Checking in on Grandfather

Cor'lana's eyes are dark despite the light and cool breeze on this fair-weather day outside of Alexandria, beyond where magic goes haywire for the good of what's to be done. Normally, a visit to Grandfather's house would be a happy occasion, but the Lupecyll-Atlon clan has just been informed--

"If Grandfather is dying," Cor'lana says, adjusting the cloak that adorns the shoulders on her adventuring outfit, "then we must be prepared for anything. Her Majesty, Queen Niceven, did not elaborate beyond the fact that he is. I... I fear what we will find. Especially when the weight of Telamon's curse is still upon us. He cannot touch me, or _he_ begins to die."

She looks back up from the ground and to her sister, her sister-in-law, and her husband, drawing a breath and bringing herself up a little taller, a little straighter. "But--we can't wait. We simply can't. Grandfather needs us, all of us. If there's anything we can do for him... Even if it's just to comfort him on his deathbed..."

Cor'lana sucks in a hard breath, keeping the tears at bay. She holds her hands out to Auranar and Verna to begin the formation needed for shifting planes. "So--we go when we're ready. All of us."

Like Cor'lana, Auranar's eyes are dark things, though since Auranar's eyes are naturally darker in coloration the deep shadow of sorrow that hangs in them might have been less noticeable if not for the worry and sadness evident in her features. "I'm ready." She offers simply, unwilling to face the reality that her newly won grandfather might already be dying. It had never even entered into her mind that he could, much less would pass. It feels wrong.

Without reservation or hesitation she takes Cor'lana's hand, but doing so only deepens her sense of sadness and wrongness. It should be Telamon holding Cor'lana's hand in this moment; not her. She gives her sister's fingers an extra, gentle squeeze and offers her other hand to Telamon. She can do this much, be a bridge between them.

She can't imagine how hard this must be on them both, to have so much happen all at once. The terrible weight of this curse and Grandfather's illness - she refuses to accept anything more than that as truth. Let the gods be not so unkind.

Telamon is bearing up well, but the strain of being physically forced apart from his wife -- even for a few days -- is reflected in his dark eyes. He's dressed for adventuring as well, though -- rings, cloak, circlet, and sleeveless over-coat over his white ruffled blouse, black leather trousers, and well-worn, comfortable boots.

"Has he tried to communicate through the pact, Lana? Surely you would sense -something- from that, if something was wrong with him." Telamon looks to Auranar and Verna -- friends, and now sisters-by-adoption. "If it's true, then we owe it to him to do whatever we can. If it's not... it may be a ruse by someone else, and we'll need to be ready." He offers a small smile. "The nature of Quelynos might also lend itself to... other matters as well. Especially with the Seelie Courts now moving into ascendance."

To state that much has happened as of late would be akin to stating that the Realm of Elemental Fire is mildly warm. Most all of it has related to family in some way, as well: most of it decidedly unpleasant. This current task falls within this group and it is the most pressing. "We shall do all that can be done, Cor'lana," Verna assures. Hopefully this might grant some confidence or comfort in its truth.

She steps to Cor'lana opposite Auranar, taking her sister's (as that is what she is, is she not?) other hand. Her remaining hand is left free for Telamon and for the necessary spell to take them. His mention of a possible ruses causes a flicker of worry to crease her brow before she attempts to banish it. "We will learn the truth soon enough. It would not do well to speculate until then."

With all ready (as much as they might be), Verna places hand to scales as she incants, then gestures, and lastly reaches for Telamon as the spell completes to likewise complete the circle.

GAME: Verna casts Plane Shift. Caster Level: 19 DC: 22

So the world shifts.

Verna, Telamon, and Cor'lana have been here before, in Grandfather's woods--but there is something different here. Rather than feeling and looking like an autumnal wood, the chill crisp in the air that sends one looking for the warmth of wool and the kindness of close companionship, Grandfather's woods _feel_ somber, the light from the ever-twilight sky above dimmer than the time before. It is like even the light here is threatening to give out when Grandfather passes alone in his house.

