The Dreaming within the Freehold is more set than the ever-shifting minutiae that lie beyond. The difference was one that a human mind could hardly hope to comprehend. Only those connected to this dimension could grasp it.
Shirou sat at one of the tables in the Freehold. As he sat there, his soul longed for the freedom of the opening dreaming where the cold twine of the Autumn World wasn't wrapping itself around the wild possibilities of the unseen. Open skies for him to fly without fear, feeling the wind blowing against his hair.
He was supposed to be with Gyd to explain the situation to Escoffier, but he and Gyd had started talking among themselves after his part was over. Now, he sat close to the balefire – the glamour emitting from the heart of the freehold filled him with fae whimsy.
His only outlet was the paint-covered table before him. With a paintbrush in hand, he began to draw whatever came to mind. Nursery Rhyme sat beside him, egging him on by offering brand-new ideas after brand-new ideas. Each image changed half a dozen times between each stroke of the brush. Some of the colors tried to run away, but Shirou managed to grab them and force them back into place without any trouble.
The final result was a giant garden filled with flowers, dinosaurs riding knights, cyborgs using their legs as flying scooters, and various other normal images. The best part was when it came to life, with the landscape rising from the table as the dinosaurs and cyborgs raced around it.
Shirou wouldn't get to enjoy it long as Virginie the Knocker knocked it down when she sat across from him. He couldn't see if she'd done it on purpose, as the mountain blocked his sight, but he could tell she didn't care when it was gone.
He frowned as the paint splattered everywhere, much of it slowly drifting through the air.
"Hey! We worked hard on that," Alice murmured with a sad expression.
"It looks like a kid drew it," Virginie criticized their work. She took out her own paintbrush and began to draw. "That Eliot guy was an asshole."
"Language, he could be listening," Shirou corrected her as he scanned the area. He didn't seem to be around, but people tend to show up when it's least convenient. You should always check your surroundings first. "He was a bit mean during my interview with him, too."
"Same, wonder if he's really going to be able to turn this place around," Virginie asked.
"Do you think he can?" Shirou asked her. She seemed to have a more involved relationship with Escoffier and the changeling community than him. Plus, Gyd said she was being mentored by the sidhe noble, meaning she might know more about certain things than he did.
"Does it matter?" Virginie continued to draw images, each looking near perfect but having one or two flaws. "It isn't our problem."
Shirou sighed at the selfishness of the unfamiliar girl before him. Technically, she was entirely correct, and he couldn't fault her for prioritizing her own interests. That was expected for most people, but that didn't mean it wasn't short-sighted… Still, it was his problem and not hers.
Gyd wanted to revitalize her kingdom and kin by restoring the land. That would be way harder if things got way worse. Beyond that, Shirou didn't want this area to fall to banality. How would it feel to be stuck asleep for your entire life? Banality stripping them of the chance to go through the Dream Dance.
As a fae hero of today, he had a duty to prevent such a fate.
Gyd and Escoffier came back over once they were done discussing things—a look of frustration on both of their faces. The small gathering of changelings split into two groups, with each mentor and foster breaking off to their own little corner.
"What'd you guys discuss?" Shirou asked the older woman. He held Nursery Rhyme in his hands.
"Plans and arrangements," Gyd's voice sounded strained. "He agreed to use his family connections to create a false identity for you. That will give us an excuse to keep you here for a while if Lord Riviere tries to take you.
The younger changeling nodded. It was something they brought up on their way here. There was a chance that Eliot tried to take Shirou for his art or as 'not' a punishment for using it on him. Obtaining a fraudulent legal identity was important enough to excuse him from leaving until it was done.
"There is something we need you to do," Gyd started but stopped as her crush entered the freehold. Behind him was the three Unseelies. Where the step, black droplets seeped into the canvas and mingled with the bright colors. They seemed bored, talking among themselves without a care in the world. "Shirou. Go into that room now, and don't come out till I get you."
His mentor pointed at the closest doors. Shirou wanted to protest, but the seriousness in her tone told him not to. He'd already messed up with those changelings by letting them spot him and snitching about them to Eliot. Something serious was about to happen, and he'd just make it worse.
Relenting without much of a fight, Shirou followed her instructions. He ran into the room with Alice in hand. His wings were clapped behind his back, and his eyes were focused on the ground. His lips shaped into a slight pout.
