Even after she was released from the vision and returned safely to her room, Emerald didn't feel free. The headache was gone physically, but it remained in spirit—her mind struggled to catch up to reality, and the lag between the two left her ears ringing from the sheer dissonance.
"They… the gods," Emerald began, heart caught in her throat. "They killed everyone. And if the relics are brought together…"
"They'll do it again," Ozpin finished for her.
That… that was insane. Everything about the story, even the little details, was absolutely insane! From the gods just chilling around, to everyone being more magic than the maidens, to Ozpin—sorry, Ozma—being Salem's ex. That last bit of drama alone was world shattering, much less the rest.
"Yes, quite comical, isn't it?" Ozpin mused. "For the gods to pit two lovers against each other over the fate of all humanity."
"Comical is not the word I'd use at all."
He sighed. "Comedy and tragedy are far more alike than most think. It's all about perspective. And from the gods' perspective…" Splintered memories of the Brothers killing and resurrecting Ozma over and over again flashed in their mind, Salem begging the Gods to bring him back in the background. "Well, they won't be the ones suffering, should I fail."
Emerald paced around her room, fiddling with her fingers as she tried to choose between the many, many questions still spinning inside her overloaded brain. "How many others know about…all of that?"
"Besides you and I? Only Salem, I imagine. I doubt any in her circle know what will pass when the relics are reunited. Despite their faults, even they would object to the extinction of humanity." Emerald furrowed her brow, summoning an image of Tyrian's cheshire grin. Ozpin coughed. "Well, maybe except him."
That meant… Ozpin hadn't even told the members of his own circle the whole story. "Why?" she asked, voice wobbling. "Why tell me all of this? And why now?"
"As I said before, you are the one who asked for the truth." He sighed. "But to be more frank… you left me few other options. I couldn't think of what else could sway you at this stage."
That… was probably true, she'd give him that. Like, she knew whatever Salem was up to wouldn't be great for everyone. But she at least thought Salem had a more complex goal than just global genocide. Cinder certainly had thought so.
A new world order, Cinder had promised. You will never be hungry again.
Emerald wasn't satisfied with Ozpin's answer, though. "That still doesn't explain why you just barely told me about this. This would've worked a lot better than the migraine you dropped on me yesterday."
"Normally, I can't share such vivid memories with my hosts so early in the incarnation. Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—your semblance makes quite the convenient shortcut for such things."
That was a cheap excuse, but she already knew the man was far from forthcoming. Speaking of his history of bullshitting people—
"How… how do I know you aren't tricking me again?" Emerald stammered. She scratched at her arms anxiously, picking at her skin with the same desperation she used to pick apart Ozpin's story in her head. "How do I know all of that was real, and not some bullshit sob story you made up?"
"You can't," Ozpin replied simply. "At least, not without this."
Where once Ozpin's presence was distant and out of reach, suddenly it brushed against her aura with a closeness reaching skinship levels of contact. Emerald shuddered from the sensation, gagging from how grossly intimate it felt.
"Go on," he said. "Like how you used your semblance yesterday, reach for me and grasp my mind. Use it to feel my sincerity firsthand. Rip it from me if you must. But you have the power to know for certain." A sliver of his mind pressed against her own, an invitation to reach further inside. "You just have to be willing to take that first step."
Her throat bobbed as she raised her hands together and interlaced her own fingers between each other. Holding herself steady as she sat down against her bed, she reached with her semblance, pushing into the murky depths of her own consciousness. She stretched it taut until her aura grazed off the hinges leading to Ozpin's now vulnerable mind.
"Go on," Ozpin encouraged with a strained voice. "I have nothing more to hide from you."
Sweat dripped from her brow as she flexed her semblance like an outstretched hand and gripped the edges of the mind burrowed within her own—
And squeezed. Hard.
Both her and Ozpin cried out in unison as a railroad spike of pain struck the mind space they shared. It was nowhere near as bad as when Ozpin forced the vision upon her, but it lingered and throbbed out as an electric jolt throughout her entire nervous system. Her fingers curled from the shock.
She released her semblance with a gasping wheeze when she finished her search. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she wiped them away furiously. Not because of the pain. But because even after she rooted through Ozpin's mind, scraping at the cluster of neurons for any lies he had knotted up inside…
She found nothing she was looking for. Nothing but the truth.