GAME: Auranar rolls Perception: (18)+5: 23
GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (16)+23: 39
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception: (17)+17: 34
GAME: Verna rolls perception: (18)+29: 47

Cor'lana doesn't shiver in the cold of the woods, but the dim light and the sound that her ears pick up cause her lips to press together into a thin line. "He can't be," she murmurs, closing her eyes.

And for a moment, she just... listens. Listens to the sad croaking of Grandfather's birds in the distance. Listens for something that only she of the clan can listen for.

"I... I hear him. And feel him. In the bond," she says. "He is still with us." Her violet eyes open, flooding with tears. "But we need to hurry." Already she starts off in a brisk walk in the direction of the sounds.

As the world shifts, Auranar for the first time hardly notices. Too much is on her mind to care about the discomfort of shifting from one place to the other. Too much of her attention on Cor'lana. As the new land resolves around her, the somber feeling in the air is... Disquieting. This is further reinforced by the sounds that echo through the air. It's oppressive, this sense of hopelessness, and Auranar struggles to throw it off in favor of her more familiar optimism but...

Shivering, Auranar looks around the unfamiliar place and silently follows in Cor'lana's wake.

Telamon reaches out for Lana, but stops before he touches her. His teeth clench, before he takes a deep breath. "Where there's life, there's hope, Lana." He looks around at the twilight realm, his eyes full of worry -- it definitely didn't feel like this before. "Verna, Aura, let's go."

The stars in his eyes are much more visible now, here in this place, and as he follows in Lana's wake, he reaches up to touch his own cheek, staring at his fingertips a moment before hurriedly rubbing his hands together and walking faster.

Verna adjusts to the shift in realm, then lighting. While she has visited before, she is not as attuned nor keen as the other pair. As before, she relies upon their expertise in this setting, even as she shares their concerns. "Then we hurry." A simple statement as she joins the convoy after Auranar, moving briskly.

The walk is a frustrating thing, in that it feels like it takes time. Time that the family that has come together under one patriarch's feathers knows to be in short supply, and it's Cor'lana's tears and fits of sniffles that act as a metronome by which the party keeps their sorrowful beat. Yet the light does not fade any more and the trees look largely identical to one another--

And then there's a clearing beyond the trees, where the Lúpecyll-Atlon family knows to be where their patriarch dwells. The carefully maintained gardens of flowers and plants that all, save Auranar, have seen before, however, are joined by the strange raven-like birds with feathers and plumage seemingly stolen from other birds beyond the corvid family. They are the source of the sorrowful croaks, and all of their violet eyes settle onto the Lúpecyll-Atlon clan as they make their way up to the large tree-home in the center of the clearing.

Cor'lana stops just short of the door at the base of the tree, and while there's that familiar sense of awe, warmth, and longing in her eyes just as the first time that she was here--the sorrow is too much, and she has to take a moment and collect herself, wiping the tears that fall in thick rivers from her eyes. "I'm sorry," she murmurs to her family. "I--I could have done more. I should have done more. In everything."

She looks to the others. "Can everyone... go in before me?" she asks. "I just--I just need a minute."

Though the corvid-like birds do certainly draw the eye, Auranar finds that the home itself holds her attention more. Unlike the others she's never been here before, and it's certainly worth a second look if ever she'd been able to take her dark eyes off of it. The wild elf wishes desperately that they were here under different circumstances. That she could take the time to drink this vision in. Instead she feels herself pushing aside the wonder of the moment with too much concern.

She pauses by Cor'lana, offering a brief touch on the other woman's shoulder, and looking for all the world like she would much rather wait outside with her. But she could not deny any request that Cor'lana might make in this instance and she nods. "Take however long you need." Her fingers tremble and she pulls them away hopefully before the other woman can notice and heads toward the door herself. She instinctively knocks, and as she moves to open the door she lifts her voice.