The room he found himself in was a small place with a nice table made of clouds and a vending machine. There were a few chairs with intricate art on them. Shirou sat Alice down on one of them.
What do you think is happening out there? Alice asked quietly.
"I wish I knew," Shirou tried to hear anything from beyond the door, pressing his ear right up against it. It was no use. He couldn't pick up a single sound. What was the point of him being in the freehold if he couldn't take part in what was happening? "We'll have to hear it from Gyd later."
"So we'll miss the show…"
Shirou shook his head at her choice of words. Pulling away from the door, he went to look at the out-of-place vending machine. The various labels were a parody of normal soft drink names. There was nowhere to insert money, so he simply pressed one. A drink was dispensed at the bottom. Pulling it out, Shirou found its red wrapper to be covered in nonsense French – or maybe there was some joke he wasn't fluent enough to catch.
He opened the can as he walked back over to Alice. "I'm guessing there's something political going on."
"Maybe," Alice agreed.
The two of them didn't have much to say as they waited. Shirou drank his coke. It tasted decent. There was no weird aftertaste or burning in his throat. That made it better than most. It was only a momentary distraction before he returned to trying to listen through the door but got no luck.
Shirou was relieved when Gyd finally knocked on the door and entered. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she was chewing her lip.
"What happened?" Shirou asked for both his sake and Alice's. Both were interested in knowing, but the changeling got the feeling it was for different reasons.
"It was a mess. Escoffier has given Eliot the power to command Gérard Carrel. As a troll, he is the strongest fighter in the area. Eliot had him bring in the Unseelie without telling anyone. They had no clue they were walking into a metaphorical slaughter."
"They're okay, right?" Shirou questioned her quickly.
"What do you think was the main reason I had you hide? You might have tried to help them," Gyd explained, staring him in the eyes even as he flared. He felt miffed that she purposely stole away a chance to help someone. "Lord Eliot came from his room and rendered judgment upon the three. It was a slight against Escoffier but an intentional one. The three were commanded to march immediately to King Shail's court on foot. It will take them at least a week to walk there, however long it takes to face his judgment, and likely another week to walk back."
The younger changeling did his best to suppress his anger and consider what he had been told.
King Shail was the terrifying guy Gyd didn't want to meet. His court was in Brocéliande forest, or what remained of its – inferior – beauty. They had to walk there on foot, making the journey a punishment. How awful must it feel to walk under a magical order and see all the other people passing you by in their cars? At least they could have some fun on the journey. Hopefully, they had time to pack things. If not, he and Gyd could catch up with them and give them some stuff to make the journey better.
"I pity them and their ruined lives," Gyd said with a slight headshake. Was the king's judgment really that awful and harsh? Jennifer Berlioz, of the redcaps, will suffer the least for it. As a changeling, she is the only one with the Naming art in our area, making her too valuable for severe punishment. As a mortal, she holds a master's degree, so she'll likely be able to find another job with minimal issue – or Escoffier can find her one, as he did for Gérard.
Shirou didn't say anything, getting the sense that Gyd was just as much telling him what had happened as she was working her way through it. She was trying to analyze the likely consequences. That wasn't something he could be very helpful with. Even her basic speculation caught him off guard.
The childling's lip quivered slightly when he realized he hadn't even considered the three changelings' mortal lives. It was something that didn't connect in his mind – he no longer had much of a human life to think about. His life now was all rooted in being a fairy.
Those three have human lives and mundane jobs they have to care for. Family, friends, pets, plants, and who knows what else they can't ignore. Responsibilities in the Autumn World that root them to it like amber vines.
How would they be affected by a sudden month-long disappearance? How do they explain it or carry on with their human lives?
The young changeling felt relieved knowing he no longer had one he had to manage. However, a small part of him – treacherous and champing the cold within him – wished he still had his sister. That he could be his human self growing up in his hometown. It was swiftly blown away like dust in the wind, returning to the bottom of his incandescent soul.
