The rain poured down, pounding the dirt into puddles of mud. The wind beat against the figure standing alone against the storm swept sky, cloak whipping wildly about it's willowy form. Pale hands rose to push back the deep hood, revealing pale blue hair and extraordinary eyes, her predecessor's eyes, the color of brilliant sapphires. Her soft ruby lips parted in exhilaration, curving upward as her mind embraced the wildness surging through the air around her. Then she sighed, crystal tears pricking the back of her eyelids. Almost time. This thought whispered across her mind. The world darkened as she pulled her power around her. It enveloped her, drawing her back until she returned to the level of the misty place still deep in the abyss. She found her ancestress waiting for her there.
"Bulma," the beautiful creature greeted her.
"Jaenelle," the young queen greeted the heart of the Blood of Kaeleer. Two pairs of sapphire eyes met. Bulma studied her grandmother, of how many greats she wasn't sure. She studied the slender naked woman before her, whose feet were delicate hooves and whose hands ended in sheathed claws. Her thick blond mane was neither hair nor fur. It was a curious combination of the two, leading down her back to the lightly flicking fawn tail. The small spiral horn rose from the center of her forehead, drawing Bulma's gaze back to the eyes that were so much like her own.
"Bulma, it's almost time. My body is dead and my spirit will not stay long even in this place, even with the wish granted to you by the Dragon Balls. Not even Lorn's strength can hold out against the laws that dictate my existence. I am dreams made flesh, yet the strongest dreamers who added their dreams to my life are no longer. The dreams that shaped me are all gone. And when the last dreamer who believed is gone I too will fade. Kaeleer and the Earth are almost ready for the new dream. You must be ready to step up to that battle field when it presents itself," Jaenelle told her in a voice that was neither supportive nor unsympathetic.
"Grandmother, I'm not sure that I'm ready. I know that Yamcha is not. Yet I've never been involved with anyone else. I don't know that I will be prepared for the position you expect me to fill."
"Yamcha," her grandmother replied slowly, thoughtfully, "this is the one with the scar on his face?" At Bulma's nod something shifted and she recognized that she no longer spoke to an equal ranking witch but to her Queen. "He is not worthy of your affection or your time. Forgive me child, but in a society where so much is balanced on trust you cannot take a consort who would not be willing to embrace our ways to even that extent. Beyond that you are a queen, you deserve a mate who would be faithful, out of self-respect if nothing else."
"You mean he's unfaithful," Bulma stated flatly. Her clear eyes darkening, becoming filled with the shadows of half buried memories. Chichi and Eighteen tried to hint to me gently that I shouldn't be so trusting of him. I didn't listen; I insisted that I wouldn't accuse him unjustly without any evidence because of a vague suspicion. I was wrong. Wrong not to listen to them, wrong to trust him to be true. Her mind was suddenly enveloped in the comfort of her grandmother's dark power, a reservoir of ancient strength as gently comforting as the small strong arms that wrapped around her now shaking frame.
Bulma leaned into the quiet sympathy offered. Her head was buried against her grandmother's shoulder so she didn't see Jaenelle's eyes fill with pain for her descendent, or more dangerously the flame of anger at the selfish bastard that had dared to hurt her heir. Slowly Bulma's tears quieted and she stepped back. Witch, her fawn tail flicking uneasily stared at Bulma anxiously. Her granddaughter wiped her fingers over her cheeks; outwardly erasing any sign of grief over her misplaced trust and gave her a wobbly smile.
"Well, it looks like I'll just have to look for someone new," she said, trying for a light tone.
"Indeed you must. Even if he had been faithful to you he would have required more time than we could afford to risk in getting him ready to accept all that you truly are. I'm sorry if my words have upset you. Is there anything I can do for you?" Jaenelle asked quietly.
"Show me," Bulma demanded abruptly opening her inner barriers.
"Show… Are you certain you wish to know?" Witch asked in her midnight voice.
"Yes, show her to me."
* Her? Oh child you have no idea…* Before Bulma could question that cryptic statement images began to flood from Witch's mind, an endless parade of faces. Leaves scattering before her, cascading through her heart like a cold dark wind. Bulma gasped falling to her knees under the weight of the proof of Yamcha's infidelity with a stream of other women. I should be feeling something. It's not normal that I should feel nothing after seeing that. Numb…I must be in shock. She slowly stood on wooden legs before meeting her grandmother's eyes. Her throat worked and she had to try a couple of times before the she managed to push the words past lips that felt stiff, frozen.
"I…thank you for showing me that. I needed to see that before I would truly be capable of accepting that he is in fact beyond hope. It's getting late up there. My friends will be arriving in a couple of hours. I should be return now.
"May the darkness embrace you daughter."
"You as well grandmother, mother of my heart." Witch's eyes lit up with a fierce pride. A wild howling rose out of the abyss full of joy and pain, rage and celebration. The mists swirled darkly around Bulma as her grandmother gently pushed her mind back into the physical world.
The blue haired beauty felt a weight tugging at her. Heavy. Her eyelids fluttered open and she stared up at the rough texture of her ceiling. Oh. That would be my body wouldn't it?
"WOMAN!!! WHERE'S MY DINNER!?!?" an angry male voice resonated through out the house.
"Oh give me a break Vegeta," she mumbled dragging a pillow over her head in the hopes it would either muffle the sound that was causing her headache to pulse behind her eyes or suffocate her. She felt Vegeta outside her door, even before he started pounding on it.
"Woman I want my dinner before the others show up. I will NOT share a table with that third-class baka!" How dare she ignore me?! I am the Prince of Saiyans and she is a mere human. When she still failed to respond he opened her door and stepped in. He was about to launch into a more extensive tirade about her proper place when he looked at the bed where she continued to lay stretched out… and stopped breathing.
Like? Dislike? This is my first DBZ fic ever so please R&R (and be nice). Constructive crititsm and encouragement will be wallowed in, flames ignored. >^.^
