“There is always doubt.” Cyran’s voice was quiet. Sad. Knowing. “And keeping her in the dark as to the circumstances of her ‘saving’ isn’t freedom. This, too, is no better than him. What you’re suggesting isn’t her freedom, it’s the same cage in a different flavor.”

And as he assured her that she didn’t need to do this whole song and dance to make him happy when he already was, something within her seemed to shut off. All at once the anger melted away, leaving behind a vulnerable young woman. None of the bubbly happiness or the infernal anger. Just Cirice. Young, uncertain, looking for love. Assurance.

Cyran didn’t need more than a second to think about the answer.

“Of course.” We’ll do it the right way, when Marlow needs her family by her side.

The guards were on their way to investigate the sound, but Cyran wasn’t especially concerned about them. When he didn’t want to be seen, there were few who’d be able to spot him. And Cirice was clearly learning well. Soon, they would make their way down to the garden where they would find an unconscious Marlow, and sound the alarms. Soon, his daughter would be gently lain back to bed, with only a faint recollection that something had happened to her. Soon, things would go back to normal, and Cyran wouldn’t have to think about his failures as a parent, leaving one daughter to a home where she was safe and cared for even in the absence of his love, and another who thought that their lack of a blood relation made his love of her any less important.

But Cyran would not be there to see the aftermath.

He gave one last mournful look to Marlow. She was still slumbering softly against the tree, her chest rising and falling. There were bags under her eyes, and her skin was dreadfully pale. Ways she’d taken after her mother. But those traits, they were all Marlow. And what a clever girl she was, with those knuckle knives. How he wished he could stay to catch more than mere glimpses of the woman she’d become. But this was not his life anymore. When Marlow decided that she wanted him in it, he would be there to welcome her in open arms.

You’re letting a good thing go, a small, traitorous part of him whispered. You’re not fighting hard enough for her.

Cyran shook those thoughts away with a grimace. He was doing what was best for her, for the time being. And regardless of his own personal feelings, it was his duty to ensure that all his kids were alive and loved and happy.

He turned away from her and followed Cirice into the dark.

The inside of her small pocket space was just as homey as Cyran expected. Bags of candy from all areas of the world and a comfortable sitting area. Cirice barely spared it all a passing glance as she fell, like a puppet with her strings cut, to her makeshift bed.

“Oh, my sweet. I didn’t know this was bothering you.” Cyran moved closer to where Cirice was collapsed in the pile of pillows, running his fingers through her hair while she cried her emotions out. “That’s okay, ride the wave. You have a big heart, poppet. And you always want what’s best for people, to do everything in your power to give them everything you can. I hope one day you can learn that you are more than enough.” Not her power. Her. Cirice.

It was difficult for her to believe, perhaps, but every word of Cyran’s had been true. It did not matter what he’d seen today. He feared for her, yes, but it was nothing he hadn’t expected before. She carried within her a love so big that something dangerous had begun to twist it for their own personal desires. And Cyran’s past, his own prejudice and his desperate desire for it not to be true, had prevented him from seeing it happening. Perhaps if he’d allowed himself to acknowledge it earlier, it wouldn’t have sunk its claws in her and twisted her desires until they were nothing but a shell.

Perhaps if he’d been earlier, well…

Perhaps.

He hummed under his breath, fingers going through the gentle motions of braiding her hair while she cried. All the while his anger and heat dissipating into something tired. He was exhausted, his barely scabbed over grief scraped raw at the sight of something so vulnerable. But this thing that had taken over Cirice - she needed him right now. She needed someone to give her love, darkness and all.

“I think the lesson is over for tonight.” He breathed, a quiet exhale. “Get some rest, okay? You’ve worked so hard. Tomorrow, I’ll treat you to breakfast, and…”

They would keep moving forward.

It was all they could do.

The tears eventually subside as Cirice listens to Cyran and his reassurances wrap her in the warmth of his love. Hiccups from her weeping bubble through her lips as she nods.

