When Sailor Tempesti passed through the large bronze doors of the Tower of the Winds, a realization slowly dawned on her. As the months had passed, the dread she felt upon entering the Tower had slowly dissipated until she felt something akin to joy in her hopes for its future. That Joy was working on building her own haven only heightened her growing optimism for the safety of her allies. While she didn’t harbor the delusion that they would ever fully organize, the prospect of the creation of a network of sanctuaries could only serve to strengthen them when the city became too dangerous. Not to mention the infinite possibilities that came with the restoration of these worlds and wonders. To that end, she summoned her little silver bell into her hand and gave it a gentle ring, content in the knowledge that somehow it helped her own work along.

During her ferry ride she could have sworn that she saw a giant crab by the docks, its carapace. She’d only seen them in art, making the occasional appearance in mosaics and stained glass, almost always part of scenes in which they were chasing people. Hopefully if she saw what she thought she did they were a bit less bloodthirsty than they looked.

Scanning the antechamber she spotted an unfamiliar light, a soft glow from the open door to the crypt that lay below the Tower itself. Alright, the crypt still made her a bit anxious but that had to be normal given the fact that so many of her earlier bodies were down there. Right?

(Mental note: ask other people about their feelings about this)

The anxiety didn’t stop her from wondering if the stained glass portraits she’d seen by the sarcophagi had recovered at all. It would be nice to check. Next time she was here. She could psych herself up in the meantime. She couldn’t be afraid of it forever, after all, she was much more alive than her predecessors. Shared soul or not, recovered memories or not, she wasn’t any of them. She smiled as she reassured herself. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? She would definitely have to work her way up (or down as the case may be) to reaching the bloodstained lowest level. It was impossible to know how many of her previous selves had bled down there and she didn’t particularly want to answer that question. The memory of Elysia’s yearly sacrifice was more than enough for her taste.

She quickly but lovingly tended to the antechamber’s shrine until its crystals shone like beacons before heading for the stairs that spiraled upward to the library. “Storm Swift Flight!” The sensation of the harpies lifting her feet from the ground never got old. Even if it wasn’t true flight it certainly felt enough like it to thrill her on her way to the door of the library. Alighting gently on the landing, she pushed open the door, eager to see what Ronan’s work had produced.