Fragments. Shards.

Dreams and Landscapes unchartered.

The Light Bringer knelt there before his bed.

Watched as he slept.

Peaceful.

These moments she dared.

No touch even if the notion was there.

So still.

Holding her breath

Even in dreams to share and trespass through she still trembled with uncertainty.

What was this fascination he held to her?

These were safe hours when the Straw Man would hunt, and the Palm Reader would draw the cards of misfortune.

"Jackson."

A whisper.

Strange candy on the tongue his name at her lips.

Krysanthe knew this was nothing more then a dream.

Knew she was fooling herself as this moment with him was very much real.

Gold dust spilled waves of hair, lightly perfumed.

A lean toward.

Daring tender press of palm to bare expanse of chest as he slept.

One kiss.

It couldn't hurt.

Could it?

He would never know.

Her secret.

Over him her hair fell like a gold rush, starlight stream. Lips soft as butterfly wings there... oh near there to press.

A scream in her mind, she shot up like swift.

Disappeared.

The Rage of the Straw Man startled her.

The Hunt had not gone well.

She would be his victim.

His sacrifice.

Gone in starlight downpour, glory fall of light.

There was darkness now in spirit.

Never to realize that there behind left was a token.

A ribbon of gold that would light the way.

To Ghost Town. To the Circus. To the Show.

Strange dreams.

Dreams of her.

He had not had any business lately, and had not seen her for a few days...and yet his dreams every night are haunted by her.

Sometimes she is there, in his room, leaning over him, whispering his name...strange things...close enough to touch, but it is as if he is paralyzed, unable to move.

Other times, he sees her bound in silk, red silk like ribbons of blood sliding tantalizingly over bare, pale skin, placed just well enough to entice and encourage the imagination, to leave him wanting more. In the dream, he is the only watcher he can see, but each time she twists in the silk, each time she slips, he hears the gasps of the crowd...a sound heavy with lust, desire, with hunger.

And yet, strangely, he always has the feeling the show is his alone.

This night, she is with him alone, in his room...on his bed. Leaning over him, whispering his name, a caress of breath upon his lips...

And suddenly, there is a scream.

He sits up like a shot, eyes wide, already fully awake, breathing heavily, as though he had not breathed in hours. He had half expected her to be there as he woke, and to find her not there is both a relief and a disappointment.

He can smell her perfume again, like rain and morning dew, as he had every time he woke - a phantom smell, he has thought, a lingering illusion of senses still muddled from sleep.

But no...not this time.

For what is this he finds lingering on his chest...? Something silken that slides over his skin, the most sensual, slippery feel of silk.

He grabs it, thinking perhaps this too is the fabric of his dreams...only to find his fingers grasping the smooth cloth. Pulling it away from his chest, he looks at it with wonder.

A gold ribbon, the kind he had seen her wearing in her hair so many nights as he slept.

"So you were here."

He sets the ribbon on his nightstand and stands. There's only one thing he can do, though he doesn't know how. But he knows where to start.

He goes to his closet, the sheet falling from his body to reveal him, fully nude, tanned skin pulled tautly over smooth, rippling muscle as he walks over to his closet.

He pulls from it a form-fitting suit of black and red, stiff places in the fabric showing where armor has been woven into the fabric to protect vital places.

He begins to dress.

Tonight, he's going to pay a visit to the place he first ran into this whispering, elusive spirit...the Red Dragon Inn.

He's back home only moments after they had parted in the alley.

He had not thought she would be there - indeed, he had counted on her not being there, and was only going to see if anyone else knew where he might find someone wearing a ribbon such as the one she had left in his room last night...someone who performed as an acrobat, for instance.

And instead, she had been there.

As if she were waiting for him to come.

As if she had known he would be there.

And when he had wanted to know how and why she was haunting her dreams, she had started to go...and he had stopped her.

Why had he done that?

Isn't he supposed to be the one that doesn't care? That doesn't get involved?

Didn't he say he's not the hero?

And yet, he as good as said he would try to help her.

You're getting soft, Jackson.

Maybe so. But so what? You can't be an unfeeling, cold bastard forever.

He sighs as he strips down out of his hunting clothes, removing the specially made, form-fitting suit and putting it away.

Another time.

