Fiona was in her silver mist.

She often kept watch over the grounds and her house from her hidden mist. She thought she sensed someone in her mist, in the Nightlands - but she hadn't sensed anyone there in ages. She carefully went to the source, seeing all thirteen of them. She had never seen so many of her own kind in all her years, let alone in one place. She silently watched them as she cautiously glided towards them. She was almost afraid. She stayed in her mist, knowing no one could see her, hear her, hurt her, but now, these thirteen were there with her.

* * * * *

Still their voices filled the Coven grounds in the Nightlands, "Lady....the Lady....she comes....ask, ask, ask, has she seen him..." Does she know his tale..." Too long, too long without rest, an old man, wandering lonely..."

All these things were whispered between them, barely audible as they gathered towards her at no more a hurried pace than she herself would take. They threatened no apparent malice to her, but seemed quite out of sorts none the less, as almost all of them formed a crescent in greeting her - almost all, save one.

One remained towards the back, head bowed somewhat, but watching with veiled, if ethereal eyes.

Confused why these thirteen would be there in her sanctuary of the mist, Fiona stopped as they formed around her and she noticed the one in the back.

She was not threatened, but her senses were certainly heightened. She heard bits and pieces and knew they wanted to ask her of something but she wasn't sure. She spoke softly, "Who is it that you seek?"

The banshees drew closer, converging on her, save that one who held back; at first, their appearance might be attributed to advanced age....for there are some who, when they continue to live after their spark has expired, grow not older, but more inhumane. Something of that nature had clearly happened to these, but ....there was a weakness about them that spoke of them, at least as individuals, being much less than Fiona herself was, somehow....more insubstantial. "Kristoph," a dozen voices whispered together, "....Lord Kristoph...do you harbor" Have you seen" The Lord of the Black Rose.." "He who yields, but is not weak??" Their hands reached out, to touch her if they could, if she would allow. Not hostile, but like beggars, whose coin of payment isn't gold but a touch they've gone without - of anything else alive.

One might wonder, where they must have been...

The thirteenth looked different to Fiona, not harsh like the others. She opened and extended her hand to her. "I truly do not know this man you seek, but I can keep an eye out if it will help. Why is he so important?"

"....Ainslie, my lady," she took the hand gently before slipping back away, as if reluctant to touch, she sighed softly, and paused before answering, "....he is a good man, merely that. And lost. The others ....would torment him, blaming him for their state, but it was their....our own hand. We fear that he is lost, and would be seeking shelter; one like us, like you, would be familiar to him, at the least."

"My name is Fiona O"Neill," she said with a hint of her Irish accent. "If this Kristoph would come seeking shelter, the doors of Bristle Crios would be open, just as for you and?" she turned towards the others then looked back to Ainslie, "your friends." She wondered how she could be important in any of this. She kept to herself. Many centuries ago, her fiance was killed in front of her. When she came to RhyDin, she tried to love again, but he died right in front of her as well. She couldn't tolerate the pain and retreated into the sanctuary of her mist, watching her two daughters live their lives, watching over them.

And in that moment, had Fiona's thoughts betrayed her" It was hard to say, though Ainslie's face, with what humanity remained to it, took on a countenance that could only be seen as empathetic, although she misread Fiona entirely, if not the tone. "....he would never do you harm, my lady. In the years I knew him, he would never unjustly harm a soul, save..." the once. The words were implied, but unsaid. "I only mention you in particular, lady, because....it has been years since we who were close to him have seen him now, and....it may well that he would seek solace in familiarity, if nothing else. Let him know that he is not alone, and that we are looking?" Fiona was caught off guard by the flood of information, but it was still insignificant to her, since she didn't know who this man was. She looked at Ainslie with clear, concerned eyes, and said sincerely, "I will certainly do so."