"Fuck," Emerald whimpered, rocking herself as she began to cry in earnest.
"It's okay," Ozpin said, his own voice shaking from the ordeal. Even without his own body, it seemed he could still feel pain.
Emerald didn't care about his feelings, though. She had her own problems to deal with. "That means… all those people I killed…" Beacon shattered. The streets stained red. The grimm howling in bliss as they tore through her childhood home. Even if she starved and suffered and hated it there. It… it was still her home. The place where she was born…
And she broke it.
"What was it all for?" she cried, clawing at her own scalp hard enough for her aura to flare up in defense. "I thought… she'd use the relics to make a new world. One where I wouldn't be hungry anymore." She rubbed the snot from her messy face. "That's what Cinder told me…"
"It's okay," Ozpin repeated, and she hoped it was true. "You didn't know. Salem finds those that suffered the most and twists them for her own ends. It's what she does. It's simply her nature now." His words fell to a solemn, mourning tone. "She isn't the woman she once was. She isn't even human any more."
Emerald sniffled, but her eyes hardened. "And you are?"
Ozpin sounded exasperated. "Emerald, I thought we were finally on the same page. Surely you still don't think my mistakes are equal to her crimes."
"Maybe not… but I still don't understand you. Don't trust you."
"I don't understand what you don't understand. She wants to end the world. I simply wish to stop her!"
"Then why doesn't the world know about Salem?" Emerald challenged. "Remnant could have already been united against her, could have been ready for her, if they knew what you knew. Why the fuck didn't you tell anyone?"
If it had been common knowledge, if Emerald had known Salem was just a world ending menace with no other cause—
She wouldn't have helped Cinder… right?
Ozpin continued to justify himself. "If the people knew, there would be panic. The grimm would—"
"People are already fucking panicking! They're always panicking! And scared, and hurting, and angry!" She jumped up from her bed, lamenting the fact that Ozpin didn't have a real face for her to yell at or punch. She made a compromise by hitting herself in the forehead over and over again, hoping he could feel the stinging pain of her raw skin just as much as she could.
"Emerald, please, calm down—"
No, she would not calm down. Not until she understood why Ozpin kept Salem a secret. For Salem, the benefits were obvious; if no one knew about her, no one would try to stop her or get in her way. To everyone else, the Grimm were just an endless hoard of directionless monsters, not the obedient army of an immortal monster lady. Even before Emerald knew about her real plan, Salem keeping herself in the shadows made sense.
The other way around, though? With Ozpin hiding the truth from the world? That made no fucking sense at all!
"You've been alive for so long," Emerald began as she finished wrangling her jumbled thoughts. "You are seriously telling me it never once occurred to you that the world knowing about Salem would be easier in the long run? That people wouldn't rather have a name—a face—to blame the world's problems on, instead of blaming each other?"
"You aren't seeing the big picture," he reasoned (badly).
"Which is what?" Emerald pressed. "What else is there to consider?"
"I've already told you everything—"
"No. No you haven't."
There were definitely some forgivable gaps in Ozpin's story, especially between when Ozma first died and then Salem had to fill him in on what happened when they next met. Even if everything he told her was true–
She knew there was something missing. One last piece to the puzzle that would flip her doubts one way or the other.
"You tried to make it look like you were all trusting and open with me, but I felt you pushing bits of the story at the back of your mind. Something about the ending, after you and Salem went your separate ways, is missing. Something you don't want anyone to know. Am I right?"
Ozpin's presence in her mind flared with irritation, like he was scratching a painful itch that just would not go away. "...Why do you have to make this so difficult for me, Emerald?"
"I just want the truth. All of it."
"...Fine," he said flatly. "But on one condition."
Of course. More bullshit. "What is it?"
"You must defect from Salem's forces. Pass a few tests of mine to prove I can trust you."
"Tests?" She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes skeptically. "What kinds of tests?"
"I will need to think about that for a bit. I wasn't expecting you to be so… adamant about joining me after I showed you the truth."
"Can you blame me?" The last time she didn't ask enough questions, she apparently helped a spiteful witch get closer to ending the world.
"Fair enough," he said. "So… what will you do in the meantime?"
"Right now?" She rubbed her forehead, and started to strip her sweat covered (and tear stained) clothes. "I think I'll take a shower."
