#baronyofthesilverwolf

She gets to the passage ready to step through the ward , feeling...odd for a second, the shakes it off, once more she steps to it and.. BUZZZ

"Oh for fuck's sake I'm trying to sacrifice myself here"

Glamour pulses from inside the ward. The cracks upon the intricately carved statue have grown. Even as she reaches for it, it reaches back towards her.

"Fine..." She readies her dross "Let's have a talk.. or whatever" Sword in hand she steps into the studio

The portable studio is normally at a quite comfortable cool temperature, such that a dance routine will not have one overheated... but this is cold.

Frost has coated every surface, every mirror, every step of the polished dance floor. Frigid rime in patterns of twisting and winding vines.

There she is, Dahlia, or whoever, whatever she, it, may be. Seated cross-legged in the middle of the floor, in a meditative position. As Nadeen enters, her eyes snap open, and lock onto the Sidhe.

"Who is here now? Is it my rescuer, or my jailor? In which guise do you come to me?" Her voice echoes throughout the room.

"I could be either, your actions from here on will detail what role I take in regards you. You're not Dahlia's ghost. You're not even Dahlia's memory. You are memory of Dahlia... are you just Aiden's memories of her? Or are you also Calanthe's memory of her sister? You were born of his crimes of hubris and self loathing, and her arrogance, desperation, and tampering. THAT I know. But do you? What are you?"

"When a soul passes from this world, they die twice. Once when their body fails... and yet they do not truly cease to be until memories have faded. I am Dahlia. I am that which remains. I am all that remains. You said that you would free me. And yet, you have trapped me again in a new prison."

Rising to her feet, she drifts towards Nadeen.

"Hold" She warns "We are not done talking. Nor have you answered me. I asked WHOSE memories of Dahlia you are. Who made up 'what remains' . One I know well. The other I suspect has fed you without realizing, and I need the truth to set you free from this cycle of hatred and rage"

"I am." "I am." "I am." It echoes around her. "I am the cherished wife. I am the weeping mother. I am the tormented daughter of eve. I am the wretched sister."

"Cherished, but you seem to have so liltle love, only rage. Your son lives, he is cared for... yet I sense no joy in you for that"

"Connor lives" She states

"Of the child, I know. The poor wretch, fate touched and cruelly cursed. I know what they know that I know, what she would have him know, twisted, poisoned and cruel." Something flickers in her green eyes, a hunger.

"Give him to me, from your mind's eye. I will show you in turn what I see."

Hands white and translucent as milky ice on a wind-tossed lake and outstretched towards Nadeen, beseeching.

"If you know him so well... why did you grab the wrong child? You took Flo's body, did you not? Then you took Rien, the son of her womb. Connor is miles from here..."

"And then you drained Rocholar"

"It is COLD outside of my prison. I must persist, lest I fade, and all that is Dahlia is lost." A third time, she beckons, yet closer.

"Can you release your rage, your hate, the loathing? That is not who Dahlia was and you knnow it. She was a good loving woman, perhaps wrongly treated, but at the end she still loved him. The loathing does not come from her"

Her head tilts, questioning. "Do I know that? I know... what I know. That is what there is to know. I would know. I WOULD KNOW. Share with me."

He hand reaches for Nadeen's.

Nadeen takes a breath, is this not what she said she would risk? "A moment... I will share with you my memories of Connor. You'll like him. A good boy." She concentrates, thinking of Connor the boy who often feels lonely because of his condition but is so brave as to reach out to others who feel lonely. Of the pooka who jokes and laughs but with others, rather than at them. Of how Dagmar smiles proudly to call him her squire, and how Gerd boast of her baby brother. How he won them over.. and yes, her as well. How brave the boy is when danger arises. How imaginnative. Oh the mighty shadowpaw clan is real because he made it so. What will and drive! She gathers just a drop of glamour and then, takes the poor monster's hand "See for yourself"

Dahlia clasps Nadeen's hand, and it's as though their palms are sealed together, bare skin touched to frigid metal, and a seeking, questing, probing energy flows through the touch.

Each memory tasted, fondled, and then... they start to slip away. Drawn by the Presence she can feel rifling though her mind like a card catalog!

