"Lead me to her."
Conscripted from the gloom of the coppice by a Plaguebearer with the promises of fresh meat - rejoicing in the absence of the screams within her mind. It is a overwhelming distress, born from the coming storm upon sacred landscape and dearest comrade's and illusive lovers. She does not recall the last of time in which she has laid her dome to rest - does not recall when she has last dreamt of the glow of springtide. A incubus has seized - snatched as a thief in the midst of the night her motherland with plague and daemon. A consistent hymn within her mind, a mantra of lyrics and song and weaving words - Allgemeine.

A pause, beat, ba-dump and the frantic organ inside her chest tries to flee from stinging glass encased around a shell of metal. You promised me.

Advance is brought forth to a claret infused pool and a cerulean and pallid seraph— consumed with fatigue as images swim before a unfocused glaze of obscure violence, as dazzling as the first droplets of spring in the emptiness of wintertide.
She scrutinizes the seraph with a keen aura of praise, a knowledge tittering in the back of her mind that she must congratulate the Plaguebearer for bringing such fine melodies to the doorstep of a temporary resting place. Another breath. Another downfall to one whom I do not know.
Dim whispers within a defective cranium - introductions given and introductions to learn and why does she care?
There is appetite and passion dancing amidst swells of the brine, waltzing among the endless waves, and she remembers pearl and cream and the frosted twist of the skies in winter. Why aren't you at my side now?
He was to be her brother in shield, she the clockwork of a fine tuned machinery of vengeance and carnage, a King from a long-forgotten Kingdom and a peasant from the lowest lines of a collapsed civilization. Her mother had signaled the first forewarning shadow - a tossed and gutted doll before the accursed chide of Morndis.
I trusted you.

The astringent taste in the back of her maw tells her that's why she did not march into dominion with nightshade woven into bouncing locks. A dip of the dome in robotic automation - she has closed a damnable soul from view - and a soft respire to sing more weaving lyrics into existence. There is too much caliginosity.
They are not drawn forth from peril - exposed as one's wounds open forth a passage into the veins. I cannot help you now. It's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, childe of the skies."

One breath, two, keep going.
"You seek for your kin? I shall be more then glad to assist you in this endeavor." There are goosebumps forming upon clammy flesh. "We are not freed from menace here, however, my dove. I would welcome you into our ranks - a soldier, a emissary. Whatever your heart does desire - and yet, my Kingdom is not free from wraith. It is with haste that we flee into the caverns - journey with me, and we shall be far from the wretched disease that has taken hold of our land - Helovia."

She allows time to pass - trembling upon cold fingers gripping a metallic soul - and then she is weaving, dancing, a beacon of light in a barren universe. I will keep you safe from harm.
She must - even if it shall take her life with her into the underworld below.
"Come."