![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
❄ april things [open]
Who: Crymaria & ???
When: Throughout April
Where: Aefenglom, dream hellscape mirrors
What: Mostly open event prompts! However, if you're full up on memory dives or find these unappealing, there's also cake baking! and pet wolf spoiling.
Warnings: human experimentation/torture is the big one. wartime violence. suicidal ideation may come up for prompts ii and iii especially.
((For all memory prompts, the events coming from Crymaria’s perspective means nearly everything will have an atmosphere of overwhelming anxiety just rumbling in the background. Think of water dripping in the other room but really irregularly, and you don’t know if the next drip is when the pipe is going to burst. Or your preferred metaphor for a brain running in neurotic mode. I did more summary than scene in most of them which hopefully creates room for people to jump in where they want 🙏 if you want anything specific or want to chat you can find me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
antiquating))
i. at the looking glass house;
[By far the worst part of these waking dreams is that she is alone in all of them; without Fenrir’s calming presence at her side, Crymaria is always drifting in and out of awareness, wandering these unfortunate landscapes like a specter and just about as useless.
If only the inviting glimmer of the mirrors meant that passing through one would bring her somewhere else. Not home, but a somewhere else she hasn’t discovered yet. But Crymaria knows better, after all.
The frame of her own mirror is carved to appear as though winter encrusts it all, though in the shapes of snow and ice a closer look would reveal smaller hidden details etched into their curves: crystalline flowers, a wolf howling, a single bolt of flame.
She’s just about to touch the surface when she hears someone approaching behind her, and she pulls away and back into herself, adapting as aloof a demeanor as she can immediately toward whoever happens to be here.]
Do whatever it is that you need. It’s not as if this place can make any more of a mockery of my life than it already has.
[Her voice is cold as she dismisses whatever’s behind the mirror, but her body language is nothing short of defensive. She keeps her arms crossed close to her chest; it’s not as if anything else is going to protect her.]
ii. the chosen and the unchosen;
[It’s warm here, perhaps unexpected given the icy symbols wrought into the mirror frame, but the pervasive, thrumming anxiety is everywhere. The people, the landscape, everything’s present enough but blurry and indistinct as if the memory is just fading in, as though what occurred before that point is hazy, stifled or drugged away into uncertainty. There’s some distant conversation, a never-quite reconciled “where am I?” and yet the people and the surroundings don’t fade into focus until -
”Selvaria?”
Selvaria Bles is two years younger and a hair shorter than Crymaria, but it’d be impossible to tell that from this memory alone. She seems impossibly tall, her voice confident and rich. She’s an icon more than she is a person, her commanding presence towering over the constant anxious hum. Beautiful and untouchable and yet so, so wrong. A mix of awe and spite highlight all of her positive features and yet make the entire day’s events feel as negative as possible; Crymaria’s memory twists every word from Selvaria’s mouth and condescending and dismissive.
Perhaps you, having come through the mirror to witness this, will see the battle that ensues?
Or perhaps the fight doesn’t happen for you. By the time Crymaria has worked herself into a frenzy, power coiling around her as she repeats herself in a violent rage—“I’ll show you! I’ll kill you!”—the landscape and the actors once again become fuzzy.
But do you think it really mattered who won, in the end?]
iii. until my final sunset; (CW medical experimentation, torture; threads might also include suicidal ideation)
[Time in this memory does not seem linear in the slightest; instead, whoever ventures into the mirror this time will encounter a tangle of events, difficult place in order but still so, so vivid. The laboratory in the frigid north is as cold inside as the snowy wilderness beyond its walls, and Crymaria is surrounded by other girls, but she is alone. Researchers fetch her from her quarters and bring her into other rooms. The Crymaria in the memory is grown and yet she looks and feels impossibly small, dwarfed by the other Valkyria girls who torment her for crying, by the apparatuses used in each examination.
The experiments vary depending on the day, but they are nearly all painful.
And it seems to go on forever, which may be the real pain of this memory, that it runs more like a slideshow than a shadow play and shows no signs of ending. For now, all the witnesses are trapped here, just like the version of Crymaria who lived through the memory. What is there to be done?]
iv. what a fool; (brief mentions of the cw from prompt iii)
[The uncomfortable atmosphere isn’t entirely lacking from this memory, but, unlike the others, there’s a warm quality to it. There are no surprises here; just Fenrir, and Crymaria, and a man. No explosions, no hidden torments; just conversation and someone foolishly trying to get too close to her, acting as if he cares. It’s annoying. Utterly annoying. But by the time Fenrir chases Walz across the snowy field, growling protectively, she’s smiling.
