White as Snow
Red as Blood
Black as the Night

Silvered and lovely. A mystery coated in swirls of sparkles. Twenty three dots marked her flesh. Autumn was coming close and it made the stories weave in her head. Waiting to be written out.

The Doll Maker was dead.

His death had set them all free. Even Neva. But Neva was no Doll. Still Fable Born.

She had watched as Goldilocks had grown from little golden girl to porcelain forged creation. Goldy had forgot herself. Poor dear.

Now Neva didn't even recognize her. The Doll Maker had changed her so.

He never put his hands on Neva. Never got that close to her but then, she never would let anyone get that close to her.

New in town and three already met. The pink dreaded painter, the calm Raphael, Alain with the duality like a double-sided mirror set distorted in his eyes.

Alain had told her of those that could help her. Jolyon he had said. Described till he would fit away in a file. Categorized like all the rest.

Neva found the Temple District. Its reverance left her hushed. Awed. Publishers. Writers. Printers. Shopkeepers. These would be those to help her find the way to dedicate towards her drive to tell the stories as they were meant to be told. Lest they be forgotten. All of them. The stories... weren't just stories. Not to Neva.

No she knew it more then she would speak.

A tiny smile curled her lips.

Perhaps this was just the place for her story to begin.

~Dark Hunter, Wild~

She had not stopped running. Neva had become a wild runaway, but no matter how often she ran she could never escape the nightmares of the games. Fighting for survival and having to take the lives of friends and those known in order to be the victor. Neva was ever to become an unwilling champion.

Now in her nightmares and dreams would she still run. Breathless she ran through the forest, black hair trailing behind her like a wild banner of inked death ribbons. In the thick fog and mist she stumbled, gasping out a breath as blue eyes widened. The inked story written on her fingers was no longer black but scarlet. The hue and palette one would paint with when one was stained with blood.

Neva had given the dark hunter her name. Her true name, the name she was born with and not some name she had made up that still implied the truth of her story. She had given the hunter her name without question or remorse. Even in this nightmare that she ran through did she wonder if he chased her now, if he was the one that now marked her as his prey.

Yet this story was different there was no evil queen that demanded her death. Unless now the Doll Maker had decided it was her time to die. Or perhaps his disciples were looking to carry on the work of the Doll Maker. Neva was never a doll but she could understand how she would make a priceless addition to the collection.

So many thoughts consumed her nightmares. She found herself faltering, falling as she dropped to her bloodied knees, fingers curling around something slippery and still wet. Neva knew well the still beating heart at her fingertips. It felt like her heart rate had sped up, quickened even as it had done when it had begun to race at the touch of Lucius.

There were shadows, and there was blood, and as the dream forged in the fabric of nightmares continued on it began to snow.

Her blue eyes lifted. Knowing that even in dreams she sought out gray and gold eyes that held such hunger and longing. Realizing even now she was drawing the dark hunter into the story and there was nothing she would do to write him out of it.

(Envy on the Coast- Mirrors)

Dear Miss White,

Put down this night.
You wouldn't believe how much it Snows
In the summer heat.
With red iron feet,
You'll be nursing a bloody nose.

Princess, rest.
We'll talk in our sleep,
But I wouldn't dare to sit too close.
I can't be your prince.
Though your secrets are safe,
I am the mirror who can't let go.

The studio apartment was not what she expected to find as something she would put a deposit on for a home. But they all had to adjust now didn't they?

Change their lives. Alter it all to fit in and adjust. Was that not the way it was to be.

The knives, the swords, the brass knuckles and so much more was tucked away and hidden. Locked away safe and tight.

No longer those epic dresses of princess court affairs. Instead she found her hips claimed in denim. A plain simple wife beater tugged on over a black bra.

Her hair pulled back with one solitaire red ribbon. Oh she wasn't that woman anymore.

They should not speak her name.

She was only Neva now. That was all they needed to know

With hair as Black as night,
Her skin, a dead, pearly White,
And blood red, on the bathroom wall...

With every breath
And every intake,
Tip toe further away.
Further away from this mistake.
I'm no savior. I'm no saint.
That's not what you needed anyway.
All the cold that you caught,
The bones that you've bought,
The blood that you've lost...
You built your body in the coffin where you sleep.

A hand through hair as she cast a side glance to the mirror. Examined that visage that had so much history to it. So many stories.

All they saw though was the exterior. Did they really know? Did they understand.

The Games had left her... not savage... but well honed. Perhaps closed off and distant.

Gone was the softness, gone was the gentle innocence. Shaped into something of a woman that knew far too well the cruelty of the world and knew only one thing more.

Survival

Let this apartment breathe,
'Cause it's what it needs.
I'm suffocating the clock to keep you.
I think like a saint,
But swing like a thief,
And inadvertently leading you
To believe I'm your prince,
Adorn your bedroom with hints.
Take the Red from your eyes
And ink it into your skin.
Now watch what you say,
'Cause there's nothing Gray,
About the color of your sin.

With every breath
And every intake,
Tip toe further away.
Further away from this mistake.
I'm no savior. I'm no saint.
That's not what you needed anyway.
All the cold that you caught,
The bones that you've bought,
The blood that you've lost...
You built your body in the coffin where you sleep.

Neva was a killer. A hunter. A sinner. A survivor. So many things that should not be known for her. It never was meant for her.

There was more red then white now in her ways.

There was so much that had to be done. New positions left to be made. The Barbarian had seemed to have left the Dancer.

Goldilocks was alone.

It made her vunerable.

Especially when Neva knew that there was far worse things out there in the thick of the night then her.

She was not the only hunter out...


A fix. Just a little bit.
Give the girl enough to sleep through this.
So, stop staring at the mirror
Before it tells you the truth.
Operate operate operate, or it'll kill you too.

With every breath
And every intake,
Tip toe further away.
You breathing and bloodshot, tired mistake.
I'm no savior. I'm no saint.
You need to see the pieces you've thrown away.
All the cold that you caught,
The bones that you've bought,
The blood that you've lost...
Keep your body get the hell away...

From,
Me