eye gazes. The gold eye glares.

"Your Majesty, I have done everything that you asked of me. Please forgive my lateness: it has been a very long and difficult journey. I do not seek words of praise, but rather wish only to return the office you lent to me now that my task is finished."

Is that how it goes? The words come out of her mouth, but is that what they sound like? Or do they come out in a furious hiss, anger and jealousy boiling over until they come out as blasphemy?

"Look at me! Look at me!! For once just say my name! Am I not... Aren't I your daughter too?!"

The red eye squints. The gold eye narrows.

Bella stays bent on the floor. Half for love, and half for hate. Half fearing danger, half just wanting to be Redana's strength. Half pushing her forehead to the ground, half lifting her onto her feet. Two eyes watch the same scene and see different things.

One red, and one gold. The colors of the Imperium.

Return to Thellamie

"I... I thought that..."

Eclair's head hangs low. Her ears are crushed flat by the weight that has followed the two of them into the room, and that same unbearable pressure keeps her tail flopped limp against the floor where she sits. She pushes forward, but only enough to lift her back and her head up to the point where she can pound them against the door in a long, slow loop.

She is like a statue teetering on the edge of collapse. She dare not try to be anything more, lest whatever she becomes try to kiss Mayzie across her lips. Whether born from pain or pleasure, the beauty radiating from her first (and it might still be said only real) friend is astonishing. It catches Eclair like a series of hooks bit into her ribs. But the one thing she must not do is give in. She has already broken an oath not to force Mayzie to look at her. If she kissed her on top of that it would be shame worthy of permanent exile to the Outside, there to lose herself and slowly take whatever shape she would. Or to stubbornly cling to herself and merely watch the world bend around her, instead, like a god inside of a glass bottle.

She shudders.

"The only thing I wanted was to allow for your happiness, Mayzie. I wished for you to leave and see the world, like you might have if I'd had the strength to come for you when I ran away. I wanted to thank you for your help, both in the past and with my present investigation. I wanted, I wished, I thought that... I did not want you burning your life on labor you so obviously despised. So far removed from your passions. Whether you, I, if, I..."

Eclair rises off the floor, though it feels like pushing all of Thellamie out from under her at once. She crosses the room with caution and closed eyes, not daring a single glance in Mayzie's direction, until she has reached the pedestal where her dress and armor sit in waiting. As she had once instructed Mayzie to do, she reaches forward and carefully brushes her palm against the shoulder, and feels the warmth and weight of it replacing her silly and pointless costume.

She stands once more Eclair Espoir, the Violet Flash. Investigative Maid-Knight of the Aurora. She grabs a brush from her bedside and carefully strokes her hair back into a position worthy of that name and distinction. And now that she is so armored, she watches Mayzie all the while.

"Had you become enamored of Kel, or Crevas, or Aestival and merely settled down into a new life I would have counted it as a small blessing. The meanest good deed my appropriation of Order funds might have accomplished, but the only gesture I could have managed that would both express my feelings and keep my promise to never trouble you again. Only, I..."

She feels her gauntlets groaning against her skin when she balls them into fists.

"I had assumed. Having seen you. That your heart was all for Vespergift. It made me hope, selfishly I admit, that if I could realize your ambitions as a dressmaker, that it, that you... would have put color in those streets. Would have brought eyes and bodies there for reasons that had nothing to do with Heron's damnable bath house. I am a Maid, Mayzie. I can only clean messes, or perform what chores are given to me. A ruined city is beyond my power to heal. But I thought, maybe, that the smartest woman I have ever met might manage better. If I could only free her to move as she would."

Eclair places her hand at her hip and pulls her sword free. No heartblade, this. Nothing of love or vulnerability or intimacy in this flat piece of cold steel. Those all belong to her eyes, which are wet past the point of sight.

"I hadn't counted on you hating me so much you would just throw it in the trash. I am sorry, Mayzie. The failure belongs to me once again. Please. Please tell me where the money has gotten to. I have to fix this. It is..."

A matter of honor? She can't explain that. Not to someone who looks at the Black and White and only sees betrayal. If the apology will not come, if no forfeit will ever be offered from those stubborn lips, then one must be seized instead. The blow must fall, whatever hand must swing it.

And so it does.

The blade crunches against her plate when she turns and smashes it against her ribs. The power of Light that is her main defense against the evils of the world has no power against her own crude attack, and the much thicker metal of the sword wins easily against the slender working of maid-knight armor. Eclair winces, and drops back down to her knees. Hiding the spot where small patters of blood have leaked onto the floor.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Ugh, something smells like Rome. On top of the venue being a total drag, is this what I have to put up with for a guest list? I swear to gawd if it's her, I'm walking! I'll walk right out! See if I don't! And it'll be all your fault, too!"

It's bad enough they expect her to light up the world stuck down in this depressing hole in the ground, but to make her do it without a proper Manager? The. Worst. If only they'd brought her little Squirrel here with her. She'd even have taken her Deerlet! You know, if she had to. She'd have certainly been better than this big fat nothing.