“O-okay…” She sniffles, curling into his lap more tightly and letting his presence be a balm to her heartache. Perhaps it was the rune that told her he meant every word he said but even without it she could tell. She had seen Cyran for who he is, wholly and unrestrained, and she knew with all her being that he loved her and was proud of her. Nothing of Cyran scared her, his secrets she would keep for him and share his burdens. “I love you Cyran. Good night.”

She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, but it wasn’t the familiar void that greeted her, but a garden, only somewhat familiar having seen it in the dark and in memories, shrouded in moonlight¹. There in a cradle of branches sat Marlow, watching a large nocturnal bird that had saddled up to her, closer than most birds would and gave her a curious look from his tilted head. Aserestar the Great Eared Nightjar fluffs his feathers and shows her the ear-like crests of feathers that give him his name. He opens his overly large mouth and lets out a cute and squeaky “pep coo coo” call before waddling over to Marlow on his little legs and pecking at her notebook mischievously.

Cirice watches this from a few branches above, perched with her skirts flowing around her.

“He likes you.” she says softly, leaning her chin on her palm with her elbow pressed against her lap. She’s smiling, but its a sad smile. “Do you like birds, Marlow?”

---

1 Cyran's Dreamwalker out of suspension

“I love you too, Cirice. Forever and always.” He could not bring himself to sleep, not after everything that had happened. As Cirice drifted off into slumber, Cyran went about the motions of making himself tea, his mind lost in the clouds. Thinking about the events that had transpired this evening. Seeing Rowan and Marlow again, after all these years - it was a sudden family reunion he hadn’t been prepared for. The woman who’d died because of his negligence and the daughter he’d let down. A monument to his mistakes, all that Cirice had seen with her own eyes.

Then again, he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

What a mess this had become. Cyran sighed, never pausing where he was braiding Cirice’s hair in her sleep. How had he failed his family so horribly? It had once been Cyran’s dream to be a father. He was so sure that he would be able to do it better, to fix the mistakes of the past. But loathe as he was to admit it, there was some kernel of truth in what Cirice had said. He was too cowardly to fix the mistakes he had made, and he’d gotten too caught up in his assurances that Marlow was physically safe that he hadn’t considered the mental strain. He’d let Cirice think that she didn’t matter to him as much as his blood did.

But blood did not predicate family.

Cirice was as much his own as Marlow was, and he’d let his precious girls get so twisted up.

What had he done wrong? What was the mistake that he’d made to let all this happen?

Perhaps it wasn’t something that Cyran had done, or hadn’t done. Perhaps the problem was him.

Perhaps, though he no longer bore the Fenastra name, he still carried their poison.

On his own, with Cirice no longer awake, Cyran could no longer hold himself together. The thin strings that had been maintaining his composure snapped and frayed, and all he could do was cry. “I’m sorry.” He whispered, unsure who he was talking to - Cirice, Marlow, Del, himself. “I’m sorry.”

---

Marlow Fenastra was sitting. in the middle of her family’s garden.

What was she doing here? She remembered she’d been outside doing a bit of plant research on her own, and then there was this stranger that approached her, and then…

Something important happened, she knew. Marlow scrunched her nose, frustrated that she could not draw upon her memories of what had happened to her afterwards. It felt like something important enough that she ought to be able to, and yet it eluded her like smoke.

She stared down at her notebook, which she’d been scribbling in during the moments before her night took a turn for the strange, only to squint in confusion. She’d been writing legibly, but the chicken scratch in front of her looked like squiggles. There was no way this was possible… unless she was dreaming.

As the revelation occurred to her, the sound of a curious little creature pecked at her notebook.

“Hello there, little one.” Marlow cooed, reaching out her finger. “What are you doing here?”

But instead of the noises she expected to hear from a great-eared nightjar, a voice rang out through the clearing instead.

Marlow flinched, startling when she noticed the vaguely familiar moon elf staring down at her. “It’s you.” She breathed, her chest growing tight in panic. “What are you doing in my dream? What do you want from me? If it’s money, I’m not the right person to talk to. I - my grandfather is the head of our company, not me.”

