She found herself in her uncle's room, or now, as her father lovingly put it, her miniature workshop. She couldn't remember why she had come in here. Usually, it would be to tinker with her arm or maintain the Cad's Cannon but now? She didn't know.

She was just there, standing in the middle of the room. Something made her tense about this, more tense than usual. She faced the door, studying it.

Something fell behind her resulting in a large, "clang!" She jumped, turned towards the work desk and looked down. It was one of the old burnt out devices that hadn't been broken down. She wondered if one of the familiars broke out of the locket.

She backed away warily, unaware of the shadow that loomed behind her.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end suddenly. She swiveled around and found Amos standing just a few feet away- in front of the door. He was as she had seen him in the dungeon just weeks before his execution, bedraggled and filthy. It didn't affect his cold indifference.

"You- you shouldn't be up here. How did you-," she was cut off when he bolted towards her. She reached for her gun and her eyes widened at the missing firearm. Had she misplaced it? Had she left it in her chambers? She reached for her wand- it was snapped in two?! How the hell could it be broken?!

She raised her left arm in defense but soon found it lopped off, part of her shoulder cut off with it. She winced as she saw him lift one of the spears the guards formerly used. He must have nicked it from the armory! She thought as she held her shoulder. She backed up. She found her breaths panicked and uneven.

She stumbled into the work desk and slumped down. For a moment, she saw a glimpse of the schematic for her arm, framed as a memento of the long dead.

He reached out and wrapped a hand around her neck. His eyes were as icy as his hands. He showed no emotion. There wasn't anything wrong, to him, with what he was doing. He seemed to simply be finishing what he had set out to do in the first place: dispatch a criminal.

She gasped for air, only to draw none. Was she going to die? Was this the end? After all that. After all the progress she had made, would it all be for nothing?

She grabbed his wrist, her body beginning to weaken from the lack of oxygen. No… No, she couldn't! She had to live! She had so many more things she wanted to do- to improve! She weakly struggled under the former guard, only able to writhe helplessly. Suddenly, he seemed to have a sick sense of glee, as if her attempts amused him. A wide mad grin spread across his face as he attempted to slowly but surely finish her by knocking her head into the metal edge of the work desk's support.

The shaking knocked down the framed blueprints, eventually crashing onto the floor, cracking the glass. Someone, anyone… Help me…, she could only think. She couldn't talk, she couldn't scream. All that escaped her were small choked squeaks. Uncle Gascon… She looked down at the arm schematic. She saw him, a younger form of him wearing the ensemble he wore in the legends reflected fractally in the sections of glass and felt a slight pang of hope.

It started to fade when she saw his expression. He looked disappointed. He looked disdained. "You deserve this… You tried to save my murderer," he said in a dull whisper.

She felt tears escape her eyes at his uncaring words. He just stood idly by and watched. He grabbed her severed left arm and crouched to her level, using it to point at her. "You don't deserve to have anything of mine." As much as she would have wished, his voice and his eyes seemed devoid of any warmth. They were hollow, cold, as cold as a dead man's could be. He swung it down on the picture frame, shattering the glass right along with any hope she had of surviving.

He raised the arm again and looked at it thoughtfully. With a sick grin, he slammed it against the floor until it was completely mangled and useless. She reached out to it, her fingers flexing weakly to grab it, but her arm fell slack. The grin fell back into the sneer he originally sported.

He tossed it to the side as he crouched down. He removed the documents. He looked up at her, the cold, disappointed frown returning. He tore it up- everything, including the edits she made- right in front of her.

If she had the strength, she would have pleaded for him to stop. She would have cried out, begging him to forgive her, but the only indication she could give was the tears that streamed down her pained face. Why was he doing this to her…?

Amos stopped slamming her head against the desk long enough for the elder thief to get closer to her, close enough that he took up her field of vision.

"You don't deserve to live," he hissed vehemently, menacingly.

"Prince Marcassin, Lady Josephine," a servant frantically called, bursting into the throne room. They were sitting on the large pink sofa, reviewing expansion plans. The sage's head snapped up from the paper, the urgent tone of the man catching his attention. His wife followed suit.

"What is it? Is something wrong," Marcassin responded, adopting just as concerned a tone as the help in front of him.

"It's your daughter- the princess! Something's wrong with her left arm," their visitor shouted, panic filling his eyes. As they stood, he continued, "It's like it's possessed!"

While his wife had a hand to her mouth, the prince quickly held back his fear and worry and stared sternly back at the servant. "Show me. Take me to my daughter." With a nervous nod and a gulp, the man did just that.

They rushed to her room. Other servants and even the current royal physician was there. He shoved all of them aside, abandoning his usual polite nature just to attend to Lynnea. She was unconscious but blue from the lack of air. She seemed to grasp for it desperately. Her metal hand was gripping her neck tight.

