The memories came to her in dreams, a never ending cycle of the good and bad, filling her ears with the joyful song of her peaceful years, the terrified screams of the wars she had fought. And through it all the song of the Tainted Blade, the sword she had lost the right to wield so very long ago, beautiful and terrible as the sea from which it had come.

She remembered the peace of those early years. She had never been a child, nor known the loving embrace of parents, spun from the darkness of infinity with her many brothers and sisters by those who watch and those who guide, created for a single purpose - to provide focus for the young race just beginning to find their path across the multiverse.

And yet, she had not objected, she had not known any different. She revelled in the love and devotion of those given to her care, reaching out her hand to bless them with the overflowing love for which she had been created. She remembered the ivory towers they had built in her name, the spun gold of the sunlight as it filtered across altars bedecked with roses of every colour. How she had loved to to take joy in the simple pleasures in those early years.

Such peace was not to last. Disagreements among her brethen drew the heavens into conflict, brother against brother, sister against sister, and those conflicts spilled over into the world of the mortals they protected. Man and woman took up arms, slaughtering one another by the hundreds, and her heart was heavy in her breast for the sorrow and suffering of her people.

But even the sweetest of hearts cannot fight sorrow and anguish for indefinite years of pain and suffering. As her people died, crying out to her to save them, so did the love that had brought her into creation turn to bitter hate against those who had brought this punishment upon her children. In anger, she wrenched her brother's sword from his hand and struck him down, the first of their kind to seek the eternal solitude that awaited them when their life's flame was snuffed out.

The death of her brother was felt across the many lands, the many worlds on which their names were revered and adored. The benevolent guardian became the avenging angel, seeking to destroy all those who had hurt her people in their vanity and cruelty. One by one, her brethen fell before her brother's blade, until it was stained red with the blood of her kin.

And united against her, those who remained of her brethen took it upon themselves to prevent their own destruction at her hands. Magic was wrought, guidance sought from those that had created them. The grace that touched them all was stripped from the once loving guardian, and the blade in her hands became tainted, unfit for use by any who did not know the darkness in their heart.

She fell from grace, spiralling out of control, landing amidst the mortals she had once sworn to protect. But her brethen went further than the touch of those above suggested. Their touch upon the minds and hearts of their mortal devotees turned her into myth and legend, the dark enchantress who would steal their children, destroy their hopes and bring sorrow and despair into their lives.

For many, many years, she wandered their realm, hunted, hated, reviled for her anger and vengeance. And yet during those years of pain and loneliness, there were moments of peace. A smile from the innocent face of a child, the friendly hands of a stranger, the kindness of those who took pity on her wretched state ....all these acts reawakened the love in her heart, and her soul was wracked with guilt for the death and destruction she had wreaked.

The distant past became memory, became legend, and time moved onwards, taking the worlds with it. Technology thrived, attitudes moved on, and yet somewhere deep within them, the people still mistrusted the smiling former guardian. And that distrust ate away at her, until again she reached for the Tainted Blade of her brother.

But the eyes of those who watch and those who guide were upon her, and they knew the mortal minds were too fragile to deal with a war between the guardians a second time. She was taken from the world, the Blade wrenched from her hand, and the emotions which had tainted her with the first coming of war stripped from her mind and heart.

She remembered gentle eyes, filled with tears, soft voices that spoke of balance and trust and the love from which she had been created. And hands reaching towards her, covering her face ...

Freya woke with a start, breathless, slick with sweat as the song of the Blade washed over her once more. Her hand tightened around the sheath, that reassuring weight against her side. A dream, it was just a dream. Woven from memories, laced with her past.

Freya opened her eyes ....and there was darkness.