There was a stillness. Motionless. Arms flung out in silent offering. Beautiful the vision, that blessing and tribute of the gods. Wide spread arms in glorious welcome. The winds licked and danced, tongues of the breeze sensual to trace along her flesh and pull at the witch's dress. Come play, little witch the breathing caress of a slyph's alluring voice would beckon. Still she would not move. Her patience, her dutiful nature was admirable. The dusk mark of flesh glistened, gleaming glimmer of promise. Creation forged of starlight and shadows. Her presence was a breathtaking contradiction to the glory of angels. Never would she aim so high. A Valendria witch ever and always. Portrait of beauty and gracing spells. One only had to look to truly see.

See that she was dying. Those outstretched arms were not an offering of tribute. The thick iron stakes had cut and tore through sinew and bone, veins and muscle, kept her in that puppeteer's position of martyrdom. Ever she had denied the sweet temptation of emotion. Walls made, shielded from the sensation of affection and adoration. She felt too much. Felt so much and this... these tainted twisting emotions. Their hatred, their desire, their loathing disgust and need was killing her even as scarlet drops of witch blood burned the ground below her crucified figure.

Those final hours, the glimmer in eyes became dying stars. Fading. Till the stakes were torn from her wrists and she collapsed. The sweet bliss of darkness came. Taking her away with that rough whisper to the shell of her ear.

"You must live."

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Days
I haven't seen days
Just solid water
Down my face

The darkness had been chased away by the stars, by the sliver smile of the moon.

There was a familiar nature of this place. Rain dropped wet kisses on that dusk marked visage. Lashes fluttered, opened those dark portals. Black diamonds in the rough. It was so dark they saw stars again. Knew the torment of pain. Rising to her knees she shuddered as a wild beast, scrambled in the dead leaves and wet grass. Ley line tapped. Held at the ready as spindled energy pooled in her thoughts. Tasting the ever after on her tongue.

Survival was the first thought. Realization. Not there. Gaze fell to those brutal rendered wrists. Scars now. Fingers curled into fists and there was the shattered cry that was a murder of ravens call of anguish and torment.

Searching shuffle through thoughts, memories. The question of where life had gone, where death had been. Black darkness drenched memories. Lapse in time. All was taken. No memory of how she had returned here. Rhy'din.

Days
I've missed so many days
In a world that has become an unfamiliar place
Now to you, I'm just an unfamiliar face

The place was not her home. A place she did not belong. Never to fit and yet here she was again.

Whispers rustled in thoughts. A clacking,mocking laughter. Dark depths rested on the ravens that settled in trees. The witch rose to her feet, fingers smoothed through twilight and shadow curls. A stubborn grace of lifted chin, the calm air of defiance.

I'm losing myself again
You swore you'd be around this time

Their laughter always seemed to melancholy to her. She knew this place. A place once named as home was now an embered ruin. One wall still stood in shatters. Mocking smudges of ash-sticks to write the words. Never cursed but those words haunted her.

Back turned. A walk away. The path unfurled as a languid dark beast before her, stretching and arching as a panther would in delicious awakening from long cat naps in shadows.

When revelation calls
And everything is blown away
When revelation calls

She walked on without question and returned to a place so familiar and yet so unfamiliar. Home for the Unwelcome one.




(All in bold -lyrics from 'Blown Away'-Shiny Toy Guns)

There was silence. A peaceful way on the hour. Knelt before the lake ignoring the cut of skeletal tree limbs and rocks that made scarlet ribbons along dusk marked flesh. Palms offered. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Dark eyes fluttered, for a moment she saw stars. The glow of the spidersilk threads of ley lines.

"Finish it, witch."
"This is not what I do," A pause the word licked with an edge of sarcasm "cher."

Pain exploded, she struggled against the binds that held her. Invisible but then they knew well of her weakness. Weary the dark of those depths as they grew deep wells, dark pits.

"Tell me... have you ever had a ley line run through you?" Dark honey the whisper as survival instinct set in.

There was never a moment given for the man to answer. The line snapped out, twisted through his soul and then snapped back into place to drag one into the ever after with but a mouthful of Latin.

"Go."

The young girl the witch had saved stared with saucer wide eyes. Shaking. Lani knew the signs of a break down. The girl walked to her but no kindness, no praise, no thanks came from the young girl's lips.

A clear shine of spit decorated the witch's hands. "Demon spawn." A curse from a child no more then one to see fifteen summers.

Alone there was a glimmer of fading starlight in darkness, it was a curious thing for the witch to find tears on her finger tips when she wiped away the spit.

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She paints her eyes as black as night now.
She pulls those shades down tight.
Yeah, she gives me a smile when the pain comes.
The pain gonna make everything alright.