The real Crymaria, the one who finishes watching this memory, remains with that same, almost fond smile on her face even after everything has faded away.
Then it’s gone.]
After that, I was here. All that really did have to be a lie, in the end.
v. piece of;
[In the waking world, there's a little more peace. Though Crymaria still hasn't quite shaken her loner nature and generally keeps to herself, she’s also been doing some part-time work at Piece of Cake, responding to the call on a whim and a need for a financial cushion. She's a rare enough sight around town that working behind the scenes is much easier, besides.
She is not a baker by trade or by nature, and it shows in how she struggles with measuring things to an exact science, how messily the ingredients are strewn through her hair and on her clothes, but the routine procedures also seem to be somewhat calming for her. She’s very focused, even around other people who may have picked up the part time job, and surprisingly…approachable and willing to help, even as she crouches down to look closer at the level of her dry ingredients to see if they're integrated properly.
Alternatively, someone might even catch her sneaking out to deliver a wolf-approved treat or two to Fenrir, who’s staying out of the kitchen (for sanitation reasons, obviously) in a safe place, looking a little suspicious and sneaky about it, stealing a glance over her shoulder every so often.]
When: Throughout April
Where: Aefenglom, dream hellscape mirrors
What: Mostly open event prompts! However, if you're full up on memory dives or find these unappealing, there's also cake baking! and pet wolf spoiling.
Warnings: human experimentation/torture is the big one. wartime violence. suicidal ideation may come up for prompts ii and iii especially.
((For all memory prompts, the events coming from Crymaria’s perspective means nearly everything will have an atmosphere of overwhelming anxiety just rumbling in the background. Think of water dripping in the other room but really irregularly, and you don’t know if the next drip is when the pipe is going to burst. Or your preferred metaphor for a brain running in neurotic mode. I did more summary than scene in most of them which hopefully creates room for people to jump in where they want 🙏 if you want anything specific or want to chat you can find me at
i. at the looking glass house;
[By far the worst part of these waking dreams is that she is alone in all of them; without Fenrir’s calming presence at her side, Crymaria is always drifting in and out of awareness, wandering these unfortunate landscapes like a specter and just about as useless.
If only the inviting glimmer of the mirrors meant that passing through one would bring her somewhere else. Not home, but a somewhere else she hasn’t discovered yet. But Crymaria knows better, after all.
The frame of her own mirror is carved to appear as though winter encrusts it all, though in the shapes of snow and ice a closer look would reveal smaller hidden details etched into their curves: crystalline flowers, a wolf howling, a single bolt of flame.
She’s just about to touch the surface when she hears someone approaching behind her, and she pulls away and back into herself, adapting as aloof a demeanor as she can immediately toward whoever happens to be here.]
Do whatever it is that you need. It’s not as if this place can make any more of a mockery of my life than it already has.
[Her voice is cold as she dismisses whatever’s behind the mirror, but her body language is nothing short of defensive. She keeps her arms crossed close to her chest; it’s not as if anything else is going to protect her.]
ii. the chosen and the unchosen;
[It’s warm here, perhaps unexpected given the icy symbols wrought into the mirror frame, but the pervasive, thrumming anxiety is everywhere. The people, the landscape, everything’s present enough but blurry and indistinct as if the memory is just fading in, as though what occurred before that point is hazy, stifled or drugged away into uncertainty. There’s some distant conversation, a never-quite reconciled “where am I?” and yet the people and the surroundings don’t fade into focus until -
”Selvaria?”
Selvaria Bles is two years younger and a hair shorter than Crymaria, but it’d be impossible to tell that from this memory alone. She seems impossibly tall, her voice confident and rich. She’s an icon more than she is a person, her commanding presence towering over the constant anxious hum. Beautiful and untouchable and yet so, so wrong. A mix of awe and spite highlight all of her positive features and yet make the entire day’s events feel as negative as possible; Crymaria’s memory twists every word from Selvaria’s mouth and condescending and dismissive.
Perhaps you, having come through the mirror to witness this, will see the battle that ensues?