He takes the time to shower and dry off, and then without further ado, he slips under the sheets, slipping off into sleep.

He had told her to find him in his dreams...

...he had not expected her to actually do so.

The dream starts again with her whispering his name, and as so many of them have, they are again in his room, in the darkness. He can see her coming to his bed, and just like the last night, he feels her touch...her hair on his skin, fingers tracing a delicate, tingling line across his torso.

And, for the first time, he feels the touch of her lips to his...a soft, delicate feeling. Without thinking, as he lays there in the dream, his hands move, sliding over her waist, a slender, seemingly delicate form in his hands...one that feels so real...

His eyes open, and with a sudden shock he realizes it is no dream...or if it is, then the dream has become flesh.

And this time, there is no dream between the two of them...nothing as his lips move against hers, but the sheet that covers him, and the cold night air.

His hands find her waist under them, no dream but solid reality, and realizing this they gently pull her down against him. The sudden throb of his heartbeat - a throb that is echoed in another part of him, quite a ways away from his heart - tells him he needs air, and he pulls back just enough to draw a deep breath - one full of her scent, moist rain and morning dew on the earth, a scent he has always loved and associated with fond, very distant memories.

And as he breathes, he finds her name on his lips.

"Krysanthe..."

He doesn't understnad how it can be that she is here...nor does it make any sense to him that, though he set the alarms to go off as soon as another presence is detected, she does not set them off.

But at this moment, such thoughts aren't important, only something to be pondered in a distant corner of the mind.

It becomes lost totally as her hips brush at his, over the sheet, over him. Thought flees on a horse of desire as his arms wrap more fully around her, pulling her completely down on top of him, hands moving up her back with slow deliberation, pressing her more fully, completely against him as his lips claim hers for their own.

He knows this is real, knows without doubt that he is awake - she feels too real, too solid under his hands. The soft skin, the hard, sleek muscle beneath he can feel as his hands wander back down her body, exploring curves, as well as the heady rush of passion that warms his face and groin, making his flesh tingle and tremble with suppressed desire, the feel of his heart pounding against his ribs as it is denied oxygen that it needs, tells him it is all very real, that he is indeed awake.

With her held against him, he rolls to the side, bringing her down on the bed next to him. As they separate slightly, he finds one hand more free to explore the rest of her, and as it slides down her length, fingertips tracing over the sides of her body, he can hear, feel and sense her warmth, her heartbeat increased, her body flush and breathing quicken under his touch. Still, he cannot resist asking as their lips part ways once again.

"Krysanthe...tell me this is not a dream...that you are as real as you feel."

Whatever doubts he had that she is real are gone in a heartbeat as she slips under his sheets, drawing him near. Her skin against his, her warmth, the trails of fire her hands and fingertips leave over his skin drive all doubts out of his mind. His own hands slide down her body, finding their familiarity with her curves, feeling hard muscle under silky soft skin, her warmth like a soft, pleasurable fire against his body.

Her whisper, so tantalizing to hear, as she promises to prove to him that she is, indeed, real, without doubt, that he had only heard in dreams before this.

Now, though,he can feel it all.

Her skin against his.

Her fingers, tracing lines over his skin.

The surprising strength of her arms as she draws him close.

Her lips meeting his, parting slightly, and the fluttering of her tongue as it touches his.

The sudden upsurge in heat as his body flushes with desire for her, heat rushing to his groin as he gently rolls onto his back, pulling her on top of him.

And the feeling of heat so hot it seems to scorch his soul, as the warm, moist core of her meets the hardened, erect center of him, the silken folds parting to accomodate him as he enters her.

In that moment, as the heat consumes him, he forgets that he is, indeed, not the hero. Not the knight in shining armor, as he said.

He can be the one to rescue her, he realizes...and with that realization comes another.

He is thouroughly, undeniably, head-over-heels, obsessively in love with this figure that has haunted his dreams for weeks.

She woke with the morning light when the sun fully would rise. There kept in the embrace.

Krysanthe remained there with Jackson. Body still joined with his, the naked lines of chest to rest against his. Fingers drew a pattern.

Lines and Stories.

Wants and Desires.

Soul born blues opened as lips moved against his skin. Whispered his name.

"Jackson."

Her body twisted till the Star was beneath him.