The Super Magical Idol-Class Dragon Servant, Elizabeth Bathory (the beloved yet oh-so-unobtainable girl of everyone's dreams) huffs dramatically, and her bereavement is matched only by her cuteness. This is only like the millionth time she's given into that thought, and every time the result's the same. It's a simple truth that any perfect idol should be capable of handling her own production, and an even simpler truth that she was so great that it more than made up for the shortcomings of her two-bit contractor. Some day, and she's positive it'll be soon, all of this will pay off.

Yeah, you know what? Now that it's come to it, she's feeling extra pumped up today! Especially if it turns out to be her! Just you wait you sorry, short stack, tone deaf, two-bit excuse for an Empress!

"Hiiiiii, my lovelies! I'm so excited to see some fresh faces in the crowd today! Have you been good boys and girls? Have you been begging like you should? Then how about? We start? The show~?"

Just like the sun (Always)
I must shine (never changing)
Call it Sadness, Eternity, Popularity, I want to make sure
If I love you, you love me more!

I'll find you~
Feel you
I just want to be by your side

This immature, young love is getting stronger
This everlasting sound: the chiming of my heart
These contradicting feelings, like a knife biting into my chest have burst me open
covered me in red~~

Everything feels better than usual today. Her magical energy feels (if this is even possible) beyond its peak. Her hair is pinker and glossier than she can remember, her horns shimmer in the spotlight so brilliantly that if she were even a shade less professional she'd drag the show to a halt just admiring them. As she dances on feet that feel so feather-light that her lethal heels are no obstacle to clever choreography at all she can feel her hips sway in that tantalizing way that perfectly splits the line between sex appeal and innocence that an idol should always be standing astride.

It feels the best when she hops. That's when her super cute and just barely long enough skirt bounces juuuuuuust enough to promise a flash of something wonderful, but never enough to quite confirm it. It's delicious, this feeling. Always make the piggies think you're about to give them everything they want. Never let them have it. That's the way a proper tyrant should rule. That's what it means to have it all. To to be adored and lusted after without ever giving the slightest crumb of yourself in exchange for the worship of these adoring simps... isn't that what makes being an idol the best job there is?

Well. Until that one very special, very perfect someone comes along and sweeps her off her feet. Then it's the life of a true princess for this dragon. How sad for all the dolts down here that nobody could ever hope to meet her exacting criteria~

(Forever) because we are connected
(Softly) When I make you see
(Surely) you will save me

'Cause I'm your idol (if you)
It's ok if it all falls apart (are with me)
Call it Love, Eternity, Popularity, I just want to make sure
If I love you? You love me more!!

I thought that this beautiful place was all that I needed, but
This feeling of guilt is clawing me to pieces
One look at your warm and gentle eyes, and I feel my chest go tight
Even as you lift me away into the sky

Looking cool, Elly! You're so beautiful, Elly! We love you, Elly! Step on us, dragon mommy!

Wait, what? Uhhhhhh, you didn't hear anything at all! That's just how sharp the pressure Super Magical Idol Vampire Dragon Elizabeth Bathory is putting off right now. To get caught up in her dancing is to be crushed. Her microphone is half a sword and her claws are as deadly as they are kissable. Her teeth flash tantalizingly from behind her pinker than Pink Dye #9 lips, which are pulled into the kind of glittering smile that doesn't so much fill hearts as steal them forever.

Her dance is violence. Her song is death. But worse than that, it's love. Hasn't she said, over and over again, that it's overkill just to hire her for a job like this? Wake up, you tail chewing, mouth breathing, cutesy little simpleton! If you miss even this, you're dead to her! No! Worse than that! She won't give you her autograph even if you beg! So neyh!!

(Barely) I've finally arrived
(Firmly) Even if my eyes can't leave the ground
(Surely) You'll accept me

Just like the sun (Everything is)
I must shine (Illuminated by me)
Call it Sadness, Eternity, Popularity, I just want to make sure
If I love you? You love me more!!

"Everyone, thanks so much for coming out today! I see so many new faces~! Ohhh, I'm so happy you could make it all the way here just for little old me! Come on everybody, let's make this the best day ever! Let me hear you scream 'more~'! Come on, let me hear you scream 'more'! I wanna hear you scream 'more'! I wanna hear you scream more!

I WANNA HEAR YOU SCREAM MORE~~!!!!"

Liz's spine curls along the arc of her glittering gemstone tail. As her voice reaches a crescendo the noise resembles something the cruder members of her audience might call a climax. And so what if they're right? Can anyone blame her for getting so worked up when the show is this good? It's almost (almost!!) enough to bring her to her knees, twitching and squirming where she ought to be dancing and thrashing like the queen of the world's most dangerous mosh pit.

Like an idol (Because I am)
It's ok if it all falls apart (not alone)
Love, Eternity, Popularity, I just want to make sure
You love, YOU LOVE ME MORE!!

Her whole stage trembles with the mystic force of her music. Power wells within her that could destroy the world in the wrong (and less cute) hands. Spires rise up all around her and underneath her feet, lifting her onto the parapets of a twisted nightmare castle of speakers, strobe lights, and sound cables where she is the unquestioned and unchallenged Princess of the genre best described as Dragon Pop.