Or perhaps the fight doesn’t happen for you. By the time Crymaria has worked herself into a frenzy, power coiling around her as she repeats herself in a violent rage—“I’ll show you! I’ll kill you!”—the landscape and the actors once again become fuzzy.
But do you think it really mattered who won, in the end?]
iii. until my final sunset; (CW medical experimentation, torture; threads might also include suicidal ideation)
[Time in this memory does not seem linear in the slightest; instead, whoever ventures into the mirror this time will encounter a tangle of events, difficult place in order but still so, so vivid. The laboratory in the frigid north is as cold inside as the snowy wilderness beyond its walls, and Crymaria is surrounded by other girls, but she is alone. Researchers fetch her from her quarters and bring her into other rooms. The Crymaria in the memory is grown and yet she looks and feels impossibly small, dwarfed by the other Valkyria girls who torment her for crying, by the apparatuses used in each examination.
The experiments vary depending on the day, but they are nearly all painful.
And it seems to go on forever, which may be the real pain of this memory, that it runs more like a slideshow than a shadow play and shows no signs of ending. For now, all the witnesses are trapped here, just like the version of Crymaria who lived through the memory. What is there to be done?]
iv. what a fool; (brief mentions of the cw from prompt iii)
[The uncomfortable atmosphere isn’t entirely lacking from this memory, but, unlike the others, there’s a warm quality to it. There are no surprises here; just Fenrir, and Crymaria, and a man. No explosions, no hidden torments; just conversation and someone foolishly trying to get too close to her, acting as if he cares. It’s annoying. Utterly annoying. But by the time Fenrir chases Walz across the snowy field, growling protectively, she’s smiling.
The real Crymaria, the one who finishes watching this memory, remains with that same, almost fond smile on her face even after everything has faded away.
Then it’s gone.]
After that, I was here. All that really did have to be a lie, in the end.
v. piece of;
[In the waking world, there's a little more peace. Though Crymaria still hasn't quite shaken her loner nature and generally keeps to herself, she’s also been doing some part-time work at Piece of Cake, responding to the call on a whim and a need for a financial cushion. She's a rare enough sight around town that working behind the scenes is much easier, besides.
She is not a baker by trade or by nature, and it shows in how she struggles with measuring things to an exact science, how messily the ingredients are strewn through her hair and on her clothes, but the routine procedures also seem to be somewhat calming for her. She’s very focused, even around other people who may have picked up the part time job, and surprisingly…approachable and willing to help, even as she crouches down to look closer at the level of her dry ingredients to see if they're integrated properly.
Alternatively, someone might even catch her sneaking out to deliver a wolf-approved treat or two to Fenrir, who’s staying out of the kitchen (for sanitation reasons, obviously) in a safe place, looking a little suspicious and sneaky about it, stealing a glance over her shoulder every so often.]
for VIREN; the winter witch
This isn’t just idle nervousness here, but a body-wracking need to perform well. With soldiers on the field fast approaching and the mocking words of Belgar’s “angels” goading her on, the Crymaria in this memory has desperate need to prove herself in the thick of a skirmish the Empire’s forces could probably already win.
Fenrir howls, and her expression is unreadable and still as a frozen pool as she raises her staff and summons the power of a Valkyria. The battle continues, until, at the end, she refuses to yield even when calmed down. Her voice becomes feverish, repetitive, and she spends all the energy she has left attacking much bigger targets.
Whether it’s at the beginning, when controlled fire helps pin down the enemy troops, or after she’s been called off and Crymaria’s attacks swing out wildly and without restraint, the memory is a reminder of what she was capable of before being dragged here and turned into nothing but a common Witch. For Viren, who had wondered about the magic she used to wield but never witnessed, it must be educational. When everything is quiet and the shock and awe trembling around them, two battle cruises sit immobile, one of them exploded into pieces and the other a sitting duck with a destroyed engine.