She trudged to her bathroom and pulled back the curtains. Ozpin said nothing as the scalding water washed over her body and she winced from the painful warmth it brought to her skin. Not quite as comfortably uncomfortable as Cinder's warmth, but it was similar enough to burn some of the tension from her shoulders.
She didn't know what her answer would be. Perhaps after a long, introspective shower, she'd find the strength to make a choice.
Almost a month later, Emerald was still no closer to making a decision.
She didn't want to end the world. Especially not while she was still living on it. Yet, betraying Salem—worse, betraying Cinder—didn't seem preferable either.
So she settled back into the routine of taking care of Cinder. A distraction, certainly, from an objectively important decision she would need to make sooner or later. But… Remnant wasn't going to end tomorrow. As far as Emerald knew, the Grimm still hadn't managed to find the vault at Beacon. So, no rush, right?
Except Haven's relic was next on the list. And, well…
Aside from finding the Spring Maiden, there was nothing standing in Salem's way for that one.
But that was a problem for Future Emerald (with a capital F). Present Emerald's only responsibility (and greatest joy) was Cinder's wellbeing.
And Cinder was flourishing.
She'd been ecstatic after Emerald told her about Watts' ineptitude, just as Emerald had hoped. And Cinder had rewarded her for that good news with enough hickies to pass off as a cheetah faunus (she had never woken up more sore or satisfied in her life than the morning after).
From there, Cinder threw everything into getting back on her feet. Emerald helped her draft a schedule for her exercises to pace herself (as pacing herself was, like, the one thing in the world Cinder was bad at). She stuck to it daily, reclaiming her strength and improving more and more as the weeks went by.
As she got better, though, Cinder's enthusiasm for being all over Emerald… stagnated.
They still fucked frequently (and on a much more regular basis after those first couple days), but it had balanced out with the rest of Emerald's duties and Cinder's rehabilitation training to the point where even sex felt like it was just part of the routine (another task for Emerald to check off before the day was done).
That wasn't bad, per se. On the contrary, it becoming normalized seemed almost… domestic. Emerald still hadn't worked up the courage to ask Cinder what labels worked best for their budding relationship. But as each night ended with the ambrosia known as Cinder snuggles, Emerald became more and more confident that, despite Ozpin's claims to the contrary, there was somethingrealbuilding between them.
Even if she was still too scared to ask Cinder about labels. For the moment.
But with the sex between them becoming routine, to the point where it almost felt scripted, Emerald worried that Cinder may have been getting…bored of her. Did Emerald need to spice things up somehow? Was Cinder just tired after training all day and liked falling into a simple, practiced pleasure before sleep? Emerald wished she knew.
She wished she had the confidence to just ask.
"This isn't a love story, Emerald," Ozpin interjected. "This is a borderline tragedy. Pathetically so."
Shut up. No one asked you.
He sighed. "There are far more pressing outside this unrequited fantasy you've devised."
Her love life was a real problem. One that was Present Emerald's job to solve. Saving the world was Future Emerald's problem. The wizard should bother her instead.
"I hope I can, someday," he said sadly. "I truly do."
…Anyway. The month following Ozpin's uninvited intrusion to her mind passed in a pleasant blur. Before she knew it, Cinder could walk again, all on her own.
Her legs were still in a shaky stage (literally), and Cinder had to rest sometimes before she could get up again. But it was tremendous progress. To facilitate her improvement, Emerald accompanied her on walks throughout Evernight. Little outings in the castle halls for just the two of them to enjoy each other's company and talk.
Well… Cinder was the one who talked (for the most part). Emerald mainly listened, speaking up occasionally when she was asked a question. Cinder's voice came out raspy and barely legible, but their regular walk and talks had done wonders on Cinder's throat. She could speak longer, and without needing to lean directly into Emerald's ear (not that Emerald would be opposed to having Cinder's lips that close again).
Cinder would go off on tangents about anything and everything. She was just so…opinionated. Fashion, politics, violent revenge plots, etc. There wasn't a single topic Cinder couldn't spiel about for hours at end.
Emerald didn't understand half of what she was talking about sometimes, but that was fine. Getting lost in Cinder's voice could be fun on its own.