"Grandfather?" The word is full of soft emotion. "It's Auranar."

Telamon looks around at the gathered ravens, croaking softly, and he pales a bit. The idea that this is some kind of ruse crumbles fast in his mind, for if all of Grandfather's birds are here--

He clenches his fist again, swallowing hard. A cough, and then as they stand at the tree, he nods to Auranar and Verna. "You first. I... I'll be along in a sec." He turns his eyes to Lana, and he tilts his head slightly.

Verna eyes the gathering of corvids (or more?) as they move through. When Cor'lana pauses, she offers, "Whatever is occurring now is not your doing, Cor'lana." She cannot default to Mourner placations or assurances; they are neither fully applicable nor is she present, now, in that role. She is here as family.

Auranar moving forward, and Telamon's prompt, causes her to follow her wife to the door. "... and Verna," she adds.

A rasping cough comes from inside the house. "Child? Auranar? Come..." More coughing. "Come in."

When the door opens, the family is treated to an awful sight. The tree home, where so many of Cor'lana's ancestors have lived out their lives and perished quietly in the comfort of Grandfather's company in the slow way that elven lives do, is not the warm and comforting place it ought to be. Not with the grave-looking sight of Grandfather in his rocking chair, with all of the handwritten scribbles from ancestors practicing their first letters worn into the ancient wood... As he stares at all of his children with heavy, nearly lifeless violet eyes.

Black lines, like where the veins and arteries might be traced on a human, course all the way up to his neck. His face is far more sullen than it should be, and he is thinner and far less of vigor than he should be--but then again, nothing here is as it should be.

"I--I am sorry, my children," he manages. "I... I did not wish to worry you. I have been trying to battle this for some time, but--"

His breathing is labored, and then he coughs again. It's a painful, rasping cough that takes him a moment. "I am... I am not well." It's a painful admission.

GAME: Auranar rolls Heal: (15)+7: 22
GAME: Verna rolls heal: (11)+20: 31

Cor'lana looks at Telamon with painful eyes, but she nods in a seeming response to his head tilt. "Go," she urges, walking behind him--but as much as she'd like, not side-by-side, unable to touch him for the comfort she so clearly wants.

Once everyone is inside, and Cor'lana beholds her patriarch... She trembles, the tears falling down from her violet eyes again. "So Her Majesty was right," she mumbles. "You... You're dying. I..."

Her hands go to her face, where she buries it into her palms.

Cor'lana looks at Telamon with painful eyes, but she nods in a seeming response to his head tilt. "Go," she urges, walking behind him--but as much as she'd like, not side-by-side, unable to touch him for the comfort she so clearly wants.

Once everyone is inside, and Cor'lana beholds her patriarch... She trembles, the tears falling down from her violet eyes again. "So Her Majesty was right," she mumbles. "You... You're dying. I..."

Her hands go to her face, where she buries it into her palms.

The sight of Grandfather is not one that Auranar was expecting or that any amount of warning could have prepared her for. She stops mid-step only for her body to lurch forward several steps and then stall again barely within arms reach of the man that she'd come to care for so deeply in such a short time. The image of him in her mind and heart is entirely at war with the one she sees now. He... had seemed untouchable. She remembers so easily his sorrow at out-living so many, and she had every expectation of being just one more person that would leave him too soon.

Hot tears stream down her face and she is driven utterly speechless. Cor'lana's words then, her helplessness is like a dagger to her heart and she shakes her head. A negation. A denial. She pushes herself forward, goes to her knees at his side and reaches for his hand. Not daring take it lest she hurt him with her gentle touch. "Who... who did this to you?" Every word is choked.

This is what's breaking Telamon. Not being captured by Zalgiman, not even being cursed per se. But being unable to take his wife in his arms and comfort her. And then they enter Grandfather's home, and his eyes widen at the fey lord's sorry state. "Gods and stars," he says after a long moment. "Grandfather, what.."

