From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
Rexanna nodded slightly as Melita mentioned that portals skewed things. They most certainly did and Rexanna was still trying to figure out how all of this was possible – the different memories of separate lives, colliding and colluding with one another as if it were some cruel joke. A second taste at freedom, but with predetermined ideas from others of how she should be. She inhaled deeply before her eyes landed on Melita as she began to recite names and the ex-Thief tilted her head almost amused. She hadn’t met D’art, nor Ophelia from what she could remember – but she did remember Mauja.
“I remember Mauja.” She almost hummed with amusement, but it disappeared when Melita spoke and she agreed silently. It would always be home, even if in this body she had never stepped foot in the separate world (a nonexistent world, destroyed and broken and gone). “Who was your mother?” She questioned curiously before feeling relaxed enough to take another bite of the homely bread – the flavors mixing and melding in such a comforting way that she almost didn’t hear Melita’s next words.
But when they registered, Rexanna almost choked. “She’s here?” She almost shrieked, eyes wide as she stared at the fiery girl. “I… Oh gods.” Somehow, Rexanna had skipped disbelief and her joyous nature for straight panic. “In that other life, the one that actually lived Helovia, I was Kiada’s mother.” She explained as if it would make sense why her reaction was so volatile. She lifted her free hand to her forehead and rested it there as she closed her eyes, a pounding and pulsing headache began behind her temples at the idea.
and whenever we happened to touch,
smoke rose from our skin.
“I never got to meet them. They were just in stories.” She shrugged, uncertain of how much of the tales were ever true, forced, or outright lies – barbs and omens from the Dragon’s Throat, meant to be foreboding intervals for the youth of the sand and smoke – beware the Basin never outrightly expressed, but said in between the lines. “What was he like?” She muttered and mumbled between her bites of bread, savoring the lovely flavors across her tongue again, making her thinking of turning back to receive more. “My mother was Najya, a healer.” She’d taken her mother’s name as her last – a way to preserve and honor the mender who could only remain in spirit, in ghostly form behind her eyes. “I didn’t know my father.” The youth mentioned off-handedly, in case the inquiry was sizzling along Rexanna’s tongue; never met, never understood, but she’d always noticed a difference between her sister and herself – fraternal, certainly not identical, and by her sister’s disposition, she’d taken after their gentle, lovely mother. Melita could only presume she’d caught the bloodline of her father and run off with it – rapacious and crimson and savage.
But when Rexanna’s voice became choked, surprised, utterly befuddled by the honeybee girl’s latest statement, Melita’s eyes rounded in response, listening intently to the spiraling actions and accord. “Really?!” Kiada’s mother: alive and whole, before her. She wondered what to say or do next; not allowing the bitterness, the rancor, of Kiada’s actions to sizzle over her mind – it had naught to do in the moment, in the moment of space and time. How lucky and fortuitous it was, truly – her eyes watched Rexanna’s hand go to her forehead, and the girl followed suit, very gently, very soothingly, like she might’ve known how to mend in another life, under her mother’s beatific tutelage. She thought about guiding the woman to a bench, so that she might sit, react, think, and ponder where to go from there. “Would you like to see her again?” Her words were a whisper, quiet and hushed, reverent, exploring the options unfolding.
For a brief moment, Rexanna felt transported back to her time in that other world, that different life, as Melita mentioned she only heard of them in stories and had never met them. And for a moment, the woman is happy to have known those that had been a part of such things, but the fiery girl asked what Mauja was like and Rex began to try and process just what the unique man was like. “He didn’t seem to say much, but he was regal, noble, stronger than anyone knew I think.” She offered quietly, as though the memory seemed a bit fuzzy. “I admired him immensely.” She said, her sapphire gaze landing on the girl before Melita brought up everything Rexanna had hoped weren’t true.
Melita seemed just as surprised, however, and was prepared to take Rexanna to a bench before she asked if she’d like to see her again. And for a moment, Rexanna didn’t know how to respond. She wanted to see Kiada – to see it was possible that in another life she could bear children, but it also terrified her. She wasn’t the same woman that Kiada likely remembered – and she was likely a terrible mother as well. Her hand fell from her forehead and she stared hard at the ground before her eyes lifted to meet Melita’s face. “I don’t know, actually.” She paused, unsure how to continue.