Voice tender, intimate and husky in a whisper of his name till he awakened.

He would take her again, leave her crying out his name till that completion filled her again.

Over and Over.

All this she needed, knowing that tonight... they would face the Circus.

Tonight she would be the Fallen Star again, but for now... she was his.

Morning became afternoon when she finally would be drawn from his embrace. Hardly for long.

Sweat dusted bodies would ever need cleansing. A rain of water that was hot, slow, passionate. Much like the growing smolder of their affection, the burn of their love for each other.

There was no surprise when he came to her as the water rained down her flesh, drops of water becoming trails of star dust in accent of the gold glory of her flesh.

Spirit blue eyes were wide when there he was with her in the shower. His hands tender on her skin.

His touches and caresses so tender as if he feared she might break, might shatter if he held her too roughly. Grasped her too fiercely with the open hunger known as Desire.

So wide her eyes were as he held her face in his hands, stared deep in her eyes.

Krysanthe could lose herself in him.

Remedy.

Texas Ladies Man.

Her voice spoke the words before she could catch them. Free spirited birds.

Voice so soft. Vulnerable with all the pain endured in life before.

Pain day by day he was taking from her.

Healing.

The words spoken not with uncertainty or hesitation, but with the nature of one that had been hurt so many times before she feared offering her heart. Speaking those words.

They would make her fragile to him. He could kill her with just the offering of those words to him.

This she knew...and yet still the words escaped her.

"I love you."

Breathless. Wonder born in her eyes.

Realizing the truth.

He belonged here like he was ever meant for her.

Missing for so long, and here she was now.

Soul complete.

All because of him.

He kissed her again, as if the moment was meant for eternity.

Sanctified that bond.

Once again he would draw her close, bring her to him till bodies pressed again together... and she found herself willing, wanting...

To give herself to him all over again.

In that heat as the water poured down on them, coated their flesh to leave their world wet and slick again she knew it would only be moments... just a breath away...

Till their bodies joined again.

The words sang in her.

To love.

To be loved in return.

Poets swore to it.

Krysanthe could understand why in that moment as was held in his arms.

A kiss to seal, to bind them.

Those words seemed to carry more weight then any sort of ceremony could.

She could never tire of this feeling, she sought it more and more.

Krysanthe's laughter escaped her in the wet heat of the shower, bright shining grin as she remembered a star lit night with her sister Dark.

Understanding.

This was what she was waiting for.

He had been everything she had been patient for.

Bodies became one, joined and merged till the passion in her voice and the speaking of his name was a breathless cry.

Soon though the pleasure and passion would have to still for the sake of reality.

There was a steeled determination in her eyes when they dressed, voice tested for uncertainty.

"It is time..."

Spirit born blues lingered on her Remedy.

"Are you ready?"

Words to live and die by.

She had dressed in the way of preparation for the Circus. She would perform tonight.

Moonlight and Golddust.

Star gleam and crystal.

The dress was a spill of ghost white to her flesh. Near to give the illusion of not being true fabric. Instead the fabric seemed light, ethereal making it seem instead of fabric it was nothing but crystal sheen and gold dust.

"Jackson."

Her eyes were steel and blue fire, gold mane twisted and bound by cords and intricate ribbons.

A masquerade for the circus. She wore her own mask in that moment.

Swan mask.

Swan song.

The comparison did not elude her.

Breath exhaled came shaky before contained.

Krysanthe could not fear, could not give in to terror.

The Straw Man fed on this.

"I love you, Jackson. No matter what happens. Remember that."

A solitaire tear spilled after the mask was set into place.

He was not allowed to see that behind that mask and deep within her spirit, her heart was breaking.

She feared these would be their final hours...

Hesitation. A side glance to the mirror. Seeming to fix a final strand of gold.

Deep ragged breath drawn in as she felt that uncertainty like a knife slicing through her.

A thought of running away, escaping this.

Yet the Straw Man, the Palm Reader would come after her.

Head bowed, just about to cross her arms over her chest and speak those words of indecision.

Then she was there in his arms and everything seemed tolerable.

Arms wrapped around him as she buried her head against his shoulder, body finding its niche against his own.

For a moment in that proximity she could forget about everything.

Heat pooled through her, ran rampant and made her burn.

A hidden spark ignited.