It was on one particular walk, while enraptured with Cinder's thoughts on West Mistrali cuisine (it was, apparently, far blander than Eastern style, and only tolerable in fusion dishes… whatever those were) that Emerald taped up enough of her anxiety to pass off as boldness.
She was going to do it. She was going to find out what she meant to Cinder; what role did she fill in her life?
Was it more important for Emerald to tell Cinder that Salem was planning on ending the world (especially since that seemed pretty opposed to Cinder's dream of ruling the world)? Probably.
But… would Cinder even believe her? Emerald barely believed Ozpin's story herself (the bits that he did share with her), and that was after she used her semblance to fact check him. It was unlikely Cinder would believe Emerald over Salem, especially when she learned who Emerald's source was for that information.
So Emerald's plan (like most of her current plans) was to hold off until she had a better one. Living in the moment felt… safer.
And speaking of living in the moment—
"Ma'am," Emerald stammered. She waited for the perfect pause in conversation (when Cinder seemed finished with her food talk) before she spoke up. "Could I… ask you something?"
Cinder raised an eyebrow (the only one she had left). "Technically, you already are." Her tone carried a twinge of annoyance, but sounded more amused than anything else.
That was good. Slightly annoyed yet largely amused was one of the best moods Emerald could ever catch Cinder in. She seized her moment. "I was wondering, in your opinion, what would you call u—"
Her words caught in her throat as Cinder collapsed out of nowhere, spasming violently as every joint in Cinder's body twisted at crooked angles.
They both screamed, but, if the screams were to be judged by some scream-loving-aficionado (Tyrian), then Cinder's baleful screech would've won first place. If this were literally any other kind of competition, Cinder would've been glad to take home the gold. For the first time since Emerald had met her, Cinder did not seem to enjoy showing off what winning looked like. Clawing at the ground with one convulsing hand, her one eye rolling back behind her head to bloodshot white, was not a sight anyone would associate with victory.
Emerald dropped to her knees in an instant, fumbling over what to do. She had heard of seizures but had never seen one in action. Was that even what was happening? Was it a stroke? A maiden thing—a Grimm thing? Her hands reached for Cinder one second, only to flinch away the next. Emerald didn't know what was happening, but the last thing she wanted was to somehow make it worse.
She snapped to attention when Cinder's hand weakly grasped her knee. Cinder's eye was unfocused, unable to see anything as her entire body waged war with itself. Her screaming had ravaged her vocal cords, voice withering back to the gravely, broken whispers she had just recently healed from.
"Emmy," Cinder croaked, far too broken for the pet name to make Emerald feel anything but pain. "...help…hurts…" Cinder's entire body shook with each syllable, not even bothering to hide her choked sobbing. "Take…hurt…away," she begged.
Emerald didn't think after that, not even for a millisecond. Her lands locked around Cinder's wrist, holding her trembling arm steady. Emerald was her anchor. As long as she was around, she would never let Cinder fall. Not even to herself.
She reached out with her semblance with surgical precision. Her aura hooked itself into Cinder's mind, yes, but she did not focus on the brain directly. She focused down the brain stem, caressing along the spinal cord, until she stretched her aura across Cinder's entire nervous system.
She didn't understand much about anatomy, but her semblance was so intuitive, it didn't matter. She didn't need to know what enzymes sent what signals, or which nerves were connected to which pain receptors. All she needed to know was where those neural roads led, the basic shape of its infrastructure.
She didn't know what Cinder was suffering from either. And her solution wasn't a cure. Fortunately, curing Cinder wasn't the goal. That would probably be Watts' problem.
"Take…hurt…away," was Cinder's request. Making the pain stop was the goal.
That, Emerald could do.
With a single, simple purpose, Emerald grasped the layout of Cinder's nervous system. She dug beneath the concrete holding all those roads together, that network of nerves that were everything Cinder could touch and feel above and below her skin—
And with a single thought, Emerald ripped that network apart. Emerald didn't need a painkiller. She was the painkiller.
As soon as those pathways went dark, Cinder cried out quietly in relief. She slumped to the floor, using all of her remaining energy to launch herself into Emerald's chest. She fell unconscious the moment Emerald's arms enveloped her.
Emerald let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding. She lifted Cinder up and darted down the hall, frantically trying to find the quickest way to Watts' workshop.