The memory ends extremely quickly when she loses consciousness somewhere between the Lieutenant Colonel’s arms and his tank. But though it’s over, there’s the tinkling bell sound of young women’s voices, mocking, integrated into the world itself as fact; what’s wrong with her?; no, she’s even more defective than they thought. ]
no subject
and with this particular show of her magic, it's both. there's explosions, a rumbling underfoot, and he'd gasped; he may not identify the battle cruisers for what they are, but knows the material, recognizes their intended durability and use for warfare. both destroyed, to varying extents, as if they were nothing more than children's toys.
between taking in the impact of her abilities, his gaze lingers on crymaria. his eyes glint with the same awe she would strike into anyone, with his hands held loose at his sides. that power was her own (even if it seemed, perhaps it belonged to someone else?). he could manage spells of his own destruction, but without proper resources to use, he held nothing.
with the young women's voices an echo, recalling as crymaria lost more and more control, comes the intrusive thought: is she defective?
that did, after all, devalue her worth. ]
[ the memory has, by now, seemed to dim as the young woman's lost consciousness. his own adrenaline, feeling it coupled with her own, leaves his heart racing. his hands curling into fists, he speaks, ]
—Crymaria?
iv!
he's almost grateful the frost of winter fades, but only because his scales object to the sensation and threatens to make him sluggish. sleepy, usually, but they're already asleep, no-? ]
It didn't look like a lie.
[ or sound like one, either. ]
iii
Changing perspectives, apparently.
She can't do anything to change this past, so all she does is watch. ]
I'd ask if they had a reason, but I don't think that the reason much matters, in the end.
[ She and her kin certainly never had a reason beyond boredom. ]
no subject
For the ships, Crymaria feels a deeper guilt; she's beginning to suspect where they might have come from, what might be keeping them powered. They needed to be destroyed, and yet...
Perhaps it's too late for all Valkyria.
She considers going after Belgar's horrible little angels here where she can; they aren't real, dreams aren't real, and even if it would kill her she'd like to strangle them senseless. Though Crymaria takes several shaky steps forward across the snow, they fade away before she can reach them. Only then does she pay any attention to Viren, standing with her back to the sound of his voice.]
... I'm here. Was that what you were expecting to see?
no subject
The reality of their awkward mistletoe encounter seems to stick on her like a burr. Maybe that drives Crymaria's discomfort, especially viewing a memory that made her feel so vulnerable. She tilts her head to look up at the dragon standing next to her.]
Don't you think a memory like this should be private? How cruel.
[He should be used to it by now: The defensive wall that she tries to put up by jabbing out first.
There have been other memories behind the window that have hurt more to see. This one stung enough, knowing things would never be the same again, despite the lack of torture, the lack of physical pain.]
...Besides, would it really matter if it was? That man couldn't protect me from ending up here.
no subject
Crybaby Mary hasn't really changed at all, she knows now. Even knowing that the taunts must be coming, from Iramaat or someone else, there's nothing to be done that can stop her tears from freely running down her cheeks.]
Of course there's a reason...! This research, these horrible things...this is how you make a weapon!
[Every second she had to endure here, she resents. Perhaps the reason doesn't matter, but without the purpose they forced on her she would have nothing at all, and all the torture meaningless.]
no subject
[ Iramaat murmurs that mostly to herself, but she's a little distracted by the ongoing memories. It's all a whirl, but she tears her gaze away to regard the real Crymaria with something between pity and sympathy. She remembers how absolutely terrible she felt when she was a prisoner, being tortured for nor particular reason but to satisfy someone's petty hatred.
She walks over and kneels in front of Crymaria and reaches out a hand to start wiping away tears. ]
These memories still hurt, don't they? Ah, regret and pain - it's part of being a mortal, isn't it?
no subject
he had gotten flustered with the mistletoe, but so far the dragon manages to keep his composure. ]
You could go back to him.
[ he knew she’d nip at that possibility like the chill itself. ]
no subject
The nature of this memory - how everlasting and disorienting it is - makes it so much harder for Crymaria to separate its fiction from the reality. There might be another "her" here experiencing that torture, but for her, it doesn't matter. It's like going through it all over again.]
Don't - !
[When Iramaat reaches over to wipe at her tears, Crymaria flinches, trying to pull away. But she's already in the corner, and it's hard to put any more distance between them. Her eyes track fearfully to Iramaat's hands, and she keeps watching them even as she speaks.]
I hate this place... I don't ever want to go back here!
no subject
[ Iramaat shushes her as she crouches and her thumbs brush against her cheeks. She doesn't seem deterred by the don't or the way that Crymaria stares at her or the way she flinches. She just moves with quiet, easy determination to gently touch. She's not used to comforting - not really - but she thinks she can manage. Probably. ]
You don't have to. This is all a dream. A nightmare. In the morning you can forget again.
no subject
which happen to be closer to crymaria, as it stands. not quiet at her side, but close enough that, if he were to lift his hand, he might touch her. ]
I don't know if I had expectations.