Marcassin glanced over the teenager, looking for a way to disengage the arm. He turned to one of the servants and grabbed them by the shoulder. "Get me one of the engineers," he ordered. The servant nodded and left to fulfill his request.

Josephine had pursued him and stood by his side. "What's going on? Why is her arm doing that," she cried. She gripped her husband's right arm as she looked on in abject horror at the sight. They needed to move fast or else…

Something caught the empress's eye. It was the glowing purple runes on the back of the arm. "There," she indicated. "Marcassin, that looks like-," she quickly deduced.

"Magic." He nodded. "Her arm is powered by her magic." He drew his wand and began to draw a symbol. "Nix," he shouted. The rune glowed, and the arm went slack. He replaced his wand and reached down to move the metal limb away from her throat. He backed away and motioned for the royal physician to check her.

"She's alive…," he stated after checking her pulse. He checked her neck and assessed the damage. "No broken bones, just severe bruising." He rested a hand on her chest- just under the shoulder. For a moment, he was still, measuring her breaths with the rise and fall of her chest. "Her breathing's returning to normal." He turned around to face her parents. "I shall fetch pain medication for her injuries." Glanced at the arm and then back at them out of concern. "I advise you to have her remove her arm as she prepares for bed, your majesty, lest you wish to chance a repeat." With a nod, he began to leave. "She should be waking up soon. I'll return to check on her."

Marcassin approached her again, this time sitting on the edge of her bed. He looked on with troubled eyes. Her face was returning to its natural color, the blood flow renewed. Even though he knew she'd live through this, it didn't stop him from worrying.

Josephine sat next to him, one hand resting on her long turquoise skirt covered lap and the other reaching up to caress her husband's back. "She's going to be alright, my love," she comforted him quietly. She hoped her words were true as she watched Lynnea with him. Please… Please, be alright, Lynnea…

There was a hesitant deep breath before he tore his sight away from her. He looked at his partner and saw the tears in the corners of her eyes. He reached out, caressed her face, and gently wiped them away with his thumb. "Josephine…," he began, swallowing as he looked into her frightened eyes. "I have to be honest- there are only two reasons she would choke herself in her sleep." He closed his eyes and looked down. He released a shaky, nervous sigh and looked back at her. "Josephine, magic such as the type she uses for her arm to work syncs up with the user's consciousness and subconsciousness. She would have had to dream of someone- or even herself- strangling her."

Did she want to die? The empress thought fretfully. She gasped and shook her head. "No- no we couldn't have-!" She started to panic. "Marcassin, did- did we do this to her?" She gripped his left shoulder and stared into his eyes as more tears formed in her own. "Is this- Is this our fault…? Did we hurt her…?" She began to tremble.

"Josephine," he whispered. He shook his head. "No. We don't know that. We don't know what she dreamed, not entirely." He glanced back at the girl who now breathed normally, and he lowered his hands from her face. "Another option is… is someone overrode her Puppet String spell." He frowned and squinted, his eyes shifting as he looked at the arm. He didn't sense any other magic than her own when he disabled it. "But that's highly unlikely." He turned back to her. She had lowered her head and started to cry. "Josephine…," he said as he pulled her into a hug, her head resting on his chest. "It's alright… We'll figure this conundrum out. We'll help her through this." He rubbed her back as he consoled her.

"We almost lost her, Marcassin," she wept. "We almost lost our daughter!" She gripped his robes tightly. She looked up at him. "What if we did do this?!" She shook him. "What does that mean?!" She seemed to hyperventilate out of stress.

"It means we need to talk to her," he snapped, his own frustration with the situation finally breaking through. "It means we have to talk to her and listen." He gripped the back of her shirt as he glared down at her. "It means we need to help her get better. And if it isn't us- if we are not to blame, then we will still be there for her." The empress's breaths evened out as she heard his determined words. Tears started to fall down his own cheeks, which he quickly wiped away with a sleeve. "I- I don't want to be like my father… I don't want- I've already made so many of the same mistakes that caused Gascon to go through so much pain." He sniffed. "Josephine… She needs us. No matter what it is." He held her closer, tighter.

"You said," she whispered after a few moments of silent rocking. "Your father loved Gascon…," she reminded him, her voice quiet and laced with confusion.

The sage cleared his throat. "He… he did. Our father didn't always convey it well. They had issues seeing eye to eye, mostly," he rasped. "I've already forced her away…" He thought of the mechanical arm that had suddenly turned on its inventor- Lynnea. Then, he thought of how thin she had gotten in just the two years she'd been away. "Her health was probably compromised… and she's been mortally wounded. Thank goodness my brother found her when he did." He shuddered to think of how she had probably lost the limb- the horrible scenarios that came into play. That only brought the image of what he had seen that day in Al Mamoon. "We owe a lot to him…"

"Could it be…?" She glanced up at him, a slight flicker of hope in her eyes, yet they remained clouded with guilt and fear. "Could it be that something she saw out there- whatever took her arm- be coming back to haunt her?" Her grip tightened on the robes once again. "Who am I kidding, Marcassin? We're still responsible for this-!" She stopped when she heard the slight moans of barely registering consciousness.