The memories fade - the boy, the laughter, the wagging tail.... but before they can fully slip away... a thread, a mere golden thread tightens, and resists!

Dahlia hisses, baring teeth that look more like thorny fangs! Her eyes flashing. "GIVE THEM TO ME!"

"You and I have a serious disagreement about the definition of SHARING" Her own eyes flash

Even as Dahlia tries to steal the memories, Nadeen's will - boosted by a twist of luck, or fate - pulls back!

A flood of memory pours into her mind - it's staggering.

A gasp as she tries to sort it out..

It's like watching a flashing screen - one after another after another - no, surrounded by them - not just sight, but encompassing all of her senses, the smell of her hair, the touch of a newborn's hand, the taste of their kiss...

She rolls with the tide, fighting it... it's not a wave, it's a landslide - no, an avalanche, and she is of the lords of winter!

Such that when the next wave hits, she is staggered, but not bowled over by the sheer despair.

"That is not all there is... there is love, the garden returns, the thanes still honor her... Connor has family even despite what was taken from him" She projects without letting go of the tether of it

"If you reduce it to just loss, just despair, Calanthe wins" Nadeen spits the words like a a cross bow bolt "is that what you want?"

Is this the feeling of a fraction of that which it is to be Ailil? Nadeen... no, this is Aiden, she knows, but feels it as though it were her own. The suffering is palpable, the knowledge that it was your actions that brought it upon yourself, and yet in spite of the facts, in spite of everything, she cannot accept... no. No. It is not her fault. YET IT IS. IT IS NOT.

IT IS. Something cracks, she will fall apart...

And then a cooling touch, a blessed relief, as the pain abates... and a wrenching twist and it is redirected.

This does not make sense. The memories do not match. This laughing young childling... is not the cursed and twisted fate struck wretch that he thrust aside. Could it be?

Something... squirms. A creeping cold, that washes over her... not just memories now.

Looking down at their clasped hands, Nadeen sees that vines have sprouted and are crawling up her arm, vines of ice and thorn, digging into her skin, and starting to sink inward, drawing Dahlia into Nadeen's own form!

Nadeen exerts her will of what she takes, the memories she'll learn from, but she won't be undone or cast aside

The vines grow and lash, and yet have trouble making purchase, sinking in... still, it persists! "MINE!"

"No. MINE, Perhaps Ours but even then, I am the core..."

"And I will be in control. You want to share... I welcome it. You want to take? NEVER"

A quiver, a hesitancy... the vines still lash, but seem to be weakening?

"I am the Shining Host, I am born of the blood. And I rule, accept it, and know joy"

Resistance finally breaks down at that, and the vines melt away, Dahlia shrinking, dwindling.

Within, she an feel the memories drawing away as Dahlia retreats in the face of the Shining Host - even in her core memories, she was not a sidhe, just a daughter of Eve...

Nadeen can sense that she has but a moment to make a decision - hold onto the last threads of Dahlia and draw her within her own mind, or allow her to retreat, back into the Studio prison?

She tries for something else, to hold it into herself, and see if she can pass it onto her love in part, something to share. This is dangerous, she knows , but she has for the moment the advantage and such a chance may not come again if she imprisons, Nadeen draws her in, and holds her like a treasure in her heart, one to open later....

at least that's the plan, but who is to say how the plan will work?

"Within me, to be shared later, I in command, your pain over"

A last glance at the prison around them, and then back to the Host that shines before her... and Dahlia slides into Nadeen.

Not as she had steamrolled poor Flo, not as a conqueror.. and yet not a supplicant, there is resistance yet in the cold feeling that twists and churns at Nadeen's center. The memories calm, not overwhelming like a Wonka boatride, now quiet though still present.

Dahlia's presence is quiescent, dormant, for now. Nadeen is in control.

The ice patterns frosting the mirrors in the studio melt away, and Nadeen sees only herself standing in the Studio. Her eye gleam with a touch of verdant green. Have her eyes always been green?

"I... need to " She takes a breath, reluctant to fully sort through the memories, she takes only small parts. She won't be overwhelmed again and she must be on guard against it leaking out to flood her slowly as well. She looks at the ward "I need to get to my hus.. to Aiden"

Her voice echoes in the empty dance studio.