It had been so long since she had belonged to the Straw Man and the Palm Reader.

Now so new to belong to him... as he belonged to her.

Horror crossed her features at this words of death.

"You must not die, Jackson. After all I have found in you... if I lost you now. It would not be any easier for me if I lost you, my love, then it would be if you lost me."

Head tipped back, fingers stroking along his jaw, lips brought to his for a tender kiss.

"I am unwilling to lose you. You have my heart, my soul. Body and mind. I will not give up on this. You have become such a part of me."

Spirit born blues searched his, melting and lost in that moment. She would find strength in this moment.

"I love you, Jackson. Ever and Always. No matter the price. No matter the way."

Fingers spilled down his arm, twisting and intertwining with his own and she drew him from his home.

Deep into the thick of night and towards the Big Top.

Far from All Hallow's Eve and yet here they were ready for a Masquerade.

Walking that path where they were joined by the lost souls that would wander along on that same dark road.

The dust road in moonlight seemed to gleam and shine. Diamonds in the rough of a dirty worn path.

Krysanthe knew this path well, had walked it often.

"You can watch the show but do not stay in the crowd. Act as the crowd does and will but stay a part of it. You must trick them to believe you are a spector, but not lamb."

Her voice kept low, hushed and sacred to give him the tips needed.

"I would have you stay with me, at my side, but they would know well then."

Fingertips settled the mask over features, assured that it would cover well.

The Big Top at times would be a masquerade. Tonight more then ever a sensual dance of masquerade charm.

"You will feel things, know things, sense things. It is the magic of the Big Top. Not all is as it seems."

A glance spared to him. She would not, could not touch him. Knowing they watched the crowd that walked to the Big Top as near a Mummer's Dance.

"Smoke and Mirrors. Illusion."

They were there then. Handing over the tickets that mysteriously appeared in the palm of her hand.

The crowd gasped with wonder at the awareness that the Fallen Star was amongst them.

She smiled delicately, demurely behind that mask to them. Careful not to touch them.

"I must go now."

A whisper to his ear that seemed to surround him in an intimate, loving embrace of words. Her words could be magic.

And just like that she was gone, preparing for the show even as he was jostled by the crowd as the Big Top was slowly filled.

Ready like a heart sworn confession on her tongue was the song.

Tonight was different. The Fallen Star was not in the air, or wrapped in silk above feeling like flying... no.

She was grounded.

Feet firmly planted on the ground unless lifted to dance.

Pitch black it would be within.

Krysanthe could feel the crowd within the Big Top. The beat of their hearts. The hunger of emotion born of anticipation.

Soul born blues worked not to seek him out.

The thought made her heart ache as much as swell with the love for him.

Emotions gave her away in the darkness. A glimmer, a glisten of Fallen Star.

The crowd gasped, spotting her Shine.

It was time.

In the thick black of darkness her voice broke silence. Ethereal and dream born

~You pull on your Armour
And put up defenses
Why do you want to?
Because I'm here to protect you
So take it easy
I'll make it so easy~

Light filtered through shadow like stars awakened in gentle tranquil glow. Languid. The center ring was filled with the masquerade born creations of the Big Top. Amongst them was Krysanthe. Weaving.

Dancing. Sensual in the way of her touch, provocative in the will of her words.

She knew the palm reader invoked that awakened desire like a kindle spark to flare out and caress the crowd like a heady seduction.

Krysanthe felt it too. Back arching, head thrown back and arms thrown out as spirit born blues would shine. Spinning circles before she was prowling closer to the audience.

~You can lay your head down
And we'll leave it til tomorrow
You seem to believe you belong to somebody else
When you leave me alone in this world
You know that I'm in hell
When you know what it's like
To be lonely and by yourself~

Blues shifted over the crowd. Ache finding words. The audience would feel it as if bewitched. The agony in voice as she pleaded, an emphasis of being in hell.

Side glance. There was the Straw Man waiting.

Voice seemed to purr. The Palm Reader would hypnotise, the Straw Man would claim... and Krysanthe but the fallen star to wrap them up in a pretty package in preparation.

Lambs for slaughter.

~When your life is tangled
You wear your disguises
But why do you need to
When I'm standing here beside you?

