sound the bugle now

amalia chandrakant there is a color that shines through your skin Like the moon on the wind And as she finishes, a burst of color- -and the spire monster dies. Amalia watches, wide-eyed, slick with sweat, as the creature that was once alive at last succumbs to death, taking Ronin along with it. There are tears on her cheeks (from the weight of her sorrow or the intensity of her pleasure?), and as they flutter away like so much shrapnel the girl buries herself in Frey. "Why?" she whispers against the being- why was it made, why was it abandoned, why does such senselessness need to occur? Did the Voice do this, create a creature - a child - and cast it away to wither and rot? Maybe there are no answers. More and more, the girl who longs for explanations is finding this to be the case. Looking up at the sound of Frey's voice, Amalia sees... herself. There, among the gathered figures, her body writhing in flagrante, the baker is on display. Suddenly she realize what they have been doing; suddenly, she remembers who she is, and the familiar wash of nervous embarrassment cuts through her post-coital haze "No!" she exclaims panickedly, dark eyes flickering between them all, lingering for just a moment on Deimos before darting away, a crimson flush staining her cheeks. Looking back to Frey, the girl wonders if this is to be her punishment at last. For a moment she had forgotten the sharp sting of their words, the condemnation in their voice, but now as she witnesses the cost of her failure playing out, naked and exposed and vulnerable and afraid, the weight of her foolishness crashes down upon Amalia like a wave. the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask And the rings round your eyes

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frey

Frey engulfs her easily, a shroud for her funeral of emotions. "Why not?" They reply, and through the texture of their coating, Amalia will sense that this is not just some slight of a response, not a childish taunt. It is a genuine answer. On a long enough timeline anything becomes possible, everything probable. And so, things are done. Creations made to be destroyed.

So it goes.

"Maybe just not yet." Frey replies, deeply amused and this third perspective viewing shifts and disappears, taking Amalia out of the Spire just as 108 touches the core and it all goes to hell...

..and they are back in the glade. Amalia is still naked, but that is likely the least of her worries now.

amalia chandrakant there is a color that shines through your skin Like the moon on the wind "It seems cruel," the girl replies, still clinging to the comfort of Frey upon her skin, "To bring something to life and then leave it to rot. Did she do this? Or-" and another thought strikes her, harder to reconcile, "-did it happen because she was locked away?" The answer of 'not yet' does little to assuage Amalia's panic, but as they begin to disappear once more a larger concern looms. For as she watches a figure strikes forward, reaching out with reverent hands to clasp the center of the mummified figure within, and there is a flash of light, and- "-NO!" Amalia cries into the trees, reaching out with a trembling arm, but it is much, much too late. Above her the Spire is crumbling, its top shattered down into fragments like the demon before, and all around the barrier... the barrier... The barrier is falling. Naked, exhausted from the combined stress of trauma and orgasms, terror and sex, Amalia sits back upon her heels, stunned. She shivers, though whether from cold or fear she is not sure. Overwhelmed by the whirlwind of new sensations, the blasting gale of change, Amalia Chandrakant can only stare as everything she has ever known is irrevocably altered. Their cage is open. They are free. Only, she did not expect freedom to taste so sour. "What happens to the world now?" the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask And the rings round your eyes

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frey

Frey shrugs against Amalia, a magical eight ball: answer unclear, try again later. "She created it knowing where she was. Knowing she could not leave." They said finally.

What happens to the world now?

Frey stands, a radiant being in a world of chaos. They are composed, unrattled. Their gaze falls somewhere near Amalia's navel before rising against to her eyes, peering into the core of her, slinking around her ribs and the cockles of her heart before pulling their gaze up and out.

"Depends what you all decide to do with it, hon." They reply candidly, and then in a blink, they are gone, leaving Amalia with questions and clothes.

amalia chandrakant there is a color that shines through your skin Like the moon on the wind She is left with more questions and no answers, a spinning head and a bewildered heart. What does it mean--? But it doesn't matter now, for around her the world is changing faster than she can think. Frey is right: she is too late, did too little, and now they will have to pay the price, whatever that may be. Slick with sweat and reeking of sex, Amalia shoves her quivering body back into her clothes, her dark eyes never leaving the horizon- a horizon she can see. She needs to find Rory and Jigano, to make sure they are alright. She needs to check on her bakery, on the Spire, on the people. She needs to figure out what happens now, how to atone for her mistakes-- Amalia trips and falls to the ground, landing, exhausted, on her back. The world is spinning, and the stars... the stars... The stars are so very bright. She does not move to stand again. There are a million things she has to do, but first, for the first time in her life, unhindered by a barrier, a cage for her ancestor's mistakes- Amalia needs to see the sky. the night is full on behalf or your evaded mask And the rings round your eyes

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