Then he whirls on Aura and Verna. "Verna, Aura... what do we need to do? We can't... we can't let him die, dammit!" His face is now drawn even worse than it was when the full nature of his curse was revealed. "I... I don't know what to do."

Verna cannot halt the frown when she sees him, as he is not the dark-yet-regal presence she recalls. "No," she agrees simply, "you are not well." She forces down further speculation so that she can look him over. "This was not natural, but inflicted. A disease. Poison. Possibly a curse?" She does not rule out any possibility. "I can attempt to treat you of any or all of these, if you would allow."

There is something to be said for the paranoia from recent events.

There's a rattle of breath from Grandfather as he tries to gather even the strength to answer Auranar. "I--I know not," he says. "None have visited me as of late. None that I have seen nor noticed. I have been... working on... lovely things..."

He gestures weakly to the large pillar that comprises the center of the tree-home, where there's a spiraling library that reaches all the way up into the tree. But hanging midair are a variety of outfits that would all fit Auranar perfectly, mimicking the shade of pink that rides the end of her waves in a color accuracy that would be hard for anyone to achieve. Dresses, sweaters, blouses, and accessories, either knitted from hand-spun yarn or sewn from self-spun fabric... And while Grandfather cannot finish the end of his sentence from another fit of coughs, it's clear. He was working on a whole wardrobe of lovely things for the child he took into the nest.

The nest that might be about to lose its patriarch.

Grandfather's eyes close as he finally catches his breath. "Please, children," he says softly. "Do not weep for me. Verna, you may..." His words trail off, as he seems to drift into the sleep of the ill, his breath shallow and light.

But then. >THUMP.<

The window that looks outside of the house has a terrifying visage. A pale-skinned man peers from behind the glass with violet eyes that burn brightly with hunger and anticipation, and he runs a tongue across his lips, caked with dried blood and fresh blood alike. His darkened and taloned hands, identical to Grandfather's, claw at the glass.

"My beloved cousins," he croons. "I am so happy to meet all of you in the flesh for this _family reunion_. A pity about Alud'rigan, is it not? But I know what can help him if you'll _listen_ to me."

In his other hand, he holds a vial. It's filled with a bright-yellow liquid, a thing that resembles sunshine. It's something that looks far too precious and holy for a creature like him to be holding.

There's an expression of fear, as Cor'lana is the one closest to the door--not that far from where this violet-eyed man from behind the glass can open it and then pry her out of the nest, if that is his intention--on the sorceress's face, on the Feathered One's child.

"The Corpse-Eater," she whimpers. For the aura that comes off him is one of dread, that only she feels as she is so close to the door.

Auranar only glances at the clothing, her tears becoming all the more intent upon the obvious gift that her grandfather had meant for her. The thought that this kindness might be the last that he ever gives is far too much for her and she weeps openly, unable to stop herself. Verna's offer then is the salve and hope she needs and yet on it's heels comes grandfather's fall into unconsciousness and the total fear that it will be something that he does not wake from.

Then the sudden thump and she startles, turning a tear-streaked face upon the terrible visage that comes to the window. She is utterly unfamiliar with this figure, but she recognizes Cor'lana's name for him, and the meaning of his visit now instantly. He holds hope in his fingers and she is nearly desperate for it in this moment, but there's something dangerously angry in those black eyes. Something so far into hate that the word itself is too gentle a thing. "Would you care to invite him in sister?" She offers to Cor'lana; her words tinged with a promise of pain and the cold desire to hurt.

Telamon can't touch Lana, but he can touch Grandfather; swiftly approaching to take one of the fey lord's hands in his own, he looks at him with deep concern. "Easy, Grandfather. Let Verna and Aura work. I don't know what's happened, but... we'll do our best to fix it."

But before Telamon can begin gentle inquiries, there's that THUMP from the window, and his eyes snap up. Widen, and then pulse with terrible light. "...You." he snarls, his voice taking on a reverberating quality, his hair starting to stand on end. With a supreme effort of will he restrains his initial urge, and instead sucks in a breath. "...Lana, as much as I want to start throwing spells, I think we'd best hear him out. I don't think he'll try anything with -all- of us here."