Twilight and shadow curls went tousled and wild as her fingers caressed through the dark of it. Long hours she had walked in silent company with Thaelic. The silence was peaceful. There were so many secrets that she held within. Most of them having to do with her control. Her curse and gift.

A mere touch could provide a reading, emotions painted a tapestry of truth. Those scarred wrists still held the imprint of a feathered touch upon them. Shielded she refused to read of him, to know him. What would it mean to read of one that so easily had seen through all she had worked so hard to disguise? There was the delicate one too, the demure creature that seemed to see the tranquility of the witch as a tragedy.

Says she talks to angels.
They call her out by her name.
Oh yeah, she talks to angels.
Says they call her out by her name.

Black diamonds were those eyes as they swept the path that she had walked before with company. Worrisome and weary she wondered still on his intentions to speak with her. What words would there to be shared. Never had it been like this but now... ever since... that moment before returning to these lands things were different.

A deep bordering pain. Betwixt and Between. Caught like a shadow weaver was never meant to be. She understood now why the ravens laugh. It was better then letting them see the tears. To know how fragile one really was.

She don't know no lover,
None that I ever seen.
Yeah, to her that ain't nothing
But to me it means, means everything.

She paints her eyes as black as night now.
Pulls those shades down tight.
There's a smile when the pain comes.
Pain's gonna make everything alright.

Still so strong she was. Noble and regal as chin lifted again. Dark eyes swept over the forest. Saw the trees for the forest and the forest for the trees. Was merely knowing those she found these days a risk on their own lives? Would the judgement fall on them as it had her. Finger tips traced scars. Never would she let what happened to her... happen to them.

This she silently swore. Black diamonds glimmered and would shine like a star imprinted sky. The moisture at cheeks was not rain but something more... something less then ever she could find before in her spirit. A spirit that held on to hope with such delicate prayers in silent nights.


(Black Crowes-She talks to angels)

Her fingers dipped into shadows, intricate design and when removed from the darkness the elegant tips came back stained, touched by nature's ink. Her spirit felt that pull, and she was washed in moonlight. In those silent hours the witch felt unrestrained. Unbound. Black Diamonds turned to the one that watched her and she rose to her feet, palms touched with energy.

Her lips brushed his tenderly as palms touched to his face, the energy spilled through. Twilight pouring through the earth bound energy of his soul. The Mind's Eye made his soul a canvas of summer night skies embedded with the diamond gleam of stars.

"Things... will never be the same."

A whisper, a retreat. She left him alone with a fragment of her touch, an imprint of spirit before gone, faded into midnight.

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they kept her as long as they could
cause they knew when the white brother
found white shell beads
wrapped around her skin --
a life giving river --
her body open as will his hand
and with a "goodbye" there she goes


Hearth bound she had remained after the delicate one had left her with the inquiry of whether the witch had seen the hawk born, Thaelic.

Those dark depths skimmed over the dance of flames, peripherals noting the presence of the familiar. The vision of the Ogre that seemed to watch over the delicate one as much as the drow did.

Breath exhaled as those dusk marked fingertips stretched toward flame. Fire glow washed a solar gleam along skin.

How swift, how cruel emotions could be. One evening to be filled with delightful mirth only for the down spiral into the melancholy again.

she may betray all that she loves
and even wait for their savior to come
and in some things, maybe he'll be right
but as always the thing that he loves
he will change from her sunrise to clockwise to soul trading
still she'll lay down her body
covering him all the same


Perhaps it was the copper taste of blood that stained her senses, perhaps the whispers that still tormented her nights from the vision of all faced at Estmore. Or maybe the distraught state of the young Sera had been claimed by the witch's empath nature to coil in her own soul.

Fingers brushed the flame. No pain lanced through her as the twilight touch of her magic danced along her palm. Ensnared the light of fire and swallowed it whole.

Her fingers crushed the image of night devouring flame. Closing eyes to shut out the visual of dying light. Too familiar an image, like the fading of a vivid spirit, an elegant spark.

so hundreds of years go by
(the red road carved up by sharp knife)
she's a girl out working her trade
and she loses a little each day
to ghetto pimps and presidents
who try and arouse her turquoise serpents
she can't recall what they represent
and when you ask, she won't know

she will betray


(Tori Amos- Virginia)

Twelve years. It was a wild age. A freeborn age of discovery. It was a time that the Valendria witches sought our their chosen.

She was outside gathering herbs when the rough voice of her father called out. "Laniandra, go inside."

"Father?"

"Just go inside, it will be alright."