Fiona was in her office in her living space in Demon House, hidden in her mist as usual, though safe in her room. A sudden pain filled her and she collapsed from her office chair onto the floor. The banshee had felt it before. It only meant one thing. Someone was dying. She felt where it was coming from and she immediately rushed through the walls, invisible and silent to any inhabitants she phased through. Not even seconds passed by as she charged into his chambers. She frantically looked around the room, trying to make quick assessments to figure out what was going on.

The rooms appeared bigger on the inside than one would think by the dimensions without; a cross between a bedroom and a study, a large four poster canopy lined with thick, red velvety curtains towards the center of one wall, opposite a fireplace which occupied almost a quarter of that wall, the rest of the space filled with bookshelves decorated with countless aged volumes and trinkets, most notably one entire corner of the room filled with what appeared to be two interlocking rings made of worked blue stone which were more than large enough for a man to stand in the center of, and a large brass fitted telescope beside the bed, pointed seemingly towards the corner of the ceiling, and finally, a suit of ancient armor....with a nameplate on the stand it rode on, inscribed with a name....his name.

The armor was covered, seemingly in fact held together, by ornately fashioned black roses, a motif that indeed was spilled throughout the room; Running down the bed's canopy curtains, so dark against the already deep red background, black roses, crawling down to the ground, intricate spirals and whorls, just barely visible in the flickering firelight. Two end tables sat on either side of the bed, their legs, along with the bed's....worked, wooden vines, seemingly grown from the floor. The writing desk before which the man lay sprawled was similarly fashioned, with delicate blooms etched in miniscule detail into the grain of the cherry wood. Over the fireplace hanged a coat of arms, "That Which Yields Is Not Always Weak" superior, with his name and bearing scrawled across the bottom, 'Kristoph, Lord Knightfall, Knight of the Black Rose'.

She glanced at the black roses around the room and began to connect the dots" She had known that name on the coat of arms" Kristoph. She gasped as she ran next to him and dropped to her knees. This man was the man the thirteen banshees came looking for, the man that they said would come seeking refuge, the man they said would take solace in a banshee. She instantly materialized herself, looked at him, and said softly, "Kristoph?"

As his hand slipped, she said softly, "Kristoph?" But she knew as she said it, it was over. She felt his last breath as a stinging pain and she screamed out, her banshee wail for the dying. The furniture in the room began to shake and the window glass panes shattered in its casing. She laid him down and took one of the black roses from a vase nearby and laid it over his chest, wrapping his arms over his chest as well. She softly sang an Irish Prayer. When she was done, she sought to find the letter he wanted her to read. She began flipping through the papers near him.

Amidst the papers, most of which are numbered, is a letter which dominates the sheaf that had fallen from the book; the remainder of the pages are meant to be inserted into the text from which they fell, save for a few which are....practice notes, each one decorated by both archaic runes, and with variations of ways to address a woman to whom you might write; 'My Lady', 'Dearest', 'Ms. O'Neill'....and in fact, they were all addressed to her. Perhaps the hardest part of writing for him he wished to perfect before he must have committed it in the letter proper, which began, "Lady Fiona," and spoke, perhaps not poetically, but with great affection for taking him in, a stranger, and making him feel welcome; explaining to her just how lost he had been, so far from his home, three life times away, and how she had been the one familiar face, the stabilizer which had saved him before he'd hit bottom during his time here, and prevented his total acquiescence to Oblivion. In parts, the letter went on as if the author had lost his train of thought, only proving the reader wrong by eventually circling back in its subject to one thing - her. He spoke eloquently, almost wistfully of their sharing the Mists that conceal, and also said, perhaps teasingly even, that no matter how deep into the Mists one went, there was always someone else who would find them, or be waiting for them to emerge again, hinting even that though he had only seen her the once, it would be him that would wait for just to speak to her again, and to hear her voice, that voice that sang a sweet lullaby to his soul. Mentioning more than briefly something called the Last Myriad, into which he had looked upon her, in a thousand lifetimes, and seen that she was kind and selfless in all of them, and begging her forgiveness for letting his heart be stolen, or at least feel that way, after only meeting her once - and seeking desperately to explain why he felt kindred to her, again touching on her familiarity to or rather from, his own origins. He admitted that it was stupid, perhaps, but that he would walk past her portrait in Demon House every night, and in fact had, only to catch a glimpse of her again, hoping each time that what he saw would turn lifelike and beckon him forward, for only a word, or grace him with a smile - And how he would probably never give this letter to her, that it might ruin him to do so, but would hurt more to have its contents forever left unsaid.

