She'd been happy. Despite the uneasiness, despite the imminent end of the world - coming home, seeing Amaris, knowing she had Sacre and Mortimer... it made her happy.

But if the Fire Dancer knows one thing, it's that her happiness never lasts.


----------------------------------------------------

Who's fault is it? Normally, Natraj would be quick to jump in and assure his sisters that it isn't hers, but tonight the fox is silent. He is just as torn as she, a war brewing between disappointment and self-loathing for their betrayal of those they loved, and a very sound knowledge that neither of them had been in full control of their faculties. In fact, the whole event was blurry, unclear, and difficult to remember. Both the fox and his sister held doubts as to whether or not the magic-aided dalliance had even really happened....

...until the copper child's sides began to swell, that is.

As though aware of their presence in their mother's thoughts the twins begin to shift, sharp edges pressing petulantly against the mare's viscera, her pleura, her bones. She winces- carrying one had been wretched enough, but two? Oh, she knows there are two. She can feel them, their magic, each distinct from the other. One is a cool breeze, a soft yet sharp prickle on her tongue; the other a soft sunrise, with magic that smells cinnamon and white. She even knows what their magic is, because it's wreaking havoc on her mind.

She sighs, and grits her teeth, anger and self-loathing rising like a tide within her. Perhaps the winding, narrow path to the Veins was a bad idea - the temptation to throw herself off it and into the harsh blue glow below is strong, and it only her own force of will and the concentration of Natraj that keeps her from acting on the impulse. "If you two don't cut that out, I swear..." the girl's deep voice groans out from behind her clenched jaw, and she turns black eyes back to the path ahead of her, desperately trying to drown out the whirlwind of emotions that rages behind her eyes.

She hates these children, and she hates herself more for it. She wishes she didn't, that she could push the feeling down- but she can't, of course, because one of the little shits keeps making her emotions flare up like wildfires in a Tallsun drought. Sweat is dripping from her brow by the time she reaches the ruined shrines; the sheer force of keeping the other child's magic from making her do something else regrettable has taken a toll on the Fire Dancer, who is now less dancer and more haggard waif. Part of her is content to take the punishment, to suffer as she does. It is her fault at all, for betraying those she loves; her fault for succumbing to the power of the wayward magic. It is her fault for resenting the twins the way does, even though sometimes she doesn't resent them - sometimes she loves them, deeply and terribly, and the force of that protective adoration scares her even more.

But one person cannot take full responsibility for the creation of life, no matter how they may try to- and so, in the absence of her partner in crime, a surrogate is found.

Dark is the night, with a moonless sky, but the girl who stands before the shrine of the absent deity is a beacon of fire and fury, of moonstone and wrath. She gazes upon the ruined altar and the sneer that crosses her face is ugly, unnatural - it doesn't suit her, none of this suits her, and whose fault is that?

"Yours," Fire Dancer hisses at the silent shrine. "This is your fault - yours, and all the gods who abandoned us - but mostly yours, you BITCH!"

The sea echoes back her enraged screams, and the wind seems to mock her as it laughs across the barren stone, dispersing her collection of embers and kissing her painfully, obviously pregnant belly.

A belly that holds the grandchildren of the Goddess her family had once so dutifully served.

I COULD BUILD A BIG MACHINE, DRAW PICTURES FOR THE WALLS
HANG UP ALL MY FRAGILE THOUGHTS, DISPLAYED THAT YOU MIGHT SEE