The red smoke rises from a room of ruined dreams.
No no no no no this cant be--
Dust scatters and flutters through the air, the light from the collapsed roof showing all the little pinpricks of said dust.
The room was utterly devoid of life.
When Edith first decided to destroy the project she was prepared for a lot of things.
Revenge. Catharsis. Satisfaction.
But not murder, never murder.
Never failure.
"Hello?" She said, waiting for someone to say it back.
Instead, her voice only echoes throughout the room and beyond, heard only by the stage.
Hello, hello, hello. The gone ghosts whisper back, no trace of self and consciousness remaining in these walls.
Yet quiet echoes exist but only just, the murder traces of rot.
She steps cautiously outside the gigantic room, looking for any signs of life and hoping against hope that there's still anything left, that there's someone still there.
But the truth is clear as ice, its cold clutches grasping at her near extinguished spirit.
The once magnificent tower was indeed truly empty.
Ruin grasps at it's very core, wards that should be active for thousands of years gone dark and sentries deteriorated beyond repair.
The artifacts were no better, surprising her. All of the artifacts were destroyed, their colors leaking and coalescing into something dangerous even for her.
All of them except one, but you didn't need to be a genius to figure that out.
She can still feel the Waxen Amygdala beat alongside her own thundering heart and she shudders involuntarily.
No Rest For The Wicked
She needs to find a solution, find a ritual that can somehow undo all this!
She can fix this.
After all, she caused it and that means she can fix it.
The dust continues to swirl all around the tower and she abruptly feels like gagging.
She resists but barely.
Pathetic.
She has to-- to--
Fix. This.
First, no one should know what happened here, she needed to ensure that no one could enter the tower.
A barrier of Chelonia would do best, a barrier whose protection is rooted in preservation, so nothing else will get worse.
Maybe if she repeated that enough she'd believe it.
The next step is to get all the information she needs and more.
The library is in a similar state of deterioration like the rest of the tower but such presence can't be easily erased.
The words still exist, faded yet floating among the dust.
She may have become powerful but she still needed the information within these cautistic walls.
Many people have grieved before, many people have wondered about what lies at the end, there should be at least something right?
After all, she's made it this far, she just needs to go a little farther.
A Piper Of Wretched Knowledge
She listens to the whispers surrounding her, the only remnant of life here in the tower.
"...properties. The flower is not powerful but it is extremely resilient and a potent..."
And prays to hope, that she'll be able to fix things--
"...t requires the truth. To truly see the truth, requires eyes with no shield of self..."
That she'll find her own light after the tunnel.
"...lost. These lilies are traditionally planted during fae funerals but appear..."
She feels the words lightly graze her as she searches.
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"...crets beneath the Kaleidoscope are numerous but one fact remains clear..."
But what she needs is information, any lead to help her.
"...The Klieg Delta is something we've all been through..."
A way to reverse the damage.
"..e waters.."
A way to truly fix everything.
"...perties of wishes..."
She picks up the words and strings the sentences together, a gentle glow guiding her.
"...But someday, Death and Rebirth may be conquered and the waters of the four rivers shall be sailed."
To Gain Wings Is To Fly
Where the four rivers unite lies our resting place, the Delta of Kaleidoscopes, the land of the aurora borealis.
The starlight, oblivion, pale and pure, the washed up colors that are such a pale palette compared to what we held before.
The ferry steadfastly rows on the river of starlight, the souls on board like a beacon amidst the mist.
Only Phlegethon acts as our true light here here, leaking the gouache and pastel that leads to our world.
Our colors become pure here, our memories vanish but their imprints remain as we soon dive into Phlegethon and rise from the waters.
- Minerva Promachus, Secrets of the Light I.
Edith quickly learned to ignore the commotions outside, the knights trying to get into the tower and the waiting families who desperately need some sort of news to soothe their worries, the people who's hopes are a little too fragile to even think of dashing.
Within the rotting haunted tower, Edith wondered. She wondered about life, death and how to rescue someone from it.