[ for what he was to see. if he had realized with more certainty that this were to be crymaria's memory, then... dread, probably. nothing good. she so rarely seemed a happy person. instead of reaching out to her, like he might be tempted to, his hands fold together at the small of his back. ]
But, something like that, [ he should have known. ] had been breathtaking.
no subject
Dragons offer a specific warmth, one that she doesn't often experience from other people or the environment around her. When he raises his wing, perhaps surprisingly, she steps into the shelter it provides, her expression thoughtful.]
You can say that, but you know it's not that simple, don't you?
[Maybe not, considering the solutions he'd proposed for her when they met under the mistletoe. Maybe it's a fool's errand to try and get his understanding.]
no subject
Do you think I ever really do? Forget?
[She doesn't need these mirrors into old memories for those dreams to haunt her at night. It's her past and future rolled into one, the place that stole her childhood and the place where she'll return, until death at last breaks the cycle.]
no subject
[ Admittedly, she has a hard time with bad memories herself - nor does she have much experience with it. But she's doing her best to help, despite all of that. Look, she can be a decent person sometimes. ]
Would you like to talk to me about it? [ She continues to soothe her with little gestures, wiping away tears, carding fingers into her hair. She doesn't totally grasp what's happened or understand the circumstances - only that it was terrible and that it hurt. ]
no subject
[ everything was . . . such a risk, even when you knew the outcome. eren’s neck maintains close in a slight coil the way a snake would rest. closer to the only warm-blooded creature around here, despite harboring a fire in his ribs. ]
It could make the difference we need.
[ or, not. but he was prepared for that. ]
no subject
[She hears him come closer until they stand side by side, and only then does she stop staring at the dissolving past to acknowledge his presence. Maybe she's surprised by his praise, because Crymaria takes a moment after Viren's compliment to study his face, trying to read the emotion in his expression.]
... I wasn't able to control it. [It doesn't matter how strong she was as a Valkyria if she couldn't do as she was told. Her brow furrowing in consternation, Crymaria begins muttering in a soft, rapid voice.]
But why... I don't understand! Why bring me here if they didn't want me to use my powers for the only thing they're good for?! [Even knowing that it's unfair to expect from him, Crymaria looks at Viren as though he might give her an answer to something he can't possibly understand.]
no subject
She shivers as Iramaat drags fingers through her messy curls, a mix between fear of the touch turning suddenly violent and the urge to lash out and push her away.]
Talk to you...? Why do you want to know?
[She wonders if the other woman is relieved: They had forged only a temporary Bond to keep her stable, so Iramaat never had to experience the side effects of these emotions. Is she just going to gloat? Does she regret being drawn into this hell?]
no subject
Because I've never been good at keeping myself out of people's business, that's why. And perhaps it will help? I've experienced my share of painful emotions over the last year and it's never been easy.
no subject
I would disagree. [ reptilian eyes glimmer, and his voice is unwavering. ] Your powers could be good for more than that.
[ he doesn't understand it exactly, no. he can only imagine understanding, extrapolate, make connections in the idealistic manner he would prefer. ]
[ his next words are, however, much more tailored for crymaria's listening, curious as to whether he can pick up on her anger, what he's been witness to before: ]
But— wouldn't you think, then? [ his gaze narrows. ] That it's their fault?
a mem share
And bringing up the rear of this group fleeing is -- Viren, or what looks like a younger Viren. He's perhaps a decade or so younger, his face less lined from age, his hair a jet black. His stride doesn't falter, but it slows; it slows just enough that he becomes separated from the company, until he comes to a complete halt. The mage looks behind him, hesitates, squeezes his eyes shut like he's terribly torn. And then the Viren of the past wheels around, shouts to the others of the company as he takes off in the opposing direction, to return to battle,
"I can help!"
There's a sharp crack of electricity ahead -- two humans, Queens, ride by horseback as they attempt to distract a massive creature. It's a valiant effort, but one that can only meant to withstand so long, in that it's a distraction that runs on a timer. Their horses gallop with winded vigor; the Queens keep their blades raised with defiance, steering their horses to and fro as they dodge between streaks of lightning, all of which usher forth from the dragon's gaping jaws.
