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There is a beautiful harpy screeching at him.

"You make me feel weak and I hate it. I hate what you do to me!"

He was tired and his strength was beginning to wane, but of course *** couldn't simply yield. That wasn't becoming of him. But he supposed if anyone was going to knock him out, or make a fool out of him, then it would be the chieftain.

"Then . . . finish me," he says between pants, sweat and blood mingling. "Prove your title . . . and erase your weakness."

But she doesn't. She forces him back under her onslaught, shouting that he would never bend to her even if he lost, that he was too stupid to see and understand--

And then she was pushing her lips against his and the drumbeat of war his heart had been creating faltered.

[ main blessing 3/4 ]

Her decision hadn't been difficult. She was good at fighting against those whom she didn't particularly agree with or like, and that practically defined her entire existence, so she chose Destruction. She didn't particularly care about gaining knowledge, not did she pursue it, and as for Pride, well....she didn't really care how others viewed her. Except for her enemies. She hoped they were trembling in fear, cowering in their shelters, jumping from paranoia at seeing her. And she hoped they begged for mercy, and she would ignore their pleas, as she sent them to where they belonged. To their deaths.

But that wasn't relevant, really. Destruction suited her the best of the three, and that was where she placed her Heart. And as she did, she could feel herself disintegrating. She could see figures running after her - Shu, her former best and only friend.....and a whole lot of cats. Shu was probably only there as a figment of her imagination...the real Shu wouldn't be chasing her. She smiled at that thought as she disappeared and became nothing once again.

The task is meant to be serious: Insanity Titans were not foes to underestimate, as they hit hard and were reticent to being purified. *** knows this very well by now.

He nevertheless arranges for he, Shaheen, and Thrain to go out and find one while tipsy. Now it could be a true party.

And it is a glorious and intense battle for the trio, fire and blades and music and laughter. They tease Thrain to give them the song of his people, but his response is that he would instead sing their song instead, for they are his people now.

*** is glad he was buzzed, for otherwise the sentimentality of that notion would have never fully sunk in.

[ main blessing 4/4 ]

He is gone.
He is gone and his mother has come looking for him and found the witch instead.

Things instantly sour as *** scrambles to explain what has happened, backtracking on herself and tripping over her words because she has spent the better part of her time lately steeping in her own melancholy. It hurts to talk about what has happened, but there is no choice here as Ramona bears down on the ghoul. The woman fights everything *** says, calls her names and waves a dismissive hand at her. It isn't long until the witch is bristling, loosing her own patience with a mother who supposedly does not raise her voice. But the witch has always had the special distinction of being in the doll's poor graces. There was no kindness given the moment they met and no matter what *** does, the woman continues to hate her.
This situation is not improving matters.

Finally, *** gives up and gives into the anger that boils up within her. Her fists have balled, her defenses are wearing thin. What else can this woman want but to insult her and deride her and blame the witch for her son's disappearance? And what other satisfaction can be given but that exactly, what else can the ghoul do? Finally, *** gives in and insults Ramona, but she cannot get the words out. A hand lashes out, flat and harsh against the ghoul's cheek. Red blooms against her skin, red to match the mother's awful red manicured nails.
"You weren't enough to keep him."
*** stares at the woman, her heart broken and her face stinging.
"Hit me again."
The mother does.
This time, her engagement ring cuts open the witch's cheek.

The fear seemed to grow, impossible, yawning, as the familiar landscape of Ruin formed around him. Shaw took one uncertain step forward, and then another, his free hand against his heart.

It pulsed against his palm, and he felt an agonizing wrench, a tearing that was an echo of before - and then it was free, and he was offering it up -

There were figures running toward him, memories and fragments and lost recollections. It wasn’t important, he told himself. They shouted something, something that was his, was the man from his memory, but he couldn’t hear it.

He could do this, for her.

Shaw had no heart, and it hurt. He had no heart and he was glad. He closed his eyes, and felt himself slip away, until he could no longer feel her delicate fingers entwined with his, until he was nothing and less than nothing. Until he was the things he’d left behind.

Memories.

"I.. I can't..."

**** didn't say anything, keeping his eyes wide, willing the tears not to fall. He watched the fear and pain and horror flicker across her face.

"Please."

He simply nodded, squeezing her hand. Waiting.

He hoped he could be brave for her.

Nevada was lying in his pile of pillows again, jabbering away while he fed her chocolate. She was beat up, her eye patched up. **** continued to sass her, but inside he was so relieved she was back to herself. Awake. She went through something he had gone through, but to a worser degree. He'd warned her, that fool, not to cross Amrita.

But this was the job. He'd never be able to keep his dear friends from pain and danger. All he could do was offer them pillows and chocolate. She seemed to like that anyway.

Aw jeez, she fell asleep in them again!

[ main blessing one]

She was sitting at the kitchen table, they were sitting across from her. It was just them and her, no brothers or sister. Probably off doing accomplishing things. She was probably in trouble for something and she didn't know what. They didn't look mad. But they didn't look very happy either, in fact they looked a little concerned. Perhaps stuck on the proper thing to say or how to start with what they wanted to tell her. Maybe they were giving up on her.

"#####, sweetie," that didn't sound good. That term of endearment was usually followed by terrible news like one of her mini pets had died in a tragic spell accident or that one of her many relatives had passed away. Or they were giving her teachings over to Aunt Rose because they had no means to help her. The little witch braced herself.

"We know you've been doing really well with your Aunt," an understatement. Here it came, "but we thought that maybe we'd send you off to school a little early." There is was, #####'s face lifted as she stared hard at her parents. Confusion riddled with… no, she would push it down.

"A-already?" So they were sending her away.

"To Amity, it's the best school." She knew this. Normally she would be so happy to know she would be going to such a prestigious school. But not like this, not under these circumstances. Her parents were sending her away because they had no idea what to do with their failure of a daughter.