The information from the decrepit library is scarce and her notes are even more scarce but she doubts her notes would be better even with the library intact.
But she knows this, to defeat death is to defeat life. The worst mistakes comes from assuming their differences, she knows that the two forces are simply a gradient of the same color.
But despite all the uncertainties, certain obstacles are clear enough to deal with.
First, she needed to find a way to even approach the starlight river. To even think to setting foot in sacred ground that hasn't asked for her makes her shiver, she needs wings.
Second, she needs to actually see the river to control it. The fog is enchanted, completely opaque and to behold the river with mortal eyes is practically asking for a death wish.
She may not be fully mortal anymore, but she is still mortal enough to succumb to Death as much as she wished she wasn't.
She also cannot be concealed from Death, It has no eyes but It breathes over the world just as Life does.
The gift wouldn't be enough to conceal her, unfortunately. Even mysterious forces have their limits.
She already has a title and that can't be changed but there are other ways to gain power.
The broken artifacts at the tower still contain power, it only needs something that can contain it.
Luckily, she already has an idea of what to do.
Edith looks over the vessel, also buried in lingering words over this conundrum.
She'll need her own wings to pursue her solution.
Feather and sacred wax won't fit her, but she was sure she can whip something fitting for her.
As life imitates art, the breathing words wonders what'll happen next as it promises it's assistance.
To Forge A Fix Pt. 1
The careful act of a hand letting a needle in and out of a fabric is difficult enough without the inclusion of scales, Adrianne's thread, fairy dust and of course fire.
In and out goes the yearning thread and the scales dipped in ink are gently placed onto it. The placement is seamless as the scales idly reflect the candle light.
Wearing a mask and gloves, she reaches for the fairy dust. The fairy dust, glowing like iron stars, coat the scales thoroughly. She carefully ensures she doesn't get any of it on her.
Once it is complete, the wings glows like rage.
A cool fire immediately sparkles. The sparks ingrain the wings with its' strength.
At a glance, the wings looked extremely fragile, like one gust of the cold mist will completely freeze it.
If it wasn't for the ink coating the scales, it would be.
Instead, the moth wings sparkle with grim purpose. It glows with strength strong enough to fly her through the hallowed land. But even with the power of an entire tower's worth of artifacts, she still couldn't last long inside the land of the auroras.
She needs to prepare the ritual on herself, but that's fine, she has the time.
Still, one step forward and one step closer.
She smiles weakly, the pain making her feel dizzy.
Fading back into reality, she quickly downs a potion and breathes.
The tower is eerily quiet, just as it's been yesterday, the day before that and the day it all started.
It was never suppose to be quiet here.
With renewed vigor, she continues for she must continue, no matter the cost.
The Magic That Refuses To Fade
The watercolors are the tears of those who finished their march with Time, the relief and grief that comes from their names being shed.
These waters are priceless, emotions and colors so complex that it loops back to plain but seen white.
It is not powerful in the way most would consider power, it is said that the waters of the life shed have the power to avenge life.
How it does this is a complete mystery, theories range from traveling through time, reviving the dead or to forge as a weapon of vengeance.
Due to the secretive nature of Witches, very limited knowledge exist and due to the nature of said Witches, it is hard to know if any information is truly accurate but if there is one thing true from all this, it's that the watercolors likely hold the key to answering death.
- Bacchus, Legends Of The Watercolors
From these new tasks, the vessel found out that the world above is haunted.
Days of helping sort the dust from the ghosts of literature that still lingered here made that fact uncomfortably crystal.
The words turned into secretive specters, their speakers dead and leaving niche riddles in their wake.
The ghost stories written in response to the great wonder and great terror that burns the soul and leaves its marks.
The ghost writers who wrote songs and published facts, all about the cultures and words of the people they've held in contempt.
But there is more if you know where to look and all the vessel knows is looking.
Within the hidden truths of the insane, therein lies a magic forbidden by all, too powerful to even hope controlling and too dangerous to attempt by those who cared to still live.