Both of their attention shifted immediately to Lynnea. She blinked her eyes blearily. "Mother…? Father…," she wheezed as she looked up at them. She attempted to sit herself up with both arms but found only one responding. "My left arm…" She looked down at it and saw the runes had gone dark. "Wha- what happened to it?" She sat herself up with her right. "What did you do," she snapped angrily, glaring at Marcassin.

He ignored her glare as he scooted closer to her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "Thank goodness…," he praised, his hold on her growing tighter. "We were so worried… Your wounds weren't that severe after all!" His voice was flooded with relief.

Her mouth hung open in confusion. She started to piece together what he meant. Had that nightmare really happened? Her head wasn't sore- well, except for an oxygen-deprived headache she was now enduring and her sore, bruised neck. Her arm was still snugly attached to her shoulder, despite it being deactivated for the time being. So… What was it they were talking about…? "Father? What do you mean? I was only having a nightmare."

Her mother's face popped over his shoulder, her eyes red from all the frightened tears. She shook her head, the image of seeing her only daughter attempting to kill herself in her sleep replaying in her head. She frowned. "You were strangling yourself in your sleep, Lynnea," she snapped, her voice trembling. Fresh tears started to form again, the details coming back to her. "You turned blue from the lack of air…" She wrapped her left arm around her right shoulder and joined them in their embrace. She pressed her forehead against her daughter's as she continued to weep, this time out of relief. "Lynnea. I thought you weren't going to make it! I thought you'd die!"

She could only stare back at her. Where was this when she returned home? Did Gascon's death overshadow the relief they felt? "…Is this a dream…," she asked them. "Did I scare you this much when I left…?"

They both backed up suddenly, though they both refused to let go. They shared a glance and the sage looked back at her while her mother looked down and away. He nodded. "We tried to search for you… When we couldn't find you…," he sighed and swallowed hard. "I had to have Hogarth take over while I tried to reach out to the neighboring kingdoms. When that failed…" He paused and looked over to the now guilt-ridden face of Josephine.

Her mother began to speak in a low regretful voice, "I… I placed a bounty on you. We suspected what you had done, so we… We hoped someone would turn you in- would deliver you safely to Al Mamoon so we could bring you home." She shook her head. "We had no idea what we were doing. We were so worried and so frightened we even forgot to stipulate the conditions of the bounty."

Before she could even argue, her father stepped in. "When we realized that you'd still be in harm's way, your uncle was just returning home from his latest errand. I told him to keep an eye out for you along the way back to Al Mamoon and to bring you home," he explained. He bowed his head with gritted teeth. "We are so sorry, Lynnea. We had no idea what had become of you. We- we panicked." His fingers pressed into her shoulders. He wept for the second time that day. "W-we're sorry that we failed to understand the limitations of your abilities. We're sorry we didn't communicate- that we didn't try!" He shook her. "We're sorry we pushed you away."

For the moment, she was quiet. She never thought she'd see her father this way. In a way, she supposed it was her fault that she didn't listen to them. Here they were blaming themselves. They were both wrong, herself included. "Let the past stay in the past," she muttered quietly.

"What," Marcassin whispered. He looked up at his daughter with lost eyes. What had she just said? He could have sworn he said something similar once to Cassiopeia, but he could barely make it out.

She looked down and her shoulders began to shake. The two of them froze as they watched her. Was she crying…? No. No, she was laughing- hoarsely, painfully from the bruising, but laughing. She looked up with grateful tears in the corners of her eyes. She reached up with her right hand and wiped them away in her right eye. "I forgive you," she said through the laughter. At the dumbfounded faces they both had, she grinned. "If I can find it in my heart to forgive Amos, I can find it in my heart to forgive my parents for being fools a couple of times." She giggled.

"Lynnea…," the sage breathed. A smile broke through his sorrowful demeanor. He brushed a lock of hair from his daughter's face as he searched it. "Gascon wasn't the only legend that influenced you." He chuckled. "I'm glad those tales turned out to be such a good influence after all."

She tilted her head, a confused frown crossing her features. "Huh…," she squeaked. Her mother shook her head with a wry chuckle and a, "Never mind."

Her parents released their hold on her and gave her some space. Her father looked down pensively for a moment. When he returned his attention to her, his face was wrought with concern. "Lynnea, I must ask you a difficult question," he approached, leaning forward. "What was the nightmare about?"

The princess paused, releasing a frightened gasp. She looked down and reached over to her left shoulder, rubbing it for comfort. To them, she seemed to withdraw into herself, not answering at all.