She couldn't even breathe as she saw the many drafts written in her honor. She read every word of the final, clinging tightly to the paper as she did so. She had hidden herself away in her mist to protect herself from any feelings of lost love, and as a result, she had hidden herself from someone who cared for her so deeply, that she lost the chance to love again. Her eyes filled with tears as she turned and looked at him. She shook her head in desperation. She had so much to say and he was no longer there to hear her.

The stone rings of the Kiergaardian gateway in the corner gently spun against one another, opening in a veil of silvery, blue light, bathing the interior of the room, and causing his Myriad to shine for a brief moment with a light from within....though nothing happened. A warm, soft voice filled the room with whispers, "Lady of the House, the Path is open, the Abbey adjoined to your home...and the Last Myriad awaits the will. The Lord finally sleeps." Somewhat cryptic, yes, but in no way threatening; the tone implied her ownership not only of Demon House, whether that be in error or not, but also of those buildings which were attached....such as the Abbey. "We await only the Will, Lady, and your task ends and begins." She looked at the gateway, then back at him. Whatever it begged of her, it would be the least she could do for him. She turned and walked towards the portal. She paused for a moment before entering. She looked back at him and then continued into the gateway, making sure he was the last thing she looked upon.

The voices lead on, down one hall, into another, into a grand foyer and upwards and more; from the top of the stairs, a boy could be seen in shadowed candlelight. The voices lead on, whispering, "Fiona....Lady of the Knight....you don't understand..." How he felt..." ....Lady..."" In the shadows before another set of double doors, far upstairs, two men stood talking; one older with silver streaked hair, like an older version of the younger man beside him who was....familiar....but cast in shadows from the flickering candlelight. Between them they discussed a simple silver comb, set with an almost purple red stone. The younger man smiled at the older, telling him it would be perfect for ....but the name was spoken too low to be heard, though the men continued on; the younger placing the diadem on a chest high pillar beside the set of doors they occupied before the two of them walked into the shadows....and vanished, seemingly through a wall. Fiona looked at the people as she passed, trying to recognize faces.

She watched them silently, trying not to disturb anyone or anything as she passed. When she saw the man go through the wall, curiosity delayed her a moment as she decided to pop her head in through the wall after him, just to observe a moment. She knew since she was insubstantial, she could go through on her own accord. The wall before her seemed to vanish into insubstantial darkness as her head pressed against it all too fast, unwilling to do her harm....but catching her hands on its warm comforting stone and not allowing her further movement forward....but for a brief moment, seemingly seen at the end of a long dark hallway was the image of a room like the one she was in....complete with a figure of breathtaking femininity, clad in flowing white....visible only from behind, as she was half immersed in a silvery luminescent puddle on the far wall; the silvery luminous mist of the Nightlands....and to those well versed in Nightland travel....it would appear as though this place, and the Nightlands....and who knew how many other secret places and ways of travel were linked in one path, where all trod - but were not diminished. A soft tinkling - like the laughter of crystals issued from behind her....upon the pedestal, as a soft red glow began to pulse and ebb from beneath the double doors.

She jumped back and gasped, making her first sound in this place. She closed her eyes a moment. She was still startled; as if she had peered through the looking glass in stories she had heard. With eyes closed, she heard the sounds coming from the pedestal. She opened her eyes and saw the light from under the doors. She became focused again and proceeded to follow the light.

