A Blade and Her Witch

Sisters Make Great Emotional Lubricant (Frame 514.5)

Content Warnings:

 

Giyar Seven may be too high, but this one needs to keep the Frame thrumming, else risk the Quills screaming in tunes that would anger Mistress. Calling out to all that might hear the almost debilitating song.

Mistress is going to live.

No. Incorrect. There is a chance Mistress CAN live.

A path that she can walk. A prey to hunt.

Talons click and tear at the air as it stalks behind Mistress. She’s moving at speeds just shy of agitating the flaw within her. Twice the pace she could without her spell, and quicker than any mundane human could match, but… still such a slow motion compared to what the Frame can produce.

It wants to carry her, to sweep them both up and easily halve the time it will take to return to the Estate to begin the work, but… she’s denied it twice now. Claiming a desire for the burn and clarity that motion will bring her.

Especially after getting barely three hours of rest due to a nightmare.

The cost of hearing that old wretched lover’s voice flaying barely healed wounds deep within her mind. But… perhaps calmed by this offer?

This one very much hopes so. 

Wait. Sister wasn’t awake to hear.

Schatzi doesn’t know!!!

It hesitates.

Sister hates everything above Giyar three, can barely stand to adjust motion up to the fourth speed. Seventh will cause immediate and painful Division.

Quills thrum in conflict but… slow. Calming. Steady focus that it has not needed since before the rusting started at that old lakeside.

Dropping to Giyar two, still easily enough to keep speed with the Mistress, it reaches out to pull Schatzi into the present function. As gentle as it can be, more than it ever had tried in past attempts, almost… nuzzling this softer half. Sharing past memories of sleeping amidst a pile of sisters and calm drawings to wakefulness.

A thing that would cause it to howl and tear in longing and fury simply… stinging it. An almost comfortable pain. It does not wish to think on that, and so instead simply awaits for Schatzi to deem it worthy of words.

This one nearly stumbles at the fierce yearning that pulls us into alignment as Schatzi responds. [Defect, my sister, what news?]

This one considers all possible words it may use, and the memory of this revelation would suffice. Burning with everything it would share but… Also more. Guilt and shame and furious despair ignited to ravenous hunger for both the aid Xafra insisted it could offer to save Mistress, and more. Roiling hope for…

No. Function before idle muses.

[Schatzi, the old P… Xafra, has spoken words of hope.] It decides to intone to the other half. [Insisted with concepts that even flusters the Mistress, that there is a path she can walk to slay the rot that gnaws at her Soul!]

A pause of confusion laden with disbelief, then Schatzi is sparking with joy. [What. That's— That's incredible! Sister, we might have a real future ahead of us. There's so much to plan and set in motion. If we can help in any way, I urge you to do so.]

[Of course, It…] This one pauses, the echoes of warm memories giving way to worry. [From their words it assumes much research and recovering of old Tomes and journals will be needed. It cannot help with that. But… the other Dolls there always seem to listen to you better than this one or even Mistress. Perhaps… Use them to venture into the more wretched parts of the Estate?]

[I can certainly try... or... Sister. Do you think Xafra could? She has Matron Yselda's Tone. Maybe?] The other half wavers in indecision and regret.

It is about to writhe and thrum and snarl in fury that my sister would even consider such a vile suggestion!

But…

[It… Is not sure.] This one thrums in calm thought, echoing Schatzi’s indecision. [It might settle her to see the Dolls calm and happy at hearing the voice of their Mistress. But, it is a Nightmare roused and could call up old desires and spirits to haunt that place. Even delay her ability to focus on this cure? It thinks… that will be a question for her and the… and Xafra. Perhaps after true rest?]

[Yes. Thank you…] Sister pauses for a fraction of their heart’s ticking before intoning the next word. [Defect. I will be ready to assist when we arrive.]

It pauses, roils in new conflictions. [This one thinks that taking that name was not a thing that aids in the Function of this Pack. It should have remained without. And we cannot risk Discord now. Not when our prey is so elusive and vile.]

It growls at this stuttering of function. Roiling in hope betwixt fear at the risk it is taking by asking this. At all the kinds of things Schatzi could do, how such a gift could chip away at the rust it has welcomed to gather.

But… 

[Neither you nor Xafra chose your names. And… It would like a name that does not harm you all to speak, while also not labeling this one as what it is not. Can this one ask this of you again? Find a name for your worse half?]

[Not worse. Never worse.] Schatzi intones firmly but… gently. Then pauses to consider for a time before eventually asking, [But... Verbess? Something hopeful, like a goal?]