After what felt like an eternity, her brows furrowed and she sighed a bit heavily. “I’m not that same person, I’m a different version of myself. I doubt she’d like me very much or even care.” She offered the girl a bit sadly, before shrugging as if it didn’t matter (even though it did, a lot, to her) and trying to ease the mood. “Perhaps another day.”
and whenever we happened to touch,
smoke rose from our skin.
Intertwined with the notion of Helovia were woven spells of beings come to life: regal and noble Mauja, stronger than the underlying notions, than the glaciers, than the stars, admiration from afar or nearby. But stronger, fiercer, were the undulations of uncertainty, the waves of apprehension smothered into a stretch of oblivion. She didn’t know if she wanted to see her daughter? Her head tilted, and she couldn’t hide her disbelief – given any opportunity at all, she would’ve raced against time, bruises, lacerations, and threatened to be torn apart to get back to her sister, her mother, her friends, the remnants of a broken schism and system. “I’d do anything to see my family again.” Her voice was neither quiet nor a roar, but a defiant twist and turn of her chin, a scalding, blistering look in her gilded eyes. Here was an opportunity, even if things were weird and awkward, even if they were different apparitions and versions of themselves, to be with one another again, and she didn’t want to take it? How would she know how they’d interact without attempting? It mauled at her core, made her wring her hands together, fingers bending in amidst their brethren, features striving not to look scandalized, irritated, or exasperated. “You won’t know until you try.” But then again – who was she to force it upon Rexanna, or Kiada? They weren’t friends – more rancorous intonations and memories than anything else – but she had no intention of making her life miserable. She clenched her jaw, and strived not to ball her hands into fists. “I just think…given the chance, you should take it.” No matter how the honeybee girl had begged, pleaded, and cried into the void, the abyss never answered back; the same reverberation of silence playing against her ears, hollow and miserable. “But that’s your decision.” Then she hung her head, stared at the ground, pushed pebbles with her shoe.
She listens to the sadness of Melita, of speaking of seeing family again and the fire within the girl begins to spark. Rexanna’s sapphire gaze slips toward her with a small sad frown, hearing and feeling the urgency in which Melita speaks of trying and seeing what happens. And she gives in a little, for a fellow friend, a Helovian, and turns her head from the girl for a brief moment – her bread forgotten as she mulls over her many thoughts. “You and Kiada are very different, Melita.” She says softly, eyes drifting back toward the girl. “But I will try.” She offers kindly, even though her stomach flips with uncertainties.
It could most definitely be worse, she supposes. But she also doesn’t think it’s absolutely necessary to do it right this second. She will tell Kiada when she’s ready – when they’ve both had a chance to digest the information. Likely, if she’s heard that Kiada is here, the Harpy has heard that Rexanna is here too. And the golden girl hasn’t reached out on her own, perhaps it was best to let fate handle it for the time being. Her gaze softens on Melita and she reaches out with an outstretched hand to comfort her should the fiery haired girl allow it.
“Come, now, there’s more things to do here than eat and dance and light candles.” She says softly, aiming to try not thinking about the circumstances any longer than she needs to.
and whenever we happened to touch,
smoke rose from our skin.
You and Kiada are very different rang a bell a little too clearly, a little too loudly, in the depths of the girl’s ears. She sucked in a hazardous, tremulous breath, a mercurial void stuffed and smothered with vitriol and vehemence for another youth who likely should’ve been her friend. Instead, she’d churned and burned and hoisted all of her contempt, loathing, and grief upon her, because once Kiada had deigned to help that damned false paragon, and in part, allowed oblivion and desecration to settle onto her heart, onto her family, onto her friends. In some portion, she wasn’t even sure why she was doing this, pressing and pressing for them to meet – when in another world, she wouldn’t have even bothered, left them alone to simmer and seethe elsewhere, apart from one another just like she was from those she’d loved and cherished; just desserts, comeuppance, a beautiful, disastrous vengeance. But as her eyes turned up to Rexanna, gentle and sweet, who’d somehow birthed an angry, vicious thing (and she would know; she was the same), she wanted to do this for her. Their hands met, and she locked her fingers in the warm embrace – shelter and shelter. She nodded her head, because that was the only thing she could muster in those sacred, scarce moments – maybe, just maybe, everything would work itself out.