A wash of crimson light bathed across her as she approached the doors, and just the motion of her outstretched hand was enough to send them yawning inward. The interior of the room before her was....unique, to say the least; solid black paneled floors and ceiling tile, formed from lustrous obsidian, with equally sized and shaped panels on the walls - save that those seem to be reflective ruby plates; the vibrant, yet Spartan, scene is offset by that which occupies the rooms center: a rose like flower, cut from the same substance as the walls, in a myriad stage of bloom; the inner most petals pressing together as if a pair of ruby red lips, while the outer most petals are spread wide, and almost horizontal to the floor. If one would look closely, they would notice pools of clear water collected where the petals joined to the stem; a large, crystalline rose, covered in dew. "Lady....of the House, of the Knight....we bid you enter..." But even as the words are spoken, a figure can be seen just opposite the rose, a profile view of a man. One hand clasped behind his back, the other extended obviously to his face, examining something - but his face hidden by ....perfectly timed pacing around the rose.

Fiona didn't understand the voices" command, though she was willing to try, but the figure took precedence. This was unfamiliar territory to her, and she always preferred to stay at her guard. She slowly glided around the rose to try to get a better view of the man, though still maintaining some distance.

She visibly jerked her head back as if being slapped by the realization. Was it true"

Possibly, no - probably. No. Her thoughts were reeling. She looked at Omega with wide eyes. She then quickly looked down and took a breath, trying desperately not to think of him. She looked back up at Omega, trying to clear her mind.

And though she couldn't see his face, what she could see evidenced no obvious change. Omega's voice softened for a moment as it paused opposite the crystalline rose and spoke again, "...would you prefer that I speak to you mind to mind" I can do that if you prefer. All your myriad thoughts and feelings, writ across your face across countless universes..." And some of the ruby red panels on the walls flared to life....each depicting the scene she was now living, with slight variances. In some, she talked animatedly of the man whose will had sent her here, whose literal will, shuffled amidst the papers fallen from the Book of Bleak Winters, that day; in another, she'd arrived an old, old woman, who'd lost her comb, only to find it on a pedestal outside this very door; in yet another she had embarrassed herself by throwing her arms around Omega himself, and pressing her lips firmly to a face that was borrowed, and not whose she thought; all these scenes and more flickered on the walls before her, occupying a portion of the panels and leaving the rest blank canvases of shimmering red glass. Omega's voice mimicked the man whose body he was wearing, but was clinical, though not cold. "Or would you prefer to speak with me as your race more usually does" As you can see ....I am adaptive." And more of the panels show the interactions between just the two of them as is happening now, talking in a variety of languages and dialects, and exchanging thoughts in some, mind to mind.

When there was no apparent change in his physical appearance, she felt so embarrassed. She could not help but think of him, of Kristoph, not after all that had just happened. She looked around the room at the images, snapshots of other dimensions it seemed. She felt so dizzy from the thoughts in her own head and the images before her. When Omega spoke and she saw them conversing in many languages, she couldn't take anymore. She closed her eyes and covered her ears as she said, almost in what seemed like a shout for the soft spoken banshee, "Please stop!" She looked up at him and lowered her hands to her sides as she said, trying to contain herself, "Please just speak to me here, but' not in his voice, any voice but his?"

And from her depths Omega pulled new form, but it was never a thing of his choosing....the Last Myriad sought out something that from it's estimation would be comforting, and in a glow of radiant red light, the figure opposite her was now changed slightly in stature and spoke with a familiar voice, a voice she hadn't heard since she drew true breath. "Be at ease, Fiona O'Neill. I mean you no harm, no pain. We merely sensed your thoughts and....perhaps we erred. Do you wish us to....censor him as well...""

She watched in horror as they kept blinking away. She quickly ran up to the scenes still there on the wall by her, desperately looking for his image in the scenes. She said more to herself, feeling as though she was losing him against just as she was starting to see him, "No..."

"I'm not sure I understand, Fiona....what is it you want...?" The scenes continued to disappear....panel after panel, a cluster of panels directly in front of her was being eaten away from the outside ring by glassy red.