But there was no longer the demon’s voice booming in her own. Instead, she just looked… sad. Marlow forced herself to relax. This was only a dream, the elf couldn’t hurt her.

This was only a dream.

“I… I like birds, yes.” She replied, her voice shaky.

Why did she like birds again?

She couldn’t remember. She’d always had a fondness for them since her youth. But the reasons eluded her.

“Is… is this one yours? He’s well trained.”

“I wanted to talk to you… One on one. I’m sorry for before, I was… Upset and I wanted to right a wrong but I didn’t think about how that would affect you. Can we start over? I’m Cirice, Lady Cirice Lunestre. I don’t care about money, or anything like that. I want you, Marlow. I want you to be free.” Cirice says, leaning forward to look at the other girl more closely. “That is my bird Arestar, yes, he’s a very good boy. I like birds too. Another thing we have in common.”

How much can she say? How much should she say? Cyran doesn’t know she’s doing this, but Marlow doesn’t know about all he’s gone through… How can she bring them together, or plant the idea in her mind, the doubts that will lead Marlow back to Cyran…

“You look like him, you know… More than you look like her. That’s good.” She sighs and suddenly she’s on the branch next to Marlow, meeting her eyes. “Are you happy? Here? Do you have a good life? With grandpa? Do you ever dream of being free of this place? Of being free of your name?”

She makes as if to take Marlow’s hand gently, unsure how the other girl will react. “I wanted to meet you, to ask you that. If you’re really happy then… I’ll leave you alone. But you have more family who misses you. They were heartbroken when you were stolen away from them, I just want to fix that.”

She searches Marlow’s eyes with her own. “Tell the truth, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

Arestar cocks his head and lets another cooing call out.

Of everything that Marlow expected from the young lady, a sheepish apology was not it. She was, for lack of a better word, stupefied as the young lady explained herself and even offered her name. Another lady? Marlow hadn’t been officially given a noble title yet - not while she had yet to take up the mantle of the Fenastra business - but manners on instinct still dictated that she offer a small curtesy, no matter how bewildered she was.

“Marlow Fenastra… though you already knew that.” She said hesitantly, her hands balled in her skirts. Could she start over with the woman that attempted to kidnap her? She claimed her intentions were good, though Marlow didn’t understand. Free her? Free her from what? And she was asking so many questions about Marlow’s life, so quick that she wasn’t even sure how to react. Even more surprising, though, was the assertion that Marlow had family out there that missed her. That she’d been stolen from. But that just couldn’t be true. Marlow had no family, save her grandparents.

“Am I happy?” Marlow parroted. What a nebulous question that was. Difficult to quantify. Was she always the happiest at home? No, but it was what she knew, and she was comfortable enough. She was in Grandfather’s good graces because she was smart and clever. There had been a few hiccups, including her mistakes during Winter’s Crown, but she liked her life.

She did.

“I am… I think.” Marlow hummed, tapping at her chin. For a moment her mannerisms looked heartbreakingly like Cyran. “Overall I am. I don’t know what family you could possibly be talking about. My parents died when I was young, after all.” That was what Grandfather had told her, at least.

“I’m sorry, Lady Cirice. I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I’m not that girl. I am content with where I am, and it gives me opportunity to do my research.” She smiled, leaning over to feed a treat from her pocket to Arestar. It was all the truth, at least as far as Cirice could tell. She liked where she was because she didn’t know anything else. And it seemed like she didn’t want to know anything else. Or if she did, she wasn’t aware it was an option.

“I suppose we could start over. I don’t know you all that well, after all. Just… you scared me. A lot. I don’t know who you’re trying to help, but that kind of chaotic life isn’t for me.” She held out her hand - an olive branch. “Though we could be friends, maybe…? So long as you don’t try to pull anything like that again.”

Cirice looks at Marlow’s outstretched hand sadly, ruminating over what she’d heard and the blatant, conflicted truths therein. She gives the offered hand a firm shake. “...If you’re content I won’t bother you then, but I would like to be friends. I’m sorry for scaring you. I’d like to hear about your research too, I’m actually a member of the Mage’s Guild, and I love learning new things.”