While Emerald's illusions didn't usually take much of her aura to manage (especially if it was just one mind to manipulate), she was using her semblance in a very different way than normal. It was a stretch to even call it an illusion, more like… sensory overload? Regardless of what to call it, her aura was draining fast.
Not wanting to waste time, Emerald swerved around every shortcut she could think of, not even caring about bumping into random Seer Grimm on the way. But as she sped through the castle, a sudden chill struck her veins, the temperature dropping several degrees—
As she almost crashed directly into Salem.
Emerald bowed reflexively, almost dropping Cinder in the process before she could straighten out her spine from the abrupt motion. While interacting with Salem always sent gooseflesh racing along every inch of her body, this was the first time Emerald had ever looked up at the witch and felt hope instead of dread.
"Ma'am, it's urgent," Emerald spat out, almost forgetting formalities entirely. "Cinder collapsed, and she's shaking all over and—"
"Child," Salem interjected sharply. "Put Cinder down."
Emerald hesitated, instead of just dropping Cinder unceremoniously on the floor. "M-ma'am. Why—"
"Now," Salem insisted. She did not elaborate. Nor did she negotiate. The temperature simply dipped again. A warning cold enough to make Emerald's breath visible in the air.
Would Emerald like to find out (firsthand) how cold Salem could make a room, just from thinking it into existence? No, no she didn't, so she stopped tempting fate and gently laid Cinder in the middle of the hallway.
Salem stepped past her, inspecting Cinder's body. She seemed especially interested in what remained of Cinder's left arm (which had been amputated just above the elbow), fiddling her nails across the stump methodically. She pinched a vein, prodded a muscle, and frowned when nothing happened.
Emerald didn't know what Salem was doing, but she didn't like how slowly Salem was doing it, casually playing doctor, when a real doctor was just a few corners away.
"Should I get Watts?" Emerald asked. "He should still be in his workshop—"
"Stop," Salem interrupted again, still poking at Cinder's stump skeptically like she expected it to jump-scare her. "We do not need him for this."
That only confused Emerald more, but she wasn't about to argue with Salem of all people. She couldn't hold up her illusion for much longer, though, as she felt a new headache maturing from the extended use of her semblance. "Then… then what do we do?"
"Nothing," Salem responded, still too enamored with Cinder's stump to look at Emerald directly. "Cinder must decide what happens next. But for her to do that…"Salem's eyes widened, attention snapping towards Emerald like she had just seen her for the first time in her immortal life. "You must cease your meddling with that… semblance of yours."
Wait. Salem wanted her to… turn it off?
"But… ma'am," she began shakily, not used to speaking to Salem so directly (much less questioning her to her face). "My semblance is what's keeping her stable—"
"Exactly. That is the problem, Child," Salem replied, her eyes aglow with a shade of red that Emerald's eyes could never match. "Your aura is halting her metamorphosis. So. Stop."
Emerald flinched, finding it impossible to maintain eye contact. Her hold on her semblance wavered, but she struggled to sever the connection entirely when she imagined what the relapse would do to Cinder.
"I will not ask again."
Those harsh words broke her dam of reluctance, breaking her illusion along with it. It spilled out like an unclogged drain, clearing out the neural pathways streaming through Cinder's nerves.
Which, of course, meant the first thing to travel those recently unclogged pathways was all the pain waiting to flood through them.
Emerald couldn't bear to watch as Cinder's raspy screams echoed throughout Evernight once more. She shut her eyes tightly, preemptively begging for Cinder's forgiveness.
Cinder had a love-hate relationship with pain. Love, in the sense that she loved hurting people, and hate, in the sense that she hated being hurt. It wasn't a complex relationship, nor a unique one (especially not to most members of Salem's circle).
But perfection was often found in the simpler things. Simple dishes, while not as expensive or impressive as more complex meals, had more reliable outcomes. The quality of the taste wasn't as high, but the taste was consistent no matter which restaurant Cinder ordered it from. That's why grilled cheese was a perfect dish, that only an absolute buffoon could make poorly, while a soufflé would never be a perfect dish. Its complexity led to far less consistent taste:
Complexity was what led to imperfection.
Laws, morality, justice, honor, families, feelings, kingdoms, society itself—these concepts were all too complex to ever be perfect. A complex concept was like a glass cup. It would never be polished enough to be worth all the wasted hours spent scrubbing the blemishes from its surface. No matter how much work was put into these things, there would always be more work to do.