A nod as ever obedient but she could not help curiousity. A pause at the foot of the stairs when she saw the woman entered their home. Black hair, dark eyes. The touch she offered Lani's father was intimate, knowing.

"You know ... that when the mother dies in childbirth with a child like your daughter... she is meant for ours..."

"I cannot do that to her."
"You have no choice. Come... I will help you change your mind, let you see the potential of all that your daughter is to become and what she will be"

She heard the door close, knowing it was the room to her father's bedroom. Hours later she was taken by the hand by this dark woman that years later would hold the title as the Crone of the Three. She never saw her father again...

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How long had she been sleeping there in the glen near the springs before Vincent had left her to face another day. She knew by the light filtering through the trees of the hour. Perhaps knew it by the crooning lure of a raven's chatter in her thoughts.

It was an odd thing to become accomodated to, to adjust to the companionship and closeness without the temptation of using the nature of all it meant to be a Valendria witch. Not a kiss shared, not an intimate moment save for a slumbering peace in his arms. Relaxation and peace in the hours of the night shared with him had come easy.

Alone now left moments of contemplation. Hands behind her head she stared up at what she could see of the sky. No longer how she once was. All had changed.

Things were new and different. So much to change that she did not know what to make of, what was becoming of her. Healing perhaps was just a few moments away in time.

"You must live through the pain" "But what if I do not wish to feel pain?"

The blade had slid in deep but it was nothing compared to the pain she felt as she watched the woman she came to call as friend bleed beside her. Her dark eyes lingered on the Crone, torn away from the vision of Norin at her side.

The woman had not survived the trial and tribulation of the Valendria witches. Those green eyes of Norin, those emerald eyes Laniandra watched until the sun rose and the light went out of Norin's eyes.

"Death you must realize is not a permanent thing, Laniandra."
"But the pain is..."

The blade was drawn away as her fingers curled at the very wounds she had survived from. Love and pain... these things remained.

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Heaven bend to take my hand
And lead me through the fire
Be the long awaited answer
To a long and painful fight

Truth be told I've tried my best
But somewhere along the way
I got caught up in all there was to offer
And the cost was so much more than I could bear

It as becoming a repetitive thing. The blood, the burden of emotions. The weakening chaos of her spirit was a tormented thing to awaken the nature of the empath within the Valendria witch.

Far past tears her voice had gone raw and ragged with crying the name of the delicate one. The murder of crows had screamed the warning and yet none had been heeded. Even her own voice to add to that madness of sound had not drew the delicate one from the dark creature that had taken her away. Laniandra could do nothing. Nothing. Too weak from the poison and still recovering she had fought the wall of trees Raithmoore had forged before her until the wounds at her palms had broken open again and the thorns and violent limbs of the trees had cut brutal lines along her flesh. She bled again.

Though I've tried, I've fallen...
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so...

We all begin with good intent
Love was raw and young
We believed that we could change ourselves
THe past could be undone
But we carry on our backs the burden
Time always reveals
In the lonely light of morning
In the wound that would not heal
It's the bitter taste of losing everything
That I've held so dear.

The Ogre had found her collapsed and near a broken creature in the glen. The blood had spilled rivulets of scarlet around her dusk marked frame, the early presence of bruises appearing already to bloom as dark flowers along her flesh. She only spoke a few mouthfuls of words, unmoving. It pained her too much as the witch had pushed herself to her limits.

The Drow guardian of Sera would find out all that had been done. The Ogre promised he would watch the delicate one's home as the witch slept. She couldn't let the Ogre know the way to Thaelic's home, even if it was where she wanted to be more then anything now. This was not her choice.

I've fallen...
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so...

Heaven bend to take my hand
Nowhere left to turn
I'm lost to those I thought were friends
To everyone I know
Oh they turn their heads embarassed
Pretend that they don't see
But it's one missed step
One slip before you know it
And there doesn't seem a way to be redeemed

The argument and the rage long had gone into the dark hours between the Ogre and the Drow. When finally it all was found in silence or enough of peace the witch retreated to wash up. No reason for the witch to do any worse then she already had. No reason to stain pure white sheets with the sin of a witch's dripping blood.

She washed away the blood, found a way to wrap her reopened wounds. Gave into exhaustion. Slumber came for her then, not without the wish for the presence of the hawkborn, knowing when she woke up in the morning he wouuld not be there... and that was a twisting knife deep within the pain of losing Sera, not being able to control the rage between Ogre and Drow, the lack of him there. Melancholy fell around her as darkest cloak.