Verna is already reaching into her satchel for materials when the thump startles her. She turns sharply and watches the ... figure. While rather unknown to her, the reactions of her family and subsequent drop in connotational temperature are not lost upon her. Nor is the not-so-subtly implied threat and salvation. She leaves the decision to Lana and Telamon, though she notes what is obvious and what she wishes to be. Coldly.

"You are audible from where you stand. If you would speak, do so quickly and succinctly. Explain yourself, and that." They can then decide whether to simply retrieve the vial from his cooling corpse or pile of ash.

The Corpse-Eater licks his viscera-stained lips again, then his mouth spreads into a wide and vicious grin, his dark tongue running across the far-too-white teeth like he is savoring their reactions. The outrage, the pain, the fear, the tears--all of it. "You're so eager for violence, some of you," he croons again. "Normally, I would oblige, but, well--I am bound by oath to not _enter_ physically, myself, and really, I am here only for a show."

He lifts up the golden vial again for everyone to look at. "Your dearest 'grandfather' is suffering from something that I happen to know the formulation for. I observed him drinking it in his tea all of this time, you see, good cousin that I am, but he does not listen to me. My price for this, which will cure him and allow him to do everything that he loves in the long-term--which may not be the case should your Mourner attempt to heal him--is very simple."

The violet eyes widen, as does his smile. "I want to watch agony. Your agony. And fortunately for me, there are a plethora of actors for this stage: two couples, one dying patriarch. Between the five of you, I imagine one or two of you have plenty to offer. For instance, I'd _love_ to see Telamon dying up close from his wife's touch, for instance--I only saw it from so far away. You know what they say about the nosebleed seats in the Theatre District--it's just not as _intimate_ as being in the front row, now is it?"

His talons continue to slide down the window in a slow, slow scrape that screams like a woman shrieking. "Just one person's agony. Then I will leave this vial on the front step, and you will have saved your grandfather. I think that's more than _reasonable._" The Corpse-Eater's violet eyes glitter with anticipation.

Cor'lana trembles even still. Not even the news that the Corpse-Eater can physically enter Grandfather's home comforts her, it seems. But at his offer...

She looks down at the silver dagger on her belt, purchased and intended for Zalgiman. The look she gives is one of consideration.

Telamon isn't in pain. It's rage. Sheer, undiluted fury. The thought of the Corpse-Eater, trapped on a small, airless moon, clutching at his throat to draw breath. Or perhaps cast into a void-portal to be drawn outside of everything. It takes another monumental expenditure of effort to keep his calm, to -focus-. His eyes fixing on the Corpse-Eater's, as his mind kicks into motion. In his memories, his father whispering to him. Think with your head, not your heart.

"There are a number of problems with that, Legus'elain," he says in a surprisingly even tone. "The most obvious being that we don't trust you. Your penchant for manipulation is well known, and we only have your word that vial contains what you say it does." He shrugs lightly, belying his tension. "You ask for pain in exchange for what might be a vial of prettied-up dog piss, for all we know."

Slowly, but deliberately Auranar stands. The rage inside her is visible from the way her dark eyes swim with phantom leviathans that promise darkness. She seems on whole, one step from something. A step that can not be taken back. A motion that will carry her into the shadows and never again into the light. She moves toward the window, refusing to look back at grandfather. It's too painful. She does notice Cor'lana's consideration though. "Silver doesn't work on the fae sister."

She steps further still. "Speak ill creature, what pain will satisfy?" She motions to Telamon, his words ringing out. "Give us an oath you can not break that Grandfather will be returned to his natural good health." Her hands are clenched into fists. "Make good on that, and I will entertain your notions."

Verna is torn, looking from the one outside, to grandfather, and then around to the others. Could she cure Grandfather? Possibly. Is the this Corpse-Eater speaking the truth and doing so would somehow deny Grandfather something? Possibly. Is she willing to take that risk? Uncertain. And what in Her Hallowed Halls is Auranar doing?!