It would be so much simpler to remove those concepts entirely. To keep a glass spotless, it had to be cleaned forever. But a broken glass…
A broken glass only had to be cleaned up once. And then never again.
To Cinder, Remnant was a fine glass cup, long overdue to be shattered. She couldn't wait to sweep up the shards so the real fun could begin. A new world order; a world without order.
Anarchy. Simple and perfect.
But sometimes, handling broken glass leads to being cut. She always tried her best to make sure that glass only cut other people, preferably people she hated. Breaking Beacon was only supposed to hurt its citizens, its huntsmen and huntress, and the pathetic men that lorded over them all.
Unfortunately, her plan to ruin Vale was complex, and nothing complex could be perfect. Ruby Rose was proof of that. But even then, pain was a consequence of failure; failure to notice Ruby in time, failure to prepare against her silver eyes, failure to escape before the light stirred the monster she swallowed in her pursuit of power—
And that monster swallowed her in turn, bursting into silver flames and burning Cinder from the inside out as it tore through her organs, searching desperately for a way to avoid those damned eyes.
Pain was a consequence of failure. Of not being good enough, fast enough, or strong enough. That lesson was etched into Cinder far before she met Salem. It was written on her throat.
So when Cinder awoke to an all encompassing pain that stormed through every molecule of her body, her first thought was not why she was in pain, but how—
How had she failed so spectacularly to hurt this much? What had she tried to break that led to this fresh hell hatching beneath her skin?
As she acclimated enough to the pain to pry open her eyes, the pale face of her master blurred into focus. She stood silently above Cinder, watching her struggles with faint interest. Did she know why Cinder was hurting? Was this punishment for something Cinder could not shake from her memory in this sea of agony?
"Master…" she croaked, the word excruciating to say as she forced it out her throat. "...Why?"
Salem narrowed her eyes, using one hand to pin Cinder's chest to the floor, anchoring her spasming body to one place. "Cinder… please remind me. Why did I choose you as my Maiden?"
"Master…I…"
"Was it just because I was feeling generous? Charitable? Or perhaps…"A thin smile, genuine as a crocodile's, split across her face. "Did I simply pity you?"
Cinder's pain was not strong enough to overcome the petulant snarl that ripped from her throat. "...No," she growled, lifting her head from the floor. "...because…I'm…strong…"
"Strong? You?" Salem tutted, like she was reprimanding a child. "I'm not seeing any strength, dear. Only a sniveling little girl crying for someone else to solve her problems for her. You haven't changed at all since I first found you."
"Not…true."
"Then prove it," Salem said harshly. "Stand up."
Cinder tried to bend her knees, but even thinking it was torture. Any effort sent pinpricks of fire to every part of herself she moved. "I…can't," she admitted.
"I see," Salem hummed. She turned around and began to walk out of Cinder's sight." Then perhaps… I chose wrong. You were too weak."
Cinder was many things. Perfect. Powerful. Beautiful. Broken. Angry. Proud. But weak? Her? Cinder's vision flushed red at the mere thought. Red like blood. Red like fire—
Red like roses.
I'll break her worse than she broke me. I won't kill her, even if she begs for it. Not until her spirit is so thoroughly snuffed out, that those eyes of hers are dull and grey. I'll kill her only once she's dead inside.
That rush of concentrated hate washed over her, and the pain receded. When she tried to stand again, the pain returned in full force.
It was the monster rebelling against her, wasn't it? The Grimm she took within herself to steal the powers of the Fall the failure that led to this pain—
Not putting that monster in its fucking place.
Ruby Rose did not defeat Cinder Fall. She was a child, nothing noteworthy to speak of when compared to her peers. Besides the power she was handed at birth, instead of claiming it for herself like Cinder had to. Ruby's eyes didn't hurt Cinder, not directly.
It was the Grimm's fault, Cinder thought suddenly, directing all of her ire towards the gnarled parasite rooted deep within her innards. That bubbling anger made the pain pull away again. Gritting her teeth, Cinder grabbed hold of that feeling, churning it until it was vast enough to swallow all the pain, like she was swallowing the monster all over again.
Your weakness cost us dearly, little freak. But I am stronger than your faults.
Cinder rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself up with one arm. She stumbled, biting back a scream as her imbalance seemed to jostle lingering pain throughout her core.