Viren stops, without a horse, without a sword to brandish, at the edge of their battle. He has his staff clutched in hand, and from a back pocket he draws an orb. The dragon's nostrils flare, its great head turning as its gaze immediately snaps upon the newcomer with renewed intent. Whatever its reasoning, it abandons its chase of the two Queens, in favor of shifting its focus to Viren. ]
no subject
That's why I knew... The people who kidnapped the Mirrorbound before, they would never have stopped without being forced.
[She remembers how Iramaat had been when they met again on the expedition--still injured, more lost than Crymaria had ever expected to see her. Maybe that's enough to guide a little more trust out of Crymaria, forms enough of an understanding between them that she speaks again.]
A Valkyria's healing abilities can close almost any wound. They know that, but they needed more data...
no subject
[ Her tone hardens, her eyes turning dark and angry. ]
And that's why I was glad that I at least got see so many of them die. Even if it wasn't nearly enough. [ There's more there. Hurt and anger and a desire for vengeance that outstrips anything reasonable, but Iramaat manages to reel it in - if only because Crymaria is continuing. ]
It doesn't matter what their reasons are, they ought not to have done any of that. They ought not to have hurt you in the first place. Did they ever pay for it?
[ Her voice is a low coo. Coaxing. Comforting. ]
no subject
[She has no coat or blanket to drape over Eren to share some of that warm-blooded body heat, so she touches her palm to his neck briefly before a new shy urge causes her to pull it away again. Fenrir's never here with her in these dreams, and she misses his warmth. Crymaria would lean into him the same way Eren curls around her now, more eager for the comforting contact than needing the boost to her temperature.]
Tell me...what difference would it make? To who? Who's "we" supposed to be?
[Camaraderie is foreign to her; beyond rescuing the Mirrorbound who had been kidnapped by those horrible tormentors, she hasn't given much thought to their shared experiences being indicative of any long-term connection. They're all entrenched in this place, but they have to fend for themselves.
So her questions are genuine. What difference would it make, no matter what she chose? What would it do?]
no subject
[She hasn't realized, not yet, just what provides the bright Ragnite-blue power that propels the snow cruisers, but it will dawn on her the longer they travel down this path of conversation. Which might not be the best outcome: To know that what makes these ships capable of crossing the Crystal Sea is just another group of girls taken and turned into pawns for the sake of war might crack what is already fragile within her.]
Their fault? [she repeats.] I don't - I don't know. No! [Crymaria glances back at Viren.] I... It's my fault for being weak. It has to be...my fault.
[It sounds like she's repeating not only her own self-doubts, but something that's been told to her over and over again until it becomes an ingrained response.]
no subject
[They'd spoken of it before, back then. Crymaria had wanted to kill them during the siege, only kept from going against those orders by the other Mirrorbound she was working with. Seeing them die again later had been satisfying, but not in the same way she wanted to see them torn asunder.]
If anyone does understand, it would have to be someone like you.
[It's the first time she's admitted it: that she has pains and experiences that someone else might be able to comprehend. That maybe her life doesn't have to be experienced alone. Briefly, Crymaria presses into the comforting hand against her cheek, buying in to the offered kindness.]
...But no. It's always the same. I'll be back here soon enough, if I continue to fail. I'm just waiting for it to happen.
Most of the time I don't even feel like I'm living.
no subject
[ Although she's done something similar before, she feels justified in handing out life advice. That's honestly Iramaat in a nutshell - she'll say things and do the opposite or do things and then say the opposite. It's how she is. ]
Or not living as the case may be. You need to seize control. These people - they're not here, are they? This is just a memory. You can do something different here.
no subject
How Viren can look the same and yet like a person from a completely different lifetime shouldn't shock her. She's only known him as he is now, and hes quite a bit older than she is, and he's certainly had the opportunity to experience more than she has. Does she really know him at all?
Each sharp bolt, each deep roar gets under her skin; even if she doesn't flinch, it all resonates within her, activating instincts that she's been trained her whole life for. Crymaria raises an arm to shield her head as another violent stripe of lighting strikes down in the distance. The dream isn't real, no matter how real it feels, and she walks in the opposite direction of the retreat, moving on foot as well toward the danger.