You can lay your head down
And we'll leave it til tomorrow~

The words became haunted as her dance seemed a pattern to allure, sensual bliss.

Intimate Passion.

Like a tangible flavor on her tongue. Krysanthe remembered the dark hours with Jackson.

Slipping within the audience then. The show became a spectator. Hardly Lamb.

A growl in the shadows. She knew that actions were not pleased in the mind of a Straw Man.

Yet the Straw Man would be gone soon.

Once the blood was spilled.

~Slipping through my fingers
And into another's
Tell me why won't you turn back?~

The song fell into a whisper. Seemed she was there by him then.

Deep warmth. The intensity of desires, wants, needs of the audience was a heady, thick, living thing that she seemed unbridled by.

It was time.

The lights snapped off.

Screams erupted.

Some of them silenced.

One of the screams sounded significantly like that of a Fallen Star.

First Blood had been drawn.

Darkness.

There had been a saying that when it was dark enough one could see the stars.

She would burn brilliantly, brightly in that darkness.

Head bowed, fingers reached. Covered the stain that marked candy apple red that pale fabric.

It would dry darker.

An unexpected blade.

Knelt there she seemed to not move yet her fingers extended.

Moved to touch on something that would shine as bright as her very soul.

Blood would move from a wound like memories in her mind.

With the return of memories would come the return of other things.

Sight was the first thing to come.

Adjusting she would see the shine of the blade.

Hearing came second.

The meat grind. The separation of flesh and bone. A parting.

Heads, at least one, would roll.

She came to her feet as the Palm Reader fell.

Leaning over the woman to tear the necklace the Palm Reader wore from her pretty severed throat.

A quiet look was offered Jackson as she eased the amulet over her head.

"There is no one else, beloved."

Just to prove so fingertips curled around that amulet. Side glance spared to the Straw Man in the crowd, taking to his feeding frenzy. Indifferent to the Star's freedom.

He would not care.

All around them was death and carnage, but Krysanthe would only see him. Know him again as more then dream.

Grinning in that darkness she was a shining star, fallen and burning for him.

Fingers ensnared his in that proclaimation. That threat and that claim.

Life taking wounds seemed not to inflict the Fallen Star. It would heal like her mind had.

"You saved me."

Softly, tenderly. Spoken as she lead him away from the Big Top. Where they would go, it did not matter.

As long as they were together.

"Where do we go from here?"

A whisper a moment of fragile uncertainty as the memories came flooding in. Krysanthe Valendria. Sister Light to Laniandra's dark. She had a family.

A family at least in the Twilight witch, the Valendria witches, the rest of them though had betrayed both sisters.

The reason she was sold, placed in possession and captivity of the Palm Reader.

She found herself looking back.

Taking in the Circus with a sigh.

The past was not so hard to let go of, facing the past you were meant to forget. That was another thing.

Fingers tightened their embrace with his.

A look down the length of road they were heading back on.

"Can we go home, Jackson?"

Home. Nothing sounded better then that ever.

The best word ever.

Home.

Perhaps there was a chance to find a life for herself here again. With him.

Her Remedy.

As she was his.

A sound muted in her throat.

In the dark shadow ribbons that scarred the moonlight she turned towards him. Drew him close and kissed him with absolute adoration. Love. Peace.

"I love you."

So many things that were meant to be enough but for her... this was a beginning. A start for them.

Home was where the Heart was.

Here now in an embrace she found everything in him. Her heart, her soul, her body, and mind.

All in him.

The return home was met with a sweet exhaustion.

Body ached with a need even forged through the pain of recovery of a dark night.

They had come back from death's door.

Knocked on it and then ran away as mischievious children on All Hallow's Eve.

Wordless she undressed, eased under the covers. There were tears in her eyes.

Vulnerable fragility as it all hit her. A vision of all that had surpassed before he had come into her life.

Had taken the pain from her.

Knew it would come again. That taking of pain.

In soft touches, searching fingers that found the spot to make her forget it all.

Forget everything save for him.

Left her crying out in the night for him.

Never pain with him.

Near as newly discovered lovers, with memories returned and her mind filled with light and poetry and heart filled with love, he would enter her.

Remind her over and over again in the nature of slick heat and joined bodies of what it was to love.

To be loved in return. Only just the start of new beginnings.