One of the scenes, a dark armored figure entering the Inn on a stormy night as the wind and rain beat down, lightning cutting the sky....and being greeted inside the door with drawn weapons, and one man - Armageddon Alexander - stepping between him and the blades....with Kristoph dropping to a knee, raising the visor of his helm, face streaked with tears of happiness at someone defending him, having wandered in lost and alone, not even aware of who he was.

And another scene, where there was a banshee that stood up for him instead. And he loved her for it.

Another scene. It wasn't the Inn, for once. It was the Great Hall....but at Bristle Crios. Some alternate universe. A Palla Grande, a Celestial Ball was being held, and the two of them danced unseen....and completely incorporeal....in that world....neither had been able to touch the other, for they'd never learned those abilities....but loved each other still, unto and beyond death.

And one more scene....Rhy'din, and a man walking alone along the docks, standing at the far end of a pier. His head was lowered, and looking down....perhaps contemplating life before raising to the sky, his eyes closing and mist gathering about him, cloaking him in heavy armor so great it would seem impossible for him to work from within it. His face was still bare of helm as his eyes opened and closed once more, turning his back on the water and extending his arms outward as if being bound to a cross....and falling backwards as if in slow motion.

These were just a few of the images left as those towards the outside of the cluster were vanishing.

She stood tall and had a look of determination in her eyes. "I may not be able to deny fate, but I can try." She shifted her head slightly, and asked, "What do you mean I "eschewed his token" to me" What "token??" She turned and looked at the panel picturing a comb, a silver comb. The she realized it was her comb. She had always had a silver comb since the day she woke up as a banshee. She ran her fingers threw her hair to the place deep under her long, Irish red hair that she kept it where she kept it hidden. It was important to her. She didn't know how, but she knew her abilities as a banshee depended on having it on her. She frantically dug into her voluminous hair, but to no avail. The comb was gone.

Omega wore a bemused expression as she searched, confused. "....Something troubles you?" An expression of sudden dawning realization again, and it was becoming clearer that Omega couldn't understand human emotion unless it was one that it had studied, like on the panels...."...a Myriae, a precious, sentient, jewel, if you will - a focus. Before he passed into the Last Myriad, he requested that such be set aside for yourself, and another. It was a simple boon we could not refuse, since....it was fated to happen without his request." Omega turned his back towards her, taking one, then two steps towards the crystalline rose before turning on her again, and pausing. It hadn't seen this path, or even a hint of it. Ever. In all the myriad realities he had witnessed, even from those now pulled into....Oblivion. This was....unexpected. And for once, Omega had direct knowledge before even Temporis, whose power could not reach this place...

She was barely paying attention. She gave up looking through her hair and begun to look down on the ground. She looked up and saw him go to the rose. She slowly followed him and looked into it.

She had known every minute detail of the comb, viewing it for centuries. She knew that stone was not always there, but she honestly couldn't even remember what it looked like without it. Holding the comb in her hand, she rubbed her thumb over the stone. She quickly looked up as the panels began displaying again. She watched, trying to figure out what scene they were showing. With wide eyes still viewing the scene, she said to Omega, "What is this?"

Omega's voice almost sounded like a croak when he spoke next, "Your comb....it is ....Memoria....the Myriad, Memoria. Left claimed, yet unclaimed....in a thousand, thousand different realms." The blue-red, purple gem flickered as her thumb passed over it, and it's light danced in the rays of the moonlight from the panels - which were displaying not several small scenes, but one large one spread across all of them. As her thumb stroked the gem, the cloud cover cleared from the moons face, and the scene pulled back....the moon rode over Coven Bristle Crios, and fell upon the Houses. Roses upon roses spread in the wild places of the Coven grounds - blooms of red, black, and white in the fields, beneath trees, flourishing in places wild and frequently trod alike.

She looked down from the moon on the panels to see the small rays of light emitting from the stone. She opened her hand, almost dropping the comb. She held it out away from her as she looked to him. "What did I do?" she asked with a faltering tone.