"Aura..." her voice is low in warning that does not fully hide her worry. "We cannot trust this creature, as Telamon says. Our options are not as limited as that one would wish us to believe. I could treat Grandfather." Now she may be willing to risk it.

The Corpse-Eater coos softly, a sound that should be reserved for talking affectionately to a child in a cradle and not for reacting to the family gathered around his dying cousin. "I would be more than happy to declare an oath," he says, still holding the vial of golden liquid in his other hand. He tilts it in a way where it particularly shimmers in the dim light provided by the ever-twilight above. "I, Legus'elain, swear an Oath, punishable by the Wild Hunt if I am false, that this remedy in my hands will completely cure the malady that troubles Alud'rigan."

There is a shimmer, a feeling of something in the air--a binding of words. And yet... nothing comes for the Corpse-Eater. "Now then," he purrs. "Shall we proceed with the show? I should add, it need not even be physical agony. If either of our coupled ones have any deliciously lovely secrets you've been keeping from the other--an infidelity, a betrayal, something of the sort... Now is the time. Just one person. Or two people. I am being quite reasonable."

Cor'lana's gaze is still fixed on the silver dagger that rests on her belt. Her violet eyes are dark. The expression that crosses her face is that of resignation. Like that of a woman lost in the snow all those years ago. Silver dagger for silver eyes--never used.

"I know," she tells her sister. "But it could work on me."

She draws the dagger and turns it onto herself. Seconds remain for the taking should anyone wish to stop her from plunging it in.

There is no hesitation in Auranar, she has been watching Cor'lana, moreso even than the creature at the window. The words are stark warning and more than she needs. She doesn't even wait for the knife to clear Cor'lana's belt. The words are given and Auranar tackles her sister to the ground, trying to wrest the knife from her by any means necessary. It doesn't matter if she hurts the other woman if it saves her life. She proves in this moment not that she is a good fighter, not that she is remotely skilled in combat, but that she is utterly ruthless when she chooses to be.

She doesn't stop fighting until the knife is in her own hands. She pants heavily, fingers tight on the hilt, the knife. Tears are in her eyes and she looks bitterly at her sister. "I have no secrets to give. No hurtful words that will save him." Tears stream down her face. "I won't give you up to do it Cor'lana. He'd kill me if he knew I let you die to save him. I _wish_ I had a curse. I just... I..." She holds the knife so tightly her hand goes white.

Her inability to do anything is utterly unforgivable.

As quick as Tel is, Aura is even faster -- it's clear something was swamping Telamon's reactions and soon he's next to Lana. "Enough! Lana, stop! Stop!" His hand comes so close to hers, even though there's the danger. Once Auranar's wrestled the knife away, he looks at the Corpse-Eater.

"I have no hidden pain, no betrayals. I cannot hide anything from Cor'lana, nor she from me. And... I have never endured what my wife has, and my sisters have. Every day I struggle with how fortunate I was, and how much they were hurt by life. And my only solace is to try and make the world, their world, a better place. Even though I may fail, I keep trying, because I don't know what else to do."

GAME: Verna casts Spectral Hand. Caster Level: 19 DC: 20
GAME: Verna casts Enervation. Caster Level: 19 DC: 22
GAME: Verna rolls 1d20+20: (9)+20: 29

That the Corpse-Eater swears an oath that may be binding of the truth is only partial consolation to Verna. Verna does not know what pain Auranar might subject herself to, yet she fully understands her willingness to-just as Cor'lana turns a knife upon herself only to have it wrestled from her. Telamon, she knows, would do likewise. They all would. That is what he wants. Yet they have all suffered enough, have they not?