Is the one she knows here? She looks briefly for the Viren she recognizes, the one she's bonded to, assuming he'll be here, that eventually the other fleeing bodies will disappear behind some hill or into shadow and vanish from the memory.]
That's a...dragon? [Her eyes widen. She moves closer to where the past-Viren is taking his stand.] How do you even stop something like that...?
no subject
What does she know? Someone came and saved her, so what would she say if the fear of being dragged back was constantly eating at her mind? Iramaat was taken, but this is where Crymaria belongs. It's the only place that has ever called her its own.
The words seem to be penetrating, but she's still resisting them, shaking her head nervously as her breath becomes shallower, rapider, more anxious.]
... It's too late. [Her voice is small>] What if it's too late? I can't. I don't even know how.
no subject
[ She doesn't like saying that, but it seems to make the most sense. ]
But I still have to. I still need to. And so do you. You can't trap yourself in here and wait to die.
no subject
[It might be the candor that catches Crymaria's attention. Maybe that's the truth, but maybe she wants to be dead. Maybe it doesn't matter if she stays here forever and wastes away.]
But I'm not you! I'm not that strong.
[So why hasn't she? The dream certainly feels as if it's lasted long enough. At what point is this ever, ever over?
She looks around the room, confusion stippling her features.]
But... [This is just a memory, isn't it?] Don't we just have to wait for it to be over?
no subject
[ Iramaat, this isn't about you. Focus up. ]
It's your dream; we're in it. Why don't we try going somewhere else?
[ She stands and extends a hand to her, offering to help her up. ]
Be proactive.
no subject
[ viren sounds... baffled, genuinely affected by her response. his voice lilts with an edge of unease, tossing his hand out in the direction of where those "angels" had stood before they'd faded from sight. ]
No. [ somewhat tentative, at least in contrast to her immediate protest. he only knows so much, after all, and has to try to piece together what he does into a coherent picture. ] In making use of you, they've hurt you.
[ his eyes flash -- he's felt her scars, he wants to say. but he can't know who precisely was responsible for that. ]
What is it? [ his eyebrows raise. ] Are they responsible for you, honing your powers, and using them for ... [ a pause ] their gain, or not?
no subject
he would not be above the pets even though he would not call them pets. ]
Who knows— it could be you and me. It could be the other Mirrorbound that want to go back. Or, [ the breath he sighs out is hot, and might even melt the snow at their feet into messy slush. ] even Geardagas.
[ the protectors of this world needed help they haven't been able to reach out for, long-forgotten into mystic legends and songs to sing to children. a reemergence was only possible after the eren stuck his snout into dusty holes. ]
Honestly— I don't know if helping the forces here will get everyone where they need to be. [ but just as his home . . . he sees something. he can't put a talon on what it is. ] I know for sure, though. I won't even know that if I don't do anything.
no subject
that it's crymaria that also shares the memory, leaves him hesitant. there's nothing private to this -- it's a story that's well-known, had to be, among the kingdoms. but, with crymaria here... it gives him pause. ]
[ And in the meanwhile: Younger Viren has somehow predicted the dragon's redirected focus. He draws an orb from a back pocket. The beast lunges in his direction, gaining and then dropping in on altitude with a few beats of its massive wings; it clears hundreds of meters within the span of a few seconds. And Viren, meaniwhile, had begun to draw symbols with his staff, glyphs that shine within the dirtied air, illuminating it, and then fading away. ]
This... [ the older viren pauses, drawing nearer to his bonded. amidst the action and battle, dirt has kicked up to cloud the air. he extends a hand, to give a light touch to her wrist. something intended to ground himself, really. his tone is halting. ] is an unfortunate memory. I'm sorry, that you're to see this.
[ The mage begins his incantation,
"Aspiro..."
The orb crackles with electricity, and then begins to crust with ice. The glow it emits is brilliant. And Viren's voice is strong, unwavering,
"—Frigis!"
A jet of ice erupts from the orb, growing in strength and intensity as it travels forth. The creature, easily the size of a building, meets the strike head-on, its limbs freezing mid-lunge, its teeth frozen in a snarl. Ice curdles and crackles about it, solidifying it into a massive, frozen cage. Once the clink of ice growing and locking into place subsides, the only noise remaining is the distant patter of hooves, and the echo of labored breathing, bordering on growls, of the encased beast. ]