Her hair blew in the strong wind she felt and Kristoph's voice hit her. She watched and listened intently to every word. She turned to Omega with questions in her eyes, but she was too afraid to speak in case it broke this opportunity to hear him again.

Omega remained silent, and now he was kneeling, to her. In hushed tones, he responded to her unspoken request, "If you have questions, lady, ask them....but find another place to look, not there....it is ....sacred."

Still the scene played on, a new voice adding to the mix, "Kristoph!" The voice was loud, strong and friendly, as two new figures crested the porch, walking across and seeking a long stairwell that would descend into the night. "Sir Mandorallen, Lady Ainslie..." A ghost of a smile touched Kristoph's face as he greeted them, but his gaze returned to the darkness. Ainslie gave a warm smile and nudged Mandorallen, beckoning to continue their descent, calling back over her shoulder, "Join us my lord, you've earned it and then....you remember again, come join friends and laugh..." But as she spoke, a sad smile flickered across Mandorallen Thane's face, and in hushed tones he drew her away and down the stair, into the darkness. "He's more alone with us than without, dear heart." And he drew her off down the stairs, but cast another look over his own silver shoulder guards, "....leave off, Kristoph. We set the Watchers everywhere you asked....and she never came back, join us....do not mourn that which you never had." His tone was teasing, and Kristoph greeted it with that same ghost of a smile, nodding. "Soon, perhaps." And he shifted anxiously against the beam, appearing to be seeking comfort (which in a sense....he was) until they left, and his whispered to himself with them now out of earshot, "....I'll wait....the only way..." He shook his head, refusing to admit certain now likely truths to himself - that she wouldn't come, for one. "...one of them must have taken it....a thousand, thousand worlds and more....Aleph told me....and not one..." his eyes shimmered, and voice started to break, "....did she take the Myriad" She would have hunted for it....I don't believe it....I'll....I'll be waiting..." And he struggled to correct himself, before anyone else passed down the Infinite Stairs.

She was confused watching, but she knew that woman' Ainslie. She was one of the banshees that came looking for" looking for him awhile ago. Fiona was sick. Maybe if she would have known, maybe if she would have lead them to him, he'd be alive now. She was concerned by Omega's words and did not want to desecrate the setting. She quickly walked beside him and the crystalline rose. She said softly, "Why is that space sacred" What is going on here??

The realization hit her and she felt as though she would fall next to Omega. This wasn't some memory or scene from an alternate reality. This was showing her him' Kristoph, now.

Wherever he was.

She couldn't even speak. He was there, in front of her. She remained upright only by taking a small step to steady herself, but the step became another and slowly she couldn't help but begin to walk to where he was "waiting".

And reality twisted.

Memoria and the Final Myriad, working in tandem to abuse the very malleable laws of reality and physics in this place....as soon as her decision was reached, her first step within the room would seem to bend reality before her like a finger pushing through a soap bubble, that just won't pop. But then another step. And another. And she was surrounded by the scene she had been witnessing, suddenly within it as the Myriae reacted to her will. The smell of wood smoke filled the air, along with pine, drifting up from the valley below, where the Infinite Stair lead to. Before her loomed an ancient white manor house, perhaps inappropriately named 'Black House', but named that no less. And the memory of that was hers in the moment she looked upon it, if nothing else. And it was important, this place.

So many thoughts raced through her mind. Did she belong here" She felt as though she belonged anywhere he was. "Touch?" She realized she was touching the railing. She looked down at her hand and dropped it next to her. She immediately returned her gaze to him. She spoke softly as if afraid of her own voice, "I don't understand" What is this place" Why am I here" Why are you here?"