Verna believes so, most vehemently, but if pain is desired, pain gain be granted. A rod appears in her gloved hand from nowhere and a blink later a phantom, incorporeal hand from a morsel of her own life-force. The hand then darts to the window, THROUGH it, to pass through it and the Corpse-Eater, as well. All whilst Verna utters dark, somber words and gestures with the mimicked hand. All to deliver the tribute that was demanded. One of agony. Permanent agony.

"Bear witness," she utters at the end, tone as icy as her glare at him.

The fae, fiends, and even lycanthropes are not the only ones who can impart a curse, and Verna believes that this Corpse-Eater was mistaken: there are, in fact, SIX players upon the stage that she can see.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+20: (19)+20: 39

And yet as Verna tries to bring him into the act--the Corpse-Eater does not twist in agony himself, does not break or bend nor howl in pain as she wishes him to. He remains himself. Smiling from ear to ear, licking his teeth and his lips in anticipation, the amusement playing in his eyes--perhaps even moreso for Verna's spellwork.

"I'm not even offended that you tried," he purrs through the glass at Verna. "After all."

His voice grows husky. "It's only natural for someone being strangled to thrash at the hands pressing down on the neck--before the ligaments within _break_." His talons holding the golden vial dangerously flex around the vial, testing how stable the glass holding that precious liquid happens to be.

Cor'lana's disarmed, her sister holding the dagger away. Her violet eyes, the same as the man behind the glass, look at her with an expression that suggests that she understands. She understands everything, _everything_, that Auranar wishes. She doesn't have a curse either, and Telamon knows about everything with Zalgiman. Those were, in fact, the last words Zalgiman heard before Telamon's dagger plunged into his chest.

But she looks at her hand, so close to Telamon's.

And she grabs hold of him. Long enough for his vision to go gray. Long enough for him to begin to die. Then... she lets go. Tears flooding down her face. For this is the agony that her beloved grandfather's cousin wants: the agony of her hurting her soulmate.

It's all too much. "Stop." She begs this of Cor'lana, watching Telamon fade from Cor'lana's touch is... Her heart is breaking. And she knows its not enough. Never will be enough. Because this creature feeds on death, feeds on despair. Cor'lana lets go and she... she knows what she must do. She rises to her feet, her normally bright and cheerful eyes gone hopeless and dark. Her face a wreck of tears and the agony she knows the creature wants.

"I love you." It doesn't matter who she says it to. Because she loves them all. They are her heart, her soul. Their love gave her a family where she'd had none. Their love had given her a life. She would do _anything_ for them.

It's not fair. She doesn't look at grandfather, because he's dying and she's helpless to stop it. She doesn't look at Verna, because she'd lose her heart and will. She looks at Telamon and Cor'lana. Begs them with her eyes to look out for the woman she loves.

Because this is all she can do.

She runs for the door. She knows they'll call for her, that they'll try to stop her. That she's being stupid. But this is all she has. She doesn't explain. Not to the creature that's watching, not to any of them because then they'd have time to argue. Time to say goodbye. In her mind she prays to Eluna. Prays to any and every god that will listen that they can't, don't, won't stop her. She hopes that her legs are faster than their spells. Hopes that their shock is enough to stall them the few seconds that she needs to get away.

Because this is all she can do.

Does Telamon know it's coming? Maybe. But he doesn't resist when Lana grabs onto him. Instead he fixes his eyes on hers, even as the sensation of choking, of death spreading through his limbs and coldness clawing at his heart. He whispers through the pain, the encroaching shadows, "Love you." as he slumps down...

But then Lana lets go, and air rushes back into his chest. He gasps, even though he doesn't need to breathe. Lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, barely able to move or speak. Seeing Auranar go back, he weakly points, but he doesn't have the strength, the focus to cast even a cantrip to stop her.

Verna thinks, for a moment, that her improvisation, for which she is not known as adept, has succeeded, until the purring. As she considers what follow-up she might take, it seems her knowledge of her family, and concerns thereby, are proven true. A gasp of worry rather than utter shock emerges as Cor'lana grasps Telamon, and Verna is caught watching them for those moments; ready with warning should he be embraced dangerously long.

