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Tigara and Mela were to spend a long time together soon. And Valaryia felt sorry for Tigara. She was afraid Mela would lead Tigara on just like she had led Valaryia herself to believe she loved her. That was painful. Valaryia didn’t want her friend to suffer that, especially since she knew Tigara was in love with Mela as it was. But they hadn’t talked in what seemed like forever. Valaryia was afraid it would be awkward.

Back from her trip to see Renna, Valaryia rested in her cave. It was very decorated: papers, paintings, and photographs covered almost the entire walls. Clothes and blankets laid sprawled on the floor. A cabinet she had stolen sat in the back of the cave. It held the gowns and dresses she wore. Some were hers; bought by mortal money of given to her in the depths of hell. But most she had stolen off of her victims. The virgin blood of a young male was sweet and savory, but the royal blood of beautiful queens was tart and sent a delightful bitterness down her throat. She had a faze where she went through queens and princesses, because of her bizarre craving for royal blood. She had seduced many of them, all unknowing of their true fate, most unknowing even of the fact that they secretly fancied women. (Until Valaryia made that clear.)

The only princess she spared was Malinda. She was a princess, but hated it. She was wild and loved to play in the mud and ride horses like a man. She was strikingly beautiful in a grungy-kind of way. She was the first for Valaryia in the line of royalty. And when they made love, Valaryia couldn’t bring herself to kill Malinda. She looked to the sleeping, beautiful body, and just couldn’t do it. She had fallen for Malinda. In consequence, Malinda soon realized that she would rather be with a man and promptly left Valaryia, breaking her heart. Valaryia planned revenge, but ceased planning once she heard Malinda was engaged to a man she knew from experience to be abusive. Sickly, she felt at ease.

Valaryia had arrived at the Lake at the end of her memory. She hardly knew she was walking there. But the sight of Tigara reminded her of her purpose.

Valaryia undid her gown and cape, and strode into the water in her corset and under-skirt. She smiled. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed those tiger-striped wings. “Hello Tigara.”

Tigara turned around, and surprised Valaryia with ther delight in her voice. “Hey!” Tigara had the brightness in her blue eyes like Michaela, but they were of slightly different pigment. Her face was long and beautiful, full of curves and flattered by the light brown hair upon her head (which was naturally blonde). She was of the perfection that angels offered, even if she was only half-angel. In that matter, Valaryia thought her half-blood only made her more beautiful. For being half-demon enabled her wings of insanely bright purple to have color, to have stripes like the tiger that was named after her. It would come as no surprise that long ago, Valaryia had fallen hard for Tigara because of her beauty.

Tigara spoke mortal tounge faster and with quicker ease than Mela did, so it made for speedier conversation. But sometimes, that meant less to talk about. Valaryia immediately launched a question.

“Did you have fun on your trip?” Valaryia asked.

Tigara smiled. “Oh yes, but I am never going camping again.” Laughter.

“Why not?”

“Ugh it just wasn’t very good sometimes.” Sometimes, Tigara wasn’t very descriptive. Valaryia often ended up talking endlessly about herself with Tigara, which was why she didn’t want to bring up Mela. But she had to.

“Um listen.” God. “You probably know what’s up with me and Mela now.” Tigara didn’t respond, and Valaryia didn’t nessicarily wait for an answer. “I just… she thinks she in love with her boss, and it’s all confusing, and she’s been lying to me about it…” Too much to explain to Tigara in one sentence. “Well I know your in love with her. And you know, I know you can’t help your feelings. But I want you to be careful with Michaela. She treats her women pretty bad. I’m not the first she’s deceived, and I don’t want you to have to be in pain too.”

Then Tigara said something that Valaryia wasn’t ready for. “Thank you.”

Thank you? Why are you thanking me? “Well I just… eh… uh… thought that you should know. Because you’re my friend, and I really do care about you. I’m sorry for being so cruel to you as well. I got caught up in my feelings for Mela and didn’t see the truth you told. So I’m sorry for that.”

“I’m sorry for being so…” Tigara trailed off, at a loss for the proper word in mortal tounge. But Valaryia knew what she was trying to say, and it meant a lot to Valaryia. For some reason, Valaryia hadn’t expected such kindess. This was not to say that Tigara was not kind. But Valaryia had expected a blank look and an excuse to leave at the mention of Mela.

“Thank you.” She said it again, and for some absurd reason, Valaryia started to cry. Not sob; she made no sound. But the tears fell out of her eyes nonetheless. Valaryia wiped them away, and Tigara thankfully did not seem to notice. They were in the middle of the Lake, surrounded by water from the waist up. Valaryia wanted to rest her face on Tigara’s shoulder and cry, but she knew she couldn’t. Too awkward. Valaryia would love to think that they were a close as sisters, but she knew they were not.

“I don’t want Mela to decieve you,” Valaryia said. “Making you think she loves you when she loves that Katarina.”

“Mela loves a lot of people.”

“Yes, she does.” Valaryia had agreed to a statement she had no idea what it meant.

Weeks later, Valaryia would run it over again and again in her mind, trying to figure out what it meant. These angels, they spoke in enigmas. What did that mean? Did that mean that Tigara thought Mela loved her as well as Katarina? Maybe she did, for all Valaryia knew. Another option was that Mela had told Tigara she still loved Valaryia, but that was far too painful (and unlikely) to think about.

Mela loves a lot of people.

Valaryia began her introspective faze that followed every relationship. She analyzed and came to conclusions she hated. Tigara spoke in enigmas, in puzzles to be solved. As did Mela. As did Mela.

Valaryia had decided that Mela had slept with Katarina. Angels, sinless – hah! More myth than anything in the world. It would make sense if they did sleep together. Mela had told Valaryia she was virgin, so obviously the first time she had sex would mean something huge. If Katarina had taken advantage of Mela and seduced her, then everything would make sense. How Mela fell out of love so fast. Why she lied to Valaryia. And that dream she spoke of – the one where she and Katarina made love, Mela asking, “Won’t your husband find out?” and Katarina assuring her he wouldn’t. Valaryia wondered if that was even a dream. She wondered if Mela had tried to tell her through enigma.

The rest of the days Valaryia laid alone in her cave. She went out occasionally to the Lake, to see if Tigara or (heaven forbid) Mela should be there. But they never were. They were spending time together. Without Valaryia. Valaryia started to feel extremely jealous. She had but four close friends.Valaryia wanted more friends. She wanted a group she could love to hang out with, not four individuals and four tasks one had to complete in order to spend time with them. She loved the friends she had now, but still wished she could have a friend always close to her. Valaryia realized she was lonely. She had never felt so alone in all her life.

She couldn’t cry anymore, which was frustrating because she was sad. And angry. Valaryia slashed into her stomach with her sharp nails occasionally, just because she was angry. She had no one to be angry at, for there was no one around. So she chose herself, and naturally, she could do anything to herself. There were maybe hundreds of thin scars on her stomach where she slashed.

Valaryia felt unstable. Bored and depressed when not angry or miserable. She could find some amusement in the Lake; she could find brief contentment with song and dance. But the Lake was always cold now, and Valaryia had no inspiration left to write her songs. She slept all day and most of the night. She ate nothing and lost twenty pounds. She watched the blood drip from her pale stomach, and picked at the scabs on her hands until they bled too. And the loneliness. If left alone any longer, Valaryia could swear she’d escape into unjustified hysteria. She was depressed, and sunk into a normal routine of depression.

Then, one morning, Valaryia woke up in cold sweat. It was not a nightmare, yet she was terribly frightened.