Such a cruel thing. To gently ask one made so Defective through loss to improve itself. 

Iphodian Gears cannot help but thrum in guilt at what sister would ask of this one with that name. [Is… is this the name you wish to mantle it with?]

[No. Names are a gift, not a mantle.] This sister insists without hesitation. [They should come with no obligation, dear sister. You should have a name that brings you happiness or at the least, satisfaction.]

The guilt deepens, and so it stills thought and moves in silent Function. Not falling into the void of slumber. Not now. Not when Schatzi is waiting so patiently with will and tool, wanting so much to help this old rusting defect.

It wishes so badly for that to be a name this one could take without hesitation. 

[The Rust is all it has known for so long.] It finally is able to shift to quietly murmur. [All it wanted. And every time you or Mistress roused it from slumber it, could feel more and more of itself dredging up stiff. And that first name, the one you gifted this one…]

Even the Quills thrum with this guilt now.

[Don’t give it a choice in this, Schatzi] This one forces out as Mistress would through clenched teeth. [It needs obligation. It needs a demand to function. It needs a name that, when spoken to rouse it from the depths, seethes with purpose. Gift this one that, so it can Function better for you. It will not heed the call of the Rust when this new Pack still has need of this Frame’s fury.]

[The Rust is a betrayal, especially now that there is hope. Not just for the Mistress, but for the Pack, the fallen. They...] Schatzi sings sorrow through induction, one sister to another. [You know they do not sleep peacefully. Xafra has done the unthinkable once within our own body. There is Hope.] The other pushes command, dominance, implacable will and finishes. [You are Verbess, and so you will. You may falter and stumble, but you will grow stronger with every challenge and overcome.]

The name hurts. Immediately bringing up the recollection of cracking out of the old horrid flesh just before the twisting into a new shape from before. But then… the moment of unity. First Joining of Purpose and will and fury with sisters it did not know it needed.

The Frame stumbles a touch as that old memory of becoming a Doll roils up to consume its mind and will. It was not just a gaining of a form it could shape to match the vessel it needed but… sudden and wonderful Osmosis with other crippled spirits as they too found themselves being broken into new and perfect shapes.

Given Purpose. Made one with a Pack.

Just as the memory begins to fade and is about to leave it with nothing but the rust and ashes of loneliness, it feels another who aches for the same. A gem of a gerl who saw function after loss and burns in a different kind of fury. Who kept and carried this one as it fell into despair, all while serving a Mistress with almost reckless abandon. Still hurting but… adapting.

Growing.

Overcoming that loss.

It feels so worthless in contrast to Schatzi.

In the past… it would flee into slumber and silence. Hiding in guilt and shame. But… It will no longer embrace darkness and the rust that follows. Not while another sister still functions.

It has been gifted a name, and it will remake itself to become worthy of it.

So it tries something it has never done. It cracks the Discord threatening to divide their Function, and Harmonizes itself to the sister.

This hurts too. And with the turning of the Frame’s inner workings this one can’t help but creak and grind old rusted parts in fury but… with each passing moment it becomes easier to bear. 

And in ways that are different, but also the same, it is like being one with the Pack again. Weaving and twisting and reshaping forms as wills mingled. But… with the old sisters there were too many matching thoughts. So much that telling where one began and one ended was impossible. Too easy to forget who wore which Frame.

This one and Schatzi’s differences are stark as the divide at the horizon. 

This both causes pain, and calm. A comfortable fracture of thoughts and wills that pulse in mostly harmonic patterns. Like… how two siblings might slumber tangled together. Separate but sharing the warmth of twinned heartbeats.

[Thank you, Sister mine.] It thrums as it cedes the Frame’s Song to Schatzi’s melody. Attempting to avoid division as it offers Schatzi control without yearning for slumber and silence.

Schatzi winds her Tune with gentle urgency, embracing this one as it travels. [Love you, Sister.]

Its own melody buckles a bit under that. 

So many words were not spoken between the Resonant Chorus when the Pack was whole and in motion.

Not because love was absent from this Frame’s functions. But because they were just so small compared to the ability to effortlessly and easily drown each other in wordless affections and shared thoughts. But Schatzi’s words are intoned with care. Nothing meant to shatter it, of course, simply… a deliberate effort.

And behind that word is the melody of time needed to untangle the meaning, its weight behind this sister’s desires, and the will to keep persisting.

[This one… loves you too.] It can’t help but thrum in return.

Hoping so much that the words echo even a sliver of Schatzi’s clarity.

 

 

 

 

 

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Lamentations of The Dead Dreamer

Sun Spoken Turn

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