Then her wife's words snap her focus to Auranar at the call to stop... only to realize she is not looking to her, that she does not look to her. Why? A question whose answer she realizes too late as Auranar bolts. Auranar who had already moved to the door. "Aura!"

She does not even get out her own call to stop as she starts to give chase after, exuding a growing aura of anguish. They are together, in all things! By definition, that means they must BE together!

Something happens. Someone is listening. Have faith, for the door opens before Auranar can even open it. Time slows down for Auranar, seemingly, every second dragging on, every breath feeling as labored as the ones in Grandfather's chest. The Corpse-Eater turns to meet her, and while those violet eyes are _dreadful_ compared to how they were from behind the glass--it feels like what's in his eyes washes over her. Like the fear that should be there simply isn't. Because she is touched, filled with hope. Because someone's listening. Because something's happening. Because she has faith.

"Do entertain me more later, won't you?" the Corpse-Eater croons to her, tossing the vial to her hands. It's a promise, a suggestion of a threat, but for this moment in time--Auranar, child of the Feathered One, gets to feel as defiant as her sister, gets to know what it's like to wear the same mantle of courage, earning her feathers just as proudly as Cor'lana claims hers. The vial lands neatly in her hands--

And the Rook vanishes into feathers, shapeshifting into that skull-faced bird with violet eyes and flying away. Time returns to normal for Auranar, but for everyone else, it happened as rapidly as it could be.

"Love you too," Cor'lana whimpers. She reaches for him... But pulls away. The touch she can't have. Not yet.

But then she turns to Auranar. Hope returns to her eyes. Genuine and earnest hope, for her sister has the cure for Grandfather in grasp. A wide smile blooms on her face. "Thank you," she murmurs gratefully, the tears turning to complete and utter joy.

It's a moment that Auranar doesn't understand. Maybe it was her willingness to give them all up to save them from each other and from themselves. Maybe it was the answer to her prayer in that heart. The cure is in her hands and she staggers in the doorway. She looks at Cor'lana, words drawing the eye and then quickly away. She can't say anything.

She steps around her wife, not touching, not offering so much as a glance. She walks to grandfather and... Gently she uncorks the vial, pours the concoction between his lips.

She waits for him. The vial falling from her fingers.

Telamon coughs weakly, and looks at Lana. He whispers, "Ouch." Trying to give her a grin, to reassure her. To make her understand that sometimes you have to endure bad days to get to better ones. As Verna and Aura tend to Grandfather, he wheezes, "We really need to get this fixed. Before either of us gets too... worried about hurting the other, or being hurt."

His eyes meet Lana's. "That was his plan, you know. Make it so I'd flinch away when you touched me, or you'd avoid touching me for fear of hurting me. Poison what we have. And I won't let him!" He slaps his hand on the floor, and it'd be more dramatic if he didn't look half-dead.

It's a simple matter to give him the potion. The golden liquid pours into Grandfather's mouth and down his throat. Verna even helps in making sure it goes down properly, ensuring her heroine's efforts are not in vain.

A moment passes. And then... Grandfather's eyes flicker open. He breathes deeply, the black lines already beginning to glow the golden color of the liquid that he'd imbibed. "I--I feel so much better," he exclaims, in awe. "Auranar, did you heal me?"

He doesn't even wait for her answer. He just scoops Auranar into his arms, his taloned hands so surprisingly gentle as he rises from his rocking chair and pulls her into his arms. "You are truly one of my children," he says warmly, his talons patting down her black-and-pink hair. "Be proud, my rose-tinted raven. You are just as much my child as Cor'lana is."

Cor'lana scoops herself off the floor and nods. "He can't poison what we have," she tells Telamon. "Not you or I--not Grandfather, Auranar, and I. Nothing."

And her violet eyes brim with love and warmth as she goes to join her sister in the embrace, both girls crying for the love and warmth of their renewed patriarch. For at the end of the day--love can prevail. It often does.

-End