Nothing had happened.
 
The Songbird had expected moments of treachery, the dangerous threads that leaked and emboldened, that clawed and snatched, that crawled over minds and skulls until there was naught left but a seething entanglement of animosity and acrimony. She’d gone to help, to assist, to do something when the world began crumbling, because some days it was all she could offer – a speck of sunlight in a torrent of destruction and darkness. Curiosity had coiled its way through her, and in the end, she’d been just like so many of them – venturing out into the waves, into the unknown, with only the barest modicum of trust anchoring, tethering, her to reality.
 
But the view had been extraordinary, ravishing, and befuddling! She’d been transfixed and entranced by the glorious splashes of color, by the heights of coral, by the magnificent glimmers of fish and dolphins spiraling around her. She’d been enticed into stepping further into the ocean, where the tide rippled, where the current gathered strength for the sake of enamoring – and she’d stumbled her way back into bliss again. But was the contentment justified? Or was it all due to erupt in flames, like all the times before? The femme, the maiden, the fairy, was worried because she’d seen the way the earth changed, divided, opened wide in chasms and acrimony, plunging them all into states and fits of malice and hostility. Lena tried not to let her doubts cloud over her features, attempting to remain a positive beacon, a radiant piece, portal, of light and hope, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and the delight she always yearned to show the world didn’t blend into its usual luminescence; too wary, too uncertain.
 
She and Imogen approached much like they had before – crowding along towards the back, catching glimpses of light and sound, of figures and creatures, of words, phrases, and questions tossed over the din. Kisamoa was glancing out over the ocean – perhaps dreaming, perhaps pleased, perhaps entranced like they’d all been – and the Moon Goddess, as eerie, as magnificent as she’d always seemed, stood out more to the Mender. The latter deity had shown her wares in events before, when murder was a key note in everyone’s lives, when groups tried to uncover the veil, when friends were broken, massacred, left to suffer and die at the hands of marionettes and shadowed plots. Lena, still brave, still stalwart, lingered seemingly out of reach, careful and silent, wondering what had brought the luminary being out, and what she intended to show the rest of them all over again.

[Lena hangs out around the back.]