"This?" He stepped back from the edge of the porch, letting his other arm fall and facing her, dark clothing marked by a coat of arms over the breast, of House Knightfall, red rose on a black field. "This is..." and he shook his head, "it's....where everything balances out." Glancing around the porch, and off into the field beyond, gesturing. "Eventually, all...everyone" Everything" Comes here....and, most of the time the go off....down there. For the next place. Sometimes....not, and people take turns where I am now....waiting to send those things not welcome....back outside." His eyebrows shot up slightly, revealing perhaps slight ignorance on the matter, "At least....that's what some of the others have told me. And it seems to hold true....though I'm not sure....why you're here. You haven't died the Final Death yet, have you miss?" His eyes narrowed somewhat at the question he had just asked in return to her own. "And....I'm..." looking away, back out towards the campfires. "...I'm waiting....for....someone. But..." And he fell silent a moment. "....if you haven't passed the Final Death, you can't descend." It might have been hard to notice, but....it seemed like he didn't recognize her, at least not entirely. Clearly, some part of him did, with how he initially warmed to her, but it was like he couldn't quite remember....and perhaps that was because this vision of him at the Black House was not yet ....complete.

The Black House was a place of balance ....and Kristoph was....unbalanced. Just as must the Myriae have balance, so must their Hosts, and so must indeed, a person. Everything has a counter balance, either negative or positive, and those two forces in opposition create drive - and purpose.

And Kristoph was....unbalanced. Drowning, in a sea of incomplete memories, but struggling to remember.

She silently gasped as he was so forward by touching her. "No," she said still astounded, which made her tone higher pitched and she lost her own grace with words, "I didn't die" Well, not like that' I don't think anyway. I was just here with Omega and I saw you and?" She trailed off, looking behind her, expecting to see Omega back from where she approached. The air where she gazed shimmered, insubstantial. The darkness lurked behind it, but not the same darkness as she saw over top of Black House, which was moonlit and filled with strange constellations. 'I didn't die' ....she spoke the words and his frown vanished....he wasn't even considering the rest yet, that was all he wanted to hear. That she was alright. Confusion lurked, but he couldn't help but smile. She was here....really here. "....but....how, I never had the chance to leave you the..." he was trying hard to remember, those last moments....but they were just too hazy. He didn't remember her being with him as he died, propping him up so he didn't drown, he just didn't remember. All he could remember was before that, the Madness that had somehow stolen over him, shaming him, turning him against....himself. That dominated the end of his thoughts and memories....though she was in there, earlier. It was just that very last exchange he couldn't recall.

She was trying to analyze his thoughts, which seemed as confused as her own. She wondered" She extended her hands up and into her long hair. She clasped the comb from its hidden spot and pulled it from her tresses. She held it between them so he could see. "Is this what you intended to leave me?"

And suddenly Memoria was between them, at least the physical embodiment of. And he smiled, a trickle more memory coming back to him as his hand slowly raised between them and his fingers slipped around hers, both of them grasping it between them....and a surge of emotion and memory was passed between them, hundreds of years, thousands of thousands of times over, knowledge of the myriad of each others lives, and how many times they had accidentally brushed the strands of their lives together without knowing it. The summer night at the Black House was suddenly....exceptionally warm, if only for those two upon the porch. "Yes, I..." his words faltered as both of them saw, in both their mind's eyes events play out time and time again, never intersecting, but getting closer, until....this moment. Outside the web of reality, here at the Black House. And from here, through Memoria and the Final Myriad....the Abbey, and the world beyond. The Nexus.

From the flood of memories she fell back and onto the porch railing. She clutched her comb, almost dropping it for the second time. She held on to the railing, and gasped quietly as if the breath was knocked out of her. She looked at him and said, "What was that?"