Two that had crawled into her soul and through the walls kept around her heart were becoming lost to her. Sera truly taken from her and perhaps already she was losing the Hawkborn for her own basis of uncertainty and fear. Long had affections and true emotions for others been locked away and now it may cause another price of loss for the witch. The thought was anguish to torture her night, to bring nightmares. Her slumber if anything was far from peaceful...

Though I've tried, I've fallen...
I have sunk so low
I messed up
Better I should know
So don't come round here
And tell me I told you so...

(Sarah McLachlan- Fallen)

The scent lingered on her like perfume. Clove smoke curled and snaked around her hair to cause the wispy apparitions of fixation to be wicked allure rather then just a dangerous addiction for the witch.

It was a shame that such addictions would do nothing to the Valendria witch. The wine was sipped as she watched her fellow members of the Black Sun, knowing it had been years since she walked away from the 'clan' and still she held on to that witch blade.

Something unique had ensnared her soul, a seed planted with the whisper of the witch blade. It was far from an evil forged weapon, hardly chaotic but being bonded to the blade seemed to have an influence over the witch.

A thin line from madness. It tasted much like desire on her tongue. Those black diamonds lingered, settled on one of her guild mates. Tonight she would not be alone.

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Black rose & a radio fire
Its so contagious
Such something changing my mind
Im gonna take whats evil

The blade had found a home again,rested to the spine of the Valendria witch until it was hidden again if only for a moments bit of peace from it. She knew it's familiar call, knew that the witch blade was near akin to having another entity in your head, your soul.

She had told Silas of Sera's kidnapping and such revelations had resulted in her obtaining a new trinket. The linking stone rested in a hue of green as bright as envy on that twine as it played co-partner to the raw amethyst. One gave her power and balance, the other back-up if it came to a need for metaphysical resources.

Your cover melting inside
With wide eyes you tremble
Kissing over & over again
Your god knows his faithful
I try - to digest my pride
But passions grip i fear
When i climb - into shallow vats of wine
I think i almost hear - but its not clear

You are the one
You'll never be alone again
You're more then in my head - your more

A way to calm nerves had left the witch visiting the hot springs till she emerged from its molten embrace, slick and focused. The curls of twilight and shadows were smoothed back to leave the black onyx depths focused above the darkness that proved those hours that lacked sleep or comfort.

Vincent's duel had been watched, his presence a comfort to her spirit. One that was still safe from being dragged down with her. The witch had a moment of simplicity, a distraction from all that ran wild in her mind. Then Vilrath had been there, speaking with scathing insults of the Ogre, the Hawkborn and herself. Vincent's protective rage had done nothing to fuel the fire of the witch's empathic nature. Their fury melted into hers... forged as one.

Spin faster shouting out loud
You cant steal whats paid for
Such something hurting again
Murder son shes painful

She had left Vincent then, gathering her emotions, finding a center of balance. Many were right on the Valendria witch she took too much upon herself. Would force and push herself far past the breaking point. The bottle of wine became a soothing aid, made her long for the first time in years for that clove.

In time she would have to find Thaelic as much as Throx to warn them that she would find Vilrath and follow him to Raithmoore. She knew better then any that such a journey would leave her changed. Scarred and perhaps marked again.

A return to the arena with such thoughts was fed by the vision of a random woman, a once date of the arch-mage to be kissing on Vincent. The shocking slam of the visual into her spirit near had her dropping it. The night had become to odd.


You so believe your own lies
On my skin your fingers
Runaway until the last time
Were gonna lose forever

Like a Queen before a losing battle she chose her actions, her steps carefully. Filled two glasses with the wine and offered one to Vincent in silence. He seemed for once as lost with the night as she had been. There had been long quiet moments then as he put his arm around her and drew her in close. The contact was a needed thing, the kiss on her lips when he moved to leave her left her emotions crashing around her. Dark waves.

She followed him that night. Unwilling to face the empty cottage that in every single glimpse of it reminded her of the delicate. Unprepared to face the Ogre to tell him it was time, and far more unsettled to make the hawk born to know of her intention to go after Raithmoore with Vilrath.

Knowing that she was yet not strong enough to face the Hawkborn or the emotions he stirred within her, knowing that the choices she made now with taking up the witch blade to save Sera could easily mean the death of her. That night was shared with the Archmage. With the face of death in the promise of future she was unwilling to remain alone. If these were her final hours, she didn't know if she could share them with Thaelic for fear of losing all that was gained and found, the emotions felt for the hawkborn easily could weaken her... leave her breaking inside. Something the Lich King will and would easily use against her.

She would not lose him. Not risk another...

When you try - don't try to say you wont
Try to crawl into my head
When you cry - cause it's all built up inside
Your tears already said - already said

You'll never be alone again

(You Are the One-Shiny Toy Guns)