Arestar happily munches on the treat with his comically large mouth and makes a gentle coo, hopping onto Marlow’s shoulder and snuggling into her.

“You are who I’m looking for though, and I hate to know how much you don’t know. Rowan is dead yes, curse her, but… Not Cyran. Cyran is very much alive and he misses you. So much that it hurts. And he hates your grandfather for taking you away from him. I came because I saw all of that, the truth he holds so close to his heart and…. I wanted to fix it. Stupidly and without thinking.” Cirice sighs, “He tried to stop me but I didn’t listen. Because of that, I scared you. If this is the life you choose I can respect that, though it hurts to know. I hope we can meet again in person on better terms, maybe the princess can help me sort that out…”

She trails off in contemplation. “The spell will end soon, it's dreadfully short I’m afraid. If you ever need anything, find me, I’m easy to track down. Cyran doesn’t know I came back to you like this, using his own spells against him.” She chuckles a little, “He’s a good father, the best in all of Charon, and I wish you knew him like I do. You have a larger family than you realize outside of these walls, one that's warm and loving and so very diverse. I hope to introduce you someday. Until then… Sweet dreams, Marlow.”

She lifts Marlow’s hand to her chin and kisses the back of her palm softly. A warm comforting feeling flows into her, banishing any negative spells or toxins that could have taken root in her mind¹.

“Until next time.”

---

1 Remove Condition

“The mage’s guild?” Marlow’s eyes widened. Magic in the traditional sense was not necessarily her area of research - though in a way it was. She was far more interested in the chemistry of life, and the formulae arcanum that guided it. Though she worked in trade, Marlow was a scholar at heart - and the possibility of learning new knowledge fascinated her.

… She didn’t particularly like the information that Cirice was offering her though.

Marlow didn’t know who Cyran was - from context clues she could only assume that Cirice was talking about her father. But that couldn’t be possible. Grandfather told her that her mother and father died together in a tragic accident, some kind of fire in Mother’s laboratory. And grandfather wouldn’t lie to her, would he? He had no reason to. She was the perfect heiress, he loved her. She must have been mistaken, or someone who’d read about the incident that cost Marlow of her parents and wanted to… pull a prank on her, or perhaps take advantage of her somehow? Marlow’s head was beginning to hurt just thinking about it.

She hissed, pressing a finger to her temple, gently rubbing at it while Lady Cirice spoke. It did not alleviate the pain building in the crown of her head. A door that she hadn’t acknowledged in years was beginning to open, things seeping through the cracks. If only she were to open it a little more-

No.

Marlow shut her eyes, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. You still must have me mistaken for someone else.” And yet, as Cirice pressed a kiss to her hand with such sweet parting words, Marlow doubted.

But she couldn’t. Grandpa wouldn’t lie to her. He had no reason to.

Right?

…

Marlow awoke in her plush bed, her head pounding like she’d drank far too much the night before and had a killer hangover. What in the world happened last night…?

She grimaced, trying to recall what she’d been doing. Marlow was out in the garden, recording her observations on a plant she’d been growing, when she’d been accosted by an unfamiliar elf. No, a demon. And then she’d imagined her father saving her? Whatever the vision she’d had, it had carried over into unconsciousness, forcing her to dream about the woman Cirice Lunestre, who was spouting crazy things about family and happiness and whatnot. But it all must have been a lie, or some wishful thinking conjured by her brain. She must not have gotten enough sleep the past few days… Marlow had a habit of staying up for days at a time and forgetting to eat.

“Yes, it must have been a dream.” She couldn’t have seen her father. He was dead.

No matter what her rational brain tried to convince her of, though, there was a deeper part of Marlow that feared it could have been true. If that was the case, then why was she still here…?

She chalked it up to a feverish hallucination. That was all it could be. That was all she could allow it to be.

Marlow pulled herself up, quickly shrugging off the incident in favor of getting dressed. She had much more work to do, and she couldn’t afford to get sick now.