At the harshness of her tone, he straightened his posture formal once more. He....had been through similar things to this before, involving his own Myriad, but he had no idea if she had....no memory of it to indicate, at least. And it wasn't really his fault either, he hadn't planned this scenario at all....if he'd planned for something like this at all, it was that she would see some alternate him....and....would somehow find a way to reach out to him. He thought he was beyond reach of any, here, even Pathfinder. "I cry your pardon, my lady." Spoken in soft tones, "I'm not sure any of us asked for the things we receive, they merely fall upon our laps and we do with them what we will. I am sure its effects are....temporary," and in saying that, perhaps a little regret broke through his formal stance, as his eyes sought the ground, "unless you wished them to become more so. It must have been....attuning itself to you, and you somehow....somehow activated it." He was looking more closely at the comb now, at the stone set within the band, casting a very soft purple light. Spoken more softly, "Whatever it gives one....so to the other, at least in our case..." and another regretful look broke past his stoic mask, this time with the barest of smiles, "....the Myriae always take payment in balance of what is asked..."

"I didn't ask for this," she repeated. She didn't understand that she did in some strange way, in her heart. She sighed with defeat. "I don't know what that even means. I just' I want to go home" I want to' bring you home?? She had walked through too many looking glasses today and she had feared she would never return. Now that she had found him, she only wanted to take him back home, back to Bristle Crios.

"Bold words, my lady, bold words."

Saucy'

Urdru"

She was lucky he was at an age when his teeth were all still intact and it didn't sound he like was talking around a mouth full of marbles. He shook his head. "No more time. Just sent back: once, and mortal. Would you still ask it' And what if I were to say that it would be impossible for him to remember what made him, him without you?" He shook his head, as if listening to something far away, and returned his gaze to her, "No, no....we don't think you could bear the responsibility - understand, without you, he would be lost again. He would not die, but live out the rest of a mortal existence without memory of who he was, and unable to create fresh memories. No, surely now you see the folly. Your heart is too kind; you would feel obligated to stay near him, and forsake your own path. It's not something that any could ask of you."

She didn't think of herself. She never did.

She was only concerned with him, making sure he would be okay, making sure he would be given more time. But she thought a moment. By making this decision, she would be allowing him more time, though she would be sacrificing what he once was. She felt sick again as this mirrored her own existence. She would exist forever, as far as she knew, but could never be what she once was. What this the choice someone once made on her behalf" She wasn't sure if she was making the right decision. With concerned features, she asked, "He would not remember what he was, nor would he remember new memories, with out my presence?" She wanted to make sure she fully understood before playing god with someone's life.

Urdru smiled, somewhat secretively as she grew more insistent. "You understand perfectly," and he eyed the comb through the distance between them, and seemed to muse for a moment, murmuring silently to himself, "Never expected to look there for a Host..." then more loudly, "thanks to your little bauble, and..." his voice trailed off and he quickly approached a tangent, "He loves you, I think. But didn't have time to court you properly, before he..." and a curious smirk appeared on his face, "Came here." Urdru continued, "Not your physical presence, my lady, but....your presence, with him." In his life, perhaps" The young Urdru was perhaps, if possible, even more cryptic than the elder.

Interlude: The Black House.

Urdru watched them from the porch as reality seemed to snug in around them, and swallow them up, pausing for a moment to look back and forth between the spot they had vanished from and the campfires in the valley below. He smiled, and ran a hand through his hair, giving his head a shake as the hair lengthened and darkened, framing a slightly different face. "Yes, I'll be here....guarding the Stairwell..." The figure that was Urdru glanced sidelong at the way down to the campfires and smiled to himself, humming a little tune as he swaggered forward, and paused to listen to a voice that was unseen, and unheard even by any but himself. He began to nod. "Yes, the Gate is open..." fingers were steepled before him as he began to laugh, with more than a little touch of madness. "....and the brother too, yes. Yes, the weapon is ....exquisite, and apparently quite unstoppable. Yes," Nodding a final time. "It will be done." And the voice speaking to the man who was Urdru must have ceased, for he proceeded to the top of the Stairwell and softly murmured, this time apparently truly to him, "Until I set her against you, and her boy won't stop me either....both brothers will be....occupied." With those final words, standing at the top of the Stairwell, the Dark Myriad called Oblivion was unveiled, and its black light burned out from across the porch....and the campfires went dark, as Dy'Hauc devoured that which would be - and tomorrow fell into Oblivion.

End Interlude