A magic that can brush the watercolors itself, direct the rivers flow and allow safe passage to the Klieg Delta itself.
One that carves symbols and burns too much ichor, the colors becoming corrupted.
The vessel wondered, if it could channel such power and how to use it.
But it brushes it's thoughts aside and instead gives the notes to Edith.
Edith smiles at the discovery and pats the vessel's head as she looks over the words.
They were dancing details and instructions, glowing symbols and meanings.
The information was fascinating albeit incredibly limited. Ink was so rarely used, lesser dyes have killed before they get to this pure shade, and it was always used sparingly, only for protection, even more for murder.
But the potential is there, the exploration of possibilities that she can discover!
This is her moment to shine! It has to be!
Her title as maestro has to mean something now!
Right...?
To Forge A Fix Pt. 2
Dotted lines, words of prayer and symbols of pleading covered every inch of Edith Brightwing's skin.
It was all in faint pencil, for now.
She needed something to follow when she finally has to wield the ritual.
But for now, she has to make more ink.
She calls to the orange, indigo and pink and lets them mix with each other.
The shades all spiral, twisting onto themselves and become a dark blot, the center piece of the plan.
Her hand is clumsy, out of the fatigue of creating the wings, but she has to do this all quickly lest the ink acts up on it's own.
So without much of a choice, she holds the brush and shakily creates an eye of ink right at her forehead.
Despite the unsteadiness of her hands, it works.
She feels the lines correct themselves and the power course and become a sight of transcendence.
The knife floats to her and she carefully cuts into her skin, tracing the lines and symbols she drew.
She feels power course through the lines. She feels warm, glowing and yellow.
The ink drips onto her skin like never ending rain or more accurately, like tears of the damned.
She breathes a sigh of relief as she's finally finished with all her preparations.
Now the only thing left to do is fly.
Plunge Into The Depths
Light scales fall and regenerate as Edith Brightwing flies through the mist of the dead.
Even with the Eye of Eminence, she couldn't see any sign of the ground.
The only things she beholds are the endless mist and the clear starlight watercolors below.
She suspects that she's no longer anywhere near her world but she holds no fear only anxiety at her ability.
She looks at the thick mist that conceals the Delta of Kaleidoscopes and prepares to do the very difficult and the impossible.
To unwound time is tricky but not impossible.
The impossible part comes from setting it right again, to go against it's flow and make it right in the only way it allows the crime to exist.
The waters protest against the action, becoming waves that want to drown her.
She resists, the ritual glows on her skin as she uses all her power and then some to accomplish it.
"Small Moth, there can be no going back from this". The waves roar and threaten. "Your endless fall shall end and you will be less than a dream."
Still, she persists, even as it pierces through her.
Death holds it's breath as Time stirs through the ritual and none move to stop Edith.
She can feel the ritual working, days and months unwinding and dying.
She continues until she finds the cursed date and lets it rot and die.
She feels the magic in her wings growing unstable and knew that she had accomplished her goal.
But just as she sets it right, she feels a tear in the page of her reality.
She gasps and clutches her chest, she feels it.
Her heart aches.
The flow of time straightens itself and the waters move once more.
Her heart hurts.
She can't move, but the Eye of Eminence shows her the world.
The world is forevermore stuck in one moment. Mothers endlessly wave goodbye to their children off to schools, people wait endlessly for their love ones at an airport and soldiers containing a fight for freedom endlessly bleed, unable to die.
The world cannot move and shall not move.
But Time moves, however improbable.
The fruits from all the markets decay ever so slowly, the meat of the pigs and lambs are falling off the bone and all smiling faces around the world slowly become sunken.
She feels something gentle and hollow put something into her hands.
It was her mask.
Suddenly, she could move.
Edith Brightwing gently caresses it, help was promised after all.
And that meant that she could still fix whatever this is, undo the spell she'd done.
She puts it on, hoping for something, and the world glows gold.