But still, she stood.
Suddenly, Cinder's tremors returned, though far more muted in intensity. Her stump convulsed rapidly as the veins running from her shoulder to her amputation scars darkened beneath her skin. The Grimm she had just chided wriggled beneath the scarring, pushing against the damaged flesh with the ferocity of a caged animal.
Cinder screamed one final time as that wriggling, dark mass pushed and tore through the stump, spouting a gout of coagulated blood and crusted flecks of flesh. She sucked her teeth as her pain finally subsided, taking a short time to steady her breathing, in and out.
As her faculties returned to her, a new sensation tickled her interest. She glanced down to inspect the damage from her Grimm's tantrum, only for that annoyance to fall away to amazement.
Where Cinder's stump once ended, a new forearm took its place. Ash black material that could never be confused with real skin. Bone-white claws and Grimm rendered flesh in a facsimile of a human hand.
Before she could even think of trying to flex it, to test that it was truly hers, a pale hand reached out and gently cradled her wrist. Cinder glanced up, and there was her master, standing in front of her with the most… peculiar look on her face.
The closest word that Cinder could use to describe it all, was soft. Soft eyes, soft smile, soft everything. It was so different, so alien on Salem's face, that Cinder found herself speechless.
"Well done, my girl," Salem praised, and for one of the only times Cinder could remember, it sounded sincere. "You made it fear you."
Cinder opened her mouth to respond, but her throat hurt too much to utter anything of value. Nothing that would be worthy of her queen to hear. So instead, she smiled and tried to gently flex her hand and return her master's touch—
But the fingers wouldn't move. She tried again, frustration mounting on her face as her smile tightened to something more labored. Her pointer and middle fingers shook for a moment, but would not close around Salem's hand.
Salem noticed her struggle and pulled her hand back. Everything that Cinder saw as soft vanished and was replaced with a far more familiar expression, one that Cinder could discern the cause of instantly:
Disappointment.
"It seems you still have some work to do," Salem said evenly. "No matter. You will have to put that aside for now. I have called for another war meeting."
Cinder balled her fist (the human one that actually knew how to obey her commands) and used it as an outlet to pour all of her own disappointment and anger at herself, not letting a drop of it show on her face.
She began to open her mouth again, but still didn't want Salem to hear the disgraceful state of her voice. She quickly looked around to rectify that problem, spotting the solution behind her, gawking with her mouth open like an idiot.
Ah, Emerald. I'd almost forgotten she was here.
Cinder snapped her fingers, breaking her minion from her dumbstruck stupor. She gestured to her mouth and (fortunately) Emerald understood quickly, rushing to Cinder's side to listen in.
She relayed her message, and Emerald pieced it together adequately. "Ma'am," Emerald began towards Salem. "When is the meeting?"
Salem, who watched the entire slow process silently and without comment, replied, "Right now. The others have already been summoned by my Seers." She turned away and walked off. Cinder followed after her queen, Emerald closely matching behind.
Almost too close for Cinder's liking, but she knew Emerald got a kick out of it, and a small part of herself found that amusing. It was so easy to appease her pet, her little gem.
She glanced down warily at her newly grown Grimm arm. If only all her pets were so easily tamed.
It didn't take the trio long to reach the doors to the war room. Normally, Cinder and everyone in the castle would already be waiting inside, with Salem always the last to enter. A power move, one Cinder respected very much (so much that she used it all the time when working with the Fang and Torchwick).
Due to the current circumstances, as painful and abrupt as the ordeal was, Cinder was being allowed to break protocol. So whoever was in Evernight at the moment would've been waiting on Salem and Cinder this whole time. Hopefully "whoever" included Arthur.
That thought brought a smile to her face.
That smile fell away the moment the doors swung open and she noticed the abomination standing inside.
Short, curly orange hair framed the fakest, most plastic grin Cinder had ever seen in her entire life. Bright, sickly green eyes distracted attention away from the rest of its face, most notably the clusters of ugly freckles that speckled the pale, artificial skin.
Penny, Ironwood's little toy, stood attentive attentive and functional. Its voice, so bubbly and sweet it almost sounded like a real girl, pierced the awkward silence like a gunshot.
"Salutations," it chirped, and the faux-friendly tone made Cinder's stomach twist.