She takes the deepest breath she's capable of, puffing out her chest as much as a girl like her is capable of and filling her lungs with equal parts oxygen and absurdly lethal mana. Every good dragon has a breath attack, right?

"Are you ready, little fluffballs? It's time for the finale! I'll let you hear the greatest hit in the Underworld~! Let's get pumped up!! Let me hear you crying like pathetic little kittens! Báthory! Erzsébet!!!"

The shockwave that follows could draw blood from the ears of a statue. The magical energy in that shockwave would have that statue crumble to dust, and weep with joy just to have the chance to do so. Entire hallways collapse in ecstasy and lesser demons evaporate into light, their souls instantly cleansed and sent to be reborn into the world above as bright eyed popstar hopefuls in their own right. All others cover their ears and writhe on the ground in deaf non-comprehension and gorgeous agony.

Ah me! Oh my! Sometimes, this idol impresses even herself.

"Ahhhhhhh," she whimpers, touching beautiful pink claw to beautifuller blushing cheek, "I think maybe I deserve a bath. It's been so long since I've indulged myself properly..."

Breathless Dead

All of her weight is resting on Redana's back. Cool. Firm. Stable. It supports her where her own power has deserted her. Someone picked her up out of the dirt. Someone picked her up out of the Box. Someone holds her still.

Even now.

Her breath comes in shaky sighs. Her vision is dotted with starlight and dancing shadows that exist nowhere but between her retinas and her malfunctioning brain. She cannot stop the drool from falling from her lips, can barely raise her neck to look at the Shogun.

But even so.

She raises her hand into the air. Though her shoulder strains with the effort. Though her hand trembles horribly just from being held aloft. She lifts it high. To ask for... no. To command silence.

"Save it," she half drawls and half slurs in a voice like a slow dragging knife that cuts across her exhaustion even as it emphasizes it, "For your pups."

Bella's arm falls limp against her side. Her other hand pushes against Redana's shoulder, and though she shakes even harder, though her ragged sighs and hissing fill the comparative silence of the space, all the same she rises. Her knees that wish to buckle under her hold up the sky instead. This must be her next impossible labor, she supposes.

It's those eyes. Those same eyes every time, that have forced her to pick herself back up. She looks one more time for their light, and turns her sneering face back to the woman standing in front of them.

"I don't give a shit about war. I don't give a shit about peace either. I'm not Her Majesty, after all. What amuses or motivates your pack of dumbasses doesn't concern me at all. I'm only here for one thing."

Her first step is small and pathetic. But her second one is longer. Her third is the perfection of both maid and Praetor. She turns and offers her hand to Ember, to Redana, low enough that she can hide how much it still shakes.

"Enough of this. Come on. We're... we're going. To go see Her."

Return to Thellamie

"You absolute cretin."

Whispered venom and undisguised hurt. Take her by the hand. Squeeze the wrist and palm: tight enough to prevent the attempt at slipping free but well enough to not cause pain. Priority remains civilian safety and mission integrity, in that order.

"Come. Now. I will knock you out and drag you if I must."

Walk. Imperative to clear the danger zone. In her flustered defiance, Mayzie will yelp and complain but forget to fight physically. Intended disguise for this moment is a pair of arguing lovers dealing with stress from whatever accident just happened at that cafe. Easy to be convincing, should allay suspicions enough to pry witness eyes away and toward more interesting subjects until they are clear enough to speak openly.

Destination: personal lodgings. Enter room and note armor, uniform, and personal gear. Close door with foot. Pivot, turn hip, slam Mayzie against near wall. Follow through and SLAM open palm next to her head. Lean close, nose to nose. Show the light burning in own eyes.

"I will say it again: you cretin. There is a point where pride turns to poison inside your body, and you have long crossed it."

Reach up, tear off wig. Natural hair will tumble messily down to shoulders, bangs drifting haphazardly across face. Allow it. Unimportant. Things only need be said as myself.

"Charity? Sugar?! Idiot! Ass! I gave you that money because you earned it! It! Was! Payment! For services I deemed invaluable! Do you even understand what it was you accomplished that night? Do you have any concept of your own true worth? You may mock me. Denigrate me. Belittle me all you like. I will not speak a word of complaint to lashes I have earned."

Frustrated growl. Feel own ears bending low in misery. Flash of teeth and press of forehead against forehead.

"...I will have you put that armor on. I will dress you in my colors and see how well you are able to stand it. And I will have you lead me to where you disposed of that money, because it was neither frivolous nor improper and even if you hate me so much that you cannot accept fair payment from me I would still see it do more good than rotting in some ditch to soothe your feelings. You will do this, or it is to be heartblades at dawn.

"Not even you, Mayzie. My love for you cannot protect you from this. So I will have you feel the weight of that dress and apron, and we will see if you can continue deluding yourself about the Aurorae after that."

Feel tear welling in left eye. Allow to roll unimpeded down cheek, fall to floor. Resist urge to clean it. This is... all that I can do to protect her from the wrath of the Order. Which will descend upon her like a storm. Turn away, walk free. Lean/collapse against the door.

"You moron."