"The Unseelie managed to make things worse for themselves and Regis. Gautier, the half-goat fool, managed to shout out how Escoffier has been covering for his taxes. He probably hoped to bring our local lord down with him. While it will cause Escoffier many problems, it is nothing compared to what will happen to him. Taxes are not only used to gather resources to aid balefires, create stockpiles, provide for the less fortunate, and fulfill other purposes associated with them. They also prove that one is working to ignite human imagination and patronize dreamers. If it was gathered through more elicited means, we'd be able to sense the terror and fear within it rather than the purity of reverie. For an Unseelie to not provide this proof is equivalent to an admission of guilt for ravaging, should the court choose to pursue it. Regis's worst concern is likely to be punishment for hiding rebels, but it is unlikely to be too harsh. The commoner Unseelie might end up baring the bl…" Gyd stopped mid-sentence. Shirou waited for her to continue her long string of explanations, but she never did.
"What about Eliot? Did he seem different?" the blue-eyed changeling asked with a bit of hesitation.
"Yes. He was angry. For a Sidhe, it was less reserved. His decorum was barely passable. He retreated to his room as soon as he was done. He didn't say anything about you, but there was rage in his eyes. We should let it simmer. Give it time to die out and redirect his focus," Gyd explained while pushing up her glasses. "That brings us back to what we need you to do if possible."
"Do you have a secret plan?" Alice asked as she took a sip from her tea cup.
"You could say that," the water fae acknowledged the interruption before continuing. "Shirou, how exactly did the art you used on Lord Riviere work?"
"It's easy. Spring…," Shirou paused to consider what he said carefully. Nuance was important, and he had trouble conveying what he wanted in his native tongue, much less in his second language. "Think about how a bear hibernates during the winter; they awaken in the spring. I did the same thing to Eliot's empathy. I awakened it from slumber. It's as if I've planted a seed of energizing glamour within his soul. I can do it to anything I know how to."
That description could've gone better. The bear is about the smallest example he could think of. It was better to link it to the world's awakening after winter. The very energy that first sparks all things to life.
"So you can do it to anything that you can do it?" Alice repeated what he said with a little tilt of her head. "That isn't very descriptive."
Shirou crossed his arms and looked away. A few grumbles escaped his lips.
"Then our plan should work," Gyd sighed in relief. She pulled out a page of stickers she had hidden in her dress sleeve. Shirou could feel the glamour held within. "Take this dross. When you put a sticker on yourself, you will gain its glamour."
The changeling and looked at it. The stickers featured cute animals, including a rabbit. "What am I going to use it for?"
"Changeling souls slumber in their human bodies until awoken. Those with the sharpest eyes can use their Fae sight to identify those slumbering within their human selves. Flooding them with glamour is one way to help a changeling on the precipice of the chrysalis. It gives them the last push they need to go through the Dream Dance. If the glamour was instead meant to awaken them, perhaps it could be done on those that would never emerge in this life?"
Shirou looked into his hands as he considered it. He didn't know if it would work, but if it gave him an opportunity to help others, he'd do it. He needed to put the spell in something like he did for his healing stuff in the past since that was way easier, and he didn't know how to use cantrips on humans or slumbering changelings. There was one thing he needed to ask before he got onto that. "Why are we doing this? I don't get how it'll help with Eliot."
"Lord Riviere is here to deal with this area's problems. If our plan works, it will reflect very well on us… especially now," Gyd whispered the last part so quietly Shirou could barely hear it. "He can claim credit for the emergence of changelings, and we'll likely leave to bra- report his success to King Shail."
"Question!" Nursery Rhyme raised her hand. "What if something unexpected or bad happens?"
"Then we will handle it when it happens," Gyd answered, miming a gesture to reinforce it.
"Alice might be right," Shirou admitted despite that. He didn't want to hurt people. Doing something to Eliot's soul was a mistake. He needed to be careful not to repeat it.
"Shirou, I understand your fear. You're worried about someone getting hurt," Gyd started as she turned toward him. Her expression was unchanging. "But you can't help anyone without taking risks. And have no doubt, you are helping not only those who will receive your magic but the entirety of our changeling community. You want to help us, correct?"
Shirou nodded, his hands turning into fists as he looked into Gyd's eyes.
"Will you help us?" Gyd asked once again, a small smile on her face.
"Yes," Shirou agreed without any more resistance. His concerns were utterly forgotten, washed away by someone asking him for help. His fae soul was filled with glee at the prospect of helping someone he cared about and strangers simultaneously. What more could a hero ask for?