At Lynnea's hesitant, nervous behavior, Josephine placed a hand on her own chest. She nodded confidently. "You can trust us, Lynnea." She leaned forward slightly and took her daughter's right hand. "Please, we need to know."

As she sighed, she gave a small grunt of discomfort. "I dreamed… I dreamed Amos attacked me. He was trying to kill me." She saw them share a worried glance and she leaned forward suddenly. "It's not what you think- Amos has hardly anything to do with it!" She looked down. "At least I don't think he does." She shook her head and looked back at them. "There's more."

"More?" The sage slightly tilted his head. "What else could there be?"

"I was in uncle's room. While Amos was choking me, Swaine appeared. He looked like how he described himself in the legends." She shuddered as she recalled the uncaring, cold look in his eyes. "He tore up the schematic for my arm. He was angry with me for trying to save Amos…" She trembled at the memory. "He wanted me to die." The very thought made her sick. She felt a chill envelope her for a moment and her body began to shake. He wanted me to die… I was wrong, wasn't I…? Her eyes widened before she squeezed them shut. No! That wasn't my uncle! ...Was it? She shook her head fervently and looked up. "Please! Tell me that doesn't sound like Uncle Gascon! He would never hold a grudge like that, would he?!"

Her father bowed his head and her mother looked at him for confirmation. "Many don't know this, but the pure-hearted one was the soul mate of Shadar, the scourge of this world." He seemed to be searching the sheets with his eyes. He met his daughter's gaze. "Even with that knowledge, my brother fought by his side." He shook his head again. "Lynnea, there's not a chance he'd bare a grudge against you- not enough to want you dead. I dare say he'd be proud of you."

"Then why…? Why did I have that horrible dream," she pleaded for an answer. "Is it guilt…?"

Marcassin and Josephine shared another look. The Empress nodded, followed by her husband. He reached out and rested a hand on her right shoulder. "It's alright. You've done a good thing- or at least you tried. You followed your heart, what you believed was right, and tried to save someone."

"But that person was a murderer," she recounted.

"Indeed, and one on brink of despair. But you saw good in him regardless," her mother acknowledged. She hummed thoughtfully. "He wasn't right… but neither would we be to do exactly what he did. Vengeance is hardly ever the answer." She smiled proudly at her. "You recognized that." When their daughter bowed her head she sighed defeatedly. "Perhaps you should talk to him- to see what his thoughts are. It might help you."

Lynnea looked up again, her eyes widened. "What," she exclaimed. "Who? Swaine?! He's dead-," she began to argue.

The emperor jolted back with a quizzical countenance. "No, of course not! Amos! You should talk to Amos," he clarified, hissing the name. He raised a hand near his head and whispered, "Or shall I say, Areole Aubrac of Hamelin." He spared a glance at the help who stayed to keep an eye on her as well as those who came to clean the room. "I suggest you call him that for now, Lynnea."

She nodded in response. "I shall," she agreed her lips pursed. "I need to know if we were right… sparing him." She looked at the wall in thought. "I don't exactly trust him, still… He did attack me." She fiddled with her limp left fingers.

With a breath through his nose, he gave a short nod. "I agree." He lowered his head. "Until he has sufficiently proven his own words, we should be on guard around him." Marcassin heaved a heavy sigh and began to get up. "We have to attend to the kingdom." Josephine got up as well, though hesitantly. They both paused as they caught each other's sight and looked back at their daughter.

"Will you be alright," she asked the princess.

Lynnea giggled and smirked knowingly. "Yeah. I should be. It isn't my first time without an arm." She winced, raising her hand to her throat to tenderly rub it, and looked back up with a grin.

They both tensed up at her comment but relaxed a little. "About that," her father stated. "The physician prescribed a suggestion- try to remove your arm before bed."

Her eyes drifted down and her head followed towards her now limp prosthetic. "You blame yourselves for my condition, don't you?" Her right hand idly stroked her left arm's grooves and curves. "Please don't," she requested. "Losing my arm was probably the best thing I could have ever done. I made this myself. With my mechanical and magical knowledge." She looked up at their concerned faces and beamed at them. "I would have never thought to combine the two before!" Her head fell again, though her smile remained. "You see that I'm maimed, and because of that, you pity me- because you think you did this to me. You didn't. This was all me- and it made me stronger."

"But Lynnea," her mother began.

"Uncle didn't coddle me. Neither should you," she interjected, raising her right hand to wave at them, even though she still stared down at the purple sheets. "I'm not denying the suggestion either." She raised both eyebrows and glanced at them from the side. "It makes an alarming amount of sense!" She heaved a sigh and lifted her head. "But please, both of you, I beg of you, treat me like I still have both arms?"

It was Marcassin's turn to sigh. She had a point. "I know. It will take time for us to get used to it." He nodded at her confidently. "We'll do our best, Lynnea."