The clouds blocked the noon sun from Calais. Cars drove down the city's streets as people flowed through them. They all blurred into one mass that could be called the city, or it would be more correct to call them its blood.
A set of pupilless eyes watched them, their owner watching them from a broken bench. It shook with every movement, sometimes calling the attention of the most inquisitive among the ordinary folks. The changeling ignored the way they all looked away before they could even notice his pointy ears.
This was the third spot he'd stopped at, yet he still hadn't spotted a single slumbering changeling yet. Still, he got the strange feeling this was where he needed to be.
He was wearing a different hoodie. This one was a Star Wars one with a picture of the Jedi and Sith from the recent movie fighting. In his pocket was a ziplock bag with a few tiny cookies, within which he'd placed his spell. They were overflowing with glamour that he'd used to strengthen the cantrip.
He just needed to find someone to give one to and identify them. Gyd didn't have good enough eyes to see the fairy souls of those pre-chrysalis, so she had no idea what he should be looking for. The five-headed birds sitting on the nearby roofs had about the same level of knowledge they did.
It would take another thirty minutes, but Shirou thought he saw someone that might be who they were looking for. It was a man in his mid-to-late 20s with brown hair and green eyes. In his body, Shirou could sense flashes of glamour. He could see the smallest trickles of it appear from within the cold flesh, golden against darkness. There was a vague understanding in the back of his mind that this man was one of those changelings who would never go through the Dream Dance.
In other words, he was the perfect target for his help.
The man passed by Shirou. His old tennis shoes looked worn out and ragged. They were also a size too big, looking like they were about to slip off his feet at any given moment.
Shirou stood up and followed him from a ways behind. He did his best to do what he thought his old man would. He slouched over a bit and pulled his jacket hood over his head, though he had to take a few extra moments to stuff some of his crimson hair back into it. The changeling had to speed up his walking since his target got a little ahead of him while he was fixing that.
The number of people walking on the sidewalks evaporated as they went more and more off the major paths. Eventually, it was just the two of them. Shirou had to stay way far back to make sure he wasn't spotted, but now was his chance to strike!
"Hey! Mister!" the changeling called out after removing one of the cookies from his bag and putting it back in his jacket. He ran toward the man, who stopped to look at him. His rapid steps were the only sound on this barren street. A small park stood by, looking abandoned by all who once cared for it. "Here! Have this, it's important."
Shirou stopped in front of the poorly dressed man and handed him the cookie. The man was caught off guard and reacted reflexively. Despite towering over Shirou, the stranger took a step back. Likey for the same reason, all the other humans did the same when they looked into his inhuman eyes. That would change soon enough.
"Why?"
"Why what?" Shiiru asked.
"Why are you giving me a… cookie? "Do I know your parents or something?" the man asked, frowning.
"No, I'm just helping," the changeling answered with a serious expression. He decided that now was the time to imitate Kiritsugu further and disappear. That is what all cool heroes do when they're not needed. Shirou likes to think that all those times Kiritsugu disappeared were because he was helping people in need, and he understood his son was big enough to handle himself.
Turning around, Shirou ran off without further ado. He needed to get back to his spot to see if he could find any other of his kind that needed help!
The confused man stared blankly at the back of the bizarre child. He had a cookie in his hand as he identified the back of the child's jacket as being related to Star Wars. It was something normal that pulled him out of absurdity. It was the only thing about the person he encountered besides his eyes.
Those eyes were terrible, yet great. His instincts warned him of danger, of something not quite human. Another part of himself, buried so far done he never knew it existed, found itself captivated. Almost nostalgic. Not for the child, but their eyes. Eyes in which the soul enshrined itself for all to see.
The man shook those thoughts away and looked down at the cookie.
His common sense told him not to eat it. It could be poisoned or have blades in it. There could be some other trick or scam…
Why would someone bother doing that to nobody like him? He owed the bank a lot of money, but they wouldn't kill him for it. They couldn't hound him for the rest of his life if they, or try to enslave him…
Perhaps he'd been alone so long he'd grown cynical and couldn't accept someone was just trying to be nice.
Looking at the cookie, the man sighed as he walked to the nearby park and sat down on the bench. His stomach growled as he looked around. There were slides and swings meant for children, but they were rusty. His eyes linger on them for quite a while
He could still remember how he used to want to play with other kids when he was little. He never could work up the courage to seek out friends. Scared of rejection and knowing they already didn't like him.
The man brought the cookie up to his mouth, hesitating one final time before biting into it. He started chewing it slowly, but his mouth began to move faster and faster.
His mind didn't even realize it lost the ability to think. His body was overflowing with energy that was foreign to him, unknown. Yet, it reached out to something inside him – no, it was him! Was the same as the cookie power!
The world around him began to quiver and turn. Changing into new patterns and colors. His breathing grew rapid as if something was about to burst inside him.
His skin wasn't his skin.
The man was trapped in himself. The man was twisted by something. Twisting. Twisted.
He needed more. A laugh escaped his mouth. His hand flew into his mouth, jamming the cookie down his throat. That it now seemed to glow made his laughter break into a fit of hysteria. Interlaced with it were coughs as he struggled to hold back vomit.
Collapsing on the ground, he felt dead grass against his flesh. It whispered his fears into his ears. Each blade has a different face and a different fear.
This was wrong! Was this wrong? This was wrong?!
What was wrong? He was? It was? Everything is wrong? Does that make it right?
The shell. It was melting. Stone in lava. Melted.
HAHahha!
Memories flew free. An eternity unleashed. Flowing twisted into reality.
It hurt. It hurt. Hurt. Too cold. Cold. Cold.
Where did he begin? Where did reality end?!
Everything was changing. What was reality again?
The swings were laughing like kids.
It couldn't drown out the grinding sound against his hearing. Horrid laughter came from his own voice, mocking him and a thousand of his lives. The grass cheered him on.
His chest was bursting. The volcano needed to burst. It wasn't time yet! His skin didn't fit!
The heat was welling up in his chest. It needed to get out. He needed his skin to fit right, to morph into what it needed to be.
His nails twisted into claws, craving into his arms. The blood tasted like water. His chest was red now, spilling down his chest. Claws cut the shirt into ribbons. It was soft.
A spider with no eyes spun its webs around his forearms. A hundred more of its kind began to crawl into the cast. Tiny, adventuring into his skin. Bumps were visible under the twisting molten suit, moving all over.
Ah! Ah! Hahaha! He hated spiders! Ahaha!
They feast on blood. That was his!
Two orbs were plucked from his head by his toes. If he couldn't see them, they had no power over him!
He could see more than before—everything overflowing in infinite light cast by finite shadows.
AHAAHAHAHhahahaAHAHaHa
Beautiful! Beautifullllllll!
The young changeling shivered as he felt an explosion of glamour from where he'd been twenty minutes ago. The cookie must've worked.
Gyd said that when changelings go through the Dream Dance, the glamour emitted from the soul can be felt far and wide. He didn't get that feeling when he went through it, which made him briefly wonder where all that extra glamour went. The guy going through it right now made the world warmer through his awakening. Even from far away, Shirou could feel banality peeling back. The chimerical birds flew away or were warped by the torrents of the dance's tune.
It felt like something was wrong in the rhythm…
Two humans down the street from Shirou bumped into each other and started fighting. Their passions stoked beyond rationality. His own might have been as well…
"Hey! Cut it out!" Shirou yelled at the two men as he ran toward them. They were so into beating each other into a bloody pulp that they didn't even hear him. He tried to physically stop them, grabbing one of their arms, only for them to hit him hard enough to knock out a tooth or two. It knocked Shirou down onto the hard pavement.
"We're fighting here," the other shouted and kicked Shirou while he was down. The man didn't hold back. His tough boots felt like they were made of metal as they crashed into the changeling's stomach.
Shirou crumbled to the ground, lying on his side as he coughed. A flash of darkness rose as he briefly thought about what beast humans could be. How easily they fell to their vices without even realizing it.
"I said cut it out!" the heroic childling yelled as he sat back up with a fierce expression. He was already feeling better from the assault and was back in action! Jumping up to stop them again, he was whacked for a second time by the first man in blue. Yet, this time, they both stopped fighting to look at him.
"What the hell? Stay out of our way," the man growled at him.
"No," Shirou definitely rejected their commands with a heroic look in his eyes. One that said it would accept no violence. "Stop fighting!"
"Why do you care?!" the same man asked, less angry now and more confused. The other one looked just as bewildered.
"I don't want people getting hurt," Shirou answered with a confident nod that spoke of a hero's will—one of justice and happiness.
"I- what?" The second guy exclaimed with a step back. His befuddlement changed into something different, more disbelief. Like he was looking at an alien or something. "tsk… you know… the moods gone…"
"Fine… Don't bump into me again," the first man said quickly. Shirou felt pure joy at stopping a fight. Now, no one had to get hurt. "And you – freak eyes – don't be bothering me again."
He kicked Shirou. It hurt.
"Yeah, I can toast to that."
The other man kicked Shirou again, twice as hard as before. It made Shirou feel like he was about to vomit. The changeling knew the pain was but momentary before he healed. It was a price well worth it for his heroic deed. In fact, most heroes pay a far steeper price for their good acts.
He didn't bother paying any more attention to the two men as they walked away.
His attention turned upward as he looked at the power lines. He noticed they'd been transformed to look like veins, and the chimerical birds perched on them had finished being influenced by the Dream Dance. Two of their heads twisted around as their flesh melted together with others of their kin. Their skeletons half fused as the bones ground together. The eyes were length and now were where their necks should be, blinking one after the other.
Shirou swallowed, feeling a bit concerned. His instincts told him he needed to go talk to Gyd now. His other cookie could be spared for after. For now, all that was important was making sure everything was all right.
"Have all of you taken leave of your senses?!" Eliot shouted at everyone fairy in the room – minus the absent Virginie. "What could drive you to such momentous stupidity!"
Shirou frowned as he stood next to Gyd. Neither of them said anything as they were yelled at alongside the others. He kept his attention off the slight unease he felt about the freehold. It was as if the angles in the room were all three degrees off.
Eliot had a TV and was listening to the local news in time to hear of fighting breaking out across parts of the city. This wasn't helped by the freehold getting shaken a bit by the sudden warping of the Dreaming. By the time he and Gyd got to the freehold, Escoffier had already yielded their plan to the old noble.
"Do you not know the consequences of your actions?"
Shirou supposed it was good that the noble was empathizing with others now.
"The Dream Dance is a sacred moment that occurs when the Dreaming wills it. It's your duty to create a land conducive to the Dreaming's will. One where the Dreaming sees it fit to bless its inhabitants with the chrysalis. You should not be trying to outthink your duties."
"Lord Riviere," Escoffier started from his throne, which seemed too big for him. His eyes were steady. "Did my plan not work?"
"WOrK!" The noble shouted, his voice breaking partway through as he began to cough. "You clearly don't perceive the dangers you could have and have called down upon us. They could have been twisted into a Dauntain, a banal changeling seeking to bring us all to ruin! And the tremors of their awakening speak of madness! It is likely chimeras of terrible power were shaped in their dance. Ones lesser than those held at by the gates of King Shail's citadel, yet still might from the fruits of a mad fae's birth."
Shirou flenched slightly. He didn't want any of that to happen. His only goal was to help, but that didn't matter. If his actions got someone hurt, then he needed to take responsibility for it and help out the affected.
The changeling closed his eyes and nodded to himself while Eliot was focused on Escoffier.
"We can handle any chimera before things get out of control," Gérard came to the defense of his lord.
"Things have already gotten out of control," Eliot stopped and looked at the group. His hateful glare lingered on Shirou for a moment longer, but he moved on to more important things. Probably to focus on more pressing matters. His next words focused on the troll. "Furthermore, we must deal with the most assuredly mad changeling. They will be drawn here, for here is the path to the Dreaming. You will be needed here to handle that matter and minimize potential damage. No, the job of handling the chimera shall go to you two."
Shirou nodded as Eliot turned to him, agreeing to the job without needing further explanation. He was on board with tracking them down.
He ignored the look of disgust on Eliot's face. His opinion didn't matter.
Gyd's expression was unreadable as she pushed up her glasses. The two of them would need to talk over how to deal with chimeras, possibly with Alice's help. She was one, right?
The two of them could handle it before anyone else got hurt.
"As for all other matters," Eliot seemed to growl. "Don't think they are forgotten because you made a bigger mess. I am not one to forgive slights.."
Shirou felt a chill go down his spine. They'd handle that, too!
The night was surprisingly warm. Humidity flooded the air. If Candice was a betting woman, she put money on it raining soon.
Walking home alone was dangerous when it stormed. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to care. Her heavy grocery bags were more pressing than some possible storm.
She paused under a streetlight to take a breath. She coughed enough to be concerned. She couldn't afford to be sick… hell, in the morning, she'll have to check her temperate and will take some medicine if she must.
She needed to work, even if it meant others might get sick.
'You never did care for anybody else.'
Jerking up, Candice looked around. She was certain she'd just heard someone say something to her. Their voice was similar to hers.
But there was no one around.
She must be tired. Getting home and eating would help.
Quivering the street light, she slowly walked home. She couldn't gather the will to force herself to walk as fast as she was before.
The final streetlamp before her apartment building started to flicker as she walked past. She could have sworn she heard her footsteps before they hit the ground. But she must've been imagining things since she couldn't see her feet or something. She couldn't think too tired.
Entering her building, she was met with the scent of decay, otherwise known as two-week-old trash. A few black trash bags had been sitting at the entrance for weeks now, but nobody felt like doing anything about them.
'They smell better than you.'
Candice paused at the sound. Had she accidentally said that to herself without thinking? Had she smelt bad? She had been working her standard ten-hour shift, followed by a stop at the store to buy food. That was plenty of time for sweat to make her smell awful. Maybe she should try to fix that? Might putting on more deodorant and perfume work?
The woman sighed, feeling like beating her head against the wall as she walked up the steps to her third-story apartment. The steps were annoyingly small. It was as if they were designed to be difficult to climb. She tripped twice before reaching her floor.
She placed the bag on the ground outside her door. Candice pulled out a large key ring. The sound of dozens of keys banging together gave her a headache. She chose one at random to sling into her door.
It was the wrong key. Taking a breath, she calmed down and tried to pick out the right key. Too bad they were all identical! That was why she never bothered to throw any away; she didn't know which ones she needed to throw away. It was awful.
Sighing, she managed to find the correct key. It was the last one she tried.
Restraining herself from banging her head against the door and crying, she placed her keys into her pockets. She picked up her steadily warming groceries. Candice entered her apartment with an exhausted shake of her head. She accidentally slammed the door behind her. The turning of the locks and engagement of the deadbolt followed right after.
'That's enough to get you down? You're such a crybaby.'
A shiver sprinted down her spine at her intrusive thought. It felt like it was her voice whispering in her ear rather than inside her head. What it said… it was probably right. She was being dramatic again, just like her father always told her she was.
Candice walked to her kitchen and put up her groceries. A table in the corner had a pile of envelopes. They were mostly bills and scam letters. Looking at them was a struggle. It made her want to never look at her mail again. Someone had to be intentionally staggering her bills just to mess up her day. Couldn't there just be one day she didn't have to open up her mail and get hit with them?
After putting away her cold stuff, she pulled out a cup of ramen noodles from the last remaining grocery bag. Slower than usual, she began to make them. The taunting voice of her inner self returned as she closed the microwave door.
'Ever the lazy? Or are you too incompetent to cook?'
Her hand held on to the microwave's handle before moving to start it. Candice's eyes were drawn to the bills, enticed by some dark voice in the back of her. She didn't want to look at them, not one bit. But she couldn't stop herself from walking over to them. She opened them, one after the other. She looked at the payments due, converting the numbers into hours worked – hours of her life wasted away into nothingness. The seven-day workweek she'd had without a break for two years at this point, all to stay afloat.
'If you were better with money or your job, you wouldn't have to live like this. You aren't good enough to deserve a better life.'
The microwave went off, startling her. Candice rubbed tears from her eyes as she went to grab her food. Her breathing was quick, unsteady, and harsh. Leaning on the microwave, she took a few moments to steady herself. But she managed to steady it.
It hurt.
Her soul.
With her ramen in shaky hands, she made her way to her counter and turned on the TV. She moved the ramen noodle cups from the last few days to the side as she flipped to the news. She'd throw the old cups away tomorrow morning.
'You never will.'
She turned up the TV's volume. She tried to lose herself in the reports. Finding some sort of solace in them.
"This just in; polls show that 50% of people support the creation of a theoretical cryptocurrency idea that ties electronic tok… 'tokens' to the environment. Cryptocurrency is a revolutionary new idea that stumbled after the original idea to try and mimic gold prices failed. A young team on the bleeding edge of technology – backed by one of our station's very own prestigious owners – has come up with a plan to succeed where the gold failed.
This is by having their computer create what is called a 'token' that corresponds to the amount of electricity directed into their software over a certain amount of time. The more energy used, the more 'token' is made.
The underlying thesis is that this will encourage consumers to purchase many computers and use lots of electricity to generate as many of this 'token' as possible. An inspiring goal that helps create jobs.
Its scarcity – cleverly – is tied to the environment. This process limits the amount of 'token' that can be made. Once the environmental damage reaches the point of instability, electricity will become a scarce necessity. This limits the creation of more 'token', thereby causing the value of already made tokens to skyrocket. Estimates conclude it could be worth billions to earlier investors as the more consumers are driven to this system, the faster environmental collapse will come.
In other words, those who adopt this technology earlier will have more time to accrue their future wealth.
This technology is a few years away, but we recommend investing …"
Candice changed the channel to a different news station, unable to listen to the other one any longer.
'You can't hide from it. The world is doomed, and there is nothing you can do about it.'
She tried to turn the volume up once again.
"Breaking news from North America. A national debate has been sparked over the banning of fire alarms. This follows yesterday's mass shooting at Wicker Elementary, where the gunman – seventeen-year-old Simeon York, a former student of the school – pulled the fire alarm and forced an evacuation onto the nearby football field where he shot at his targets with several automatic weapons he'd bought or been given as gifts.
It should be noted that – thankfully- no first responders were injured, as Simeon York had run out of bullets by the time they arrived. They bravely shot down the man without any issue.
It is thought that York may have had other guns similar to police weaponry, as several passing cars were filled with bullets matching those used by the police. There is an ongoing investigation as to where they hid it.
This has brought the necessity of fire alarms to the forefront of the United State's national debate. Proponents claim that they are a vital part of ensuring the student body's safety – with some on the more radical end blaming guns and calling for them to be banned. Critics argue that students should be able to detect any fires and evacuate before it is too late, without relying on fire alarms. They also highlight the high cost of installing fire safety systems in schools during construction and the time wasted on fire safety drills that could be better spent on productive activities. They also view the calls of the pro-fire alarm side to pay attention to student safety as hypocritical after yesterday's event.
These are very important points for Wicker Elementary, as the California school was caught in a wildfire last night…"
Candice didn't hear her own voice mock her this time. It didn't need to, as she felt worse and worse. She felt so very tired of trying.
She changed the channel one final time, hoping to find some good news anywhere.
"Scientists estimate whales will be hunted to extinction within the next 100 years…"
Candice turned off the TV without listening to anything else. Her half-eaten ramen was cold before her.
'This world is hell, but you have one escape.'
The woman struggled, quivering as she felt her heart and soul being torn apart. It hurt. Hurt. So tired, so tired.
She cried as she went to the bathroom. One thing that always made her feel better was bathing and grooming herself. There was nothing else in the world she could do to make her life better. Nothing else she had control over. It was her one comfort in this world, staring at herself in the mirror and seeing that she'd managed to appear beautiful through her efforts.
When Candice entered the bathroom, the first thing she did was look in the mirror.
Her reflection was staring at her.
And she trembled as she felt like she was seeing everything physically awful with herself. Her small overbite, a knot in her hair, and her slightly too-large forehead. It felt like it was all thrown in her face as she stared at her reflection. Its breathing always seemed to come one second after her own.
'You hide your true awful self. Everyone can see it? Don't you remember what they said?'
Candice crumbled as she felt like her own safe place was ripped from under her. Awful memories of being bullied or insulted by dates made her collapse.
'You can still escape this world, you know how. You've tried before but failed at that like she failed at everything.'
Candice cried.
Candice didn't go to work in the morning. She never went to work again.
Changeling Codex 8 – Chimera:
Chimera is among the broadest terms changeling's use for many things. It is a term meant for anything whose origin is the Dreaming or glamour. This can range from clothing to living organisms.
The most common type of chimera is the inanimate chimera. This is essentially a category comprised of things like spider webs, silver, or a building in the Dreaming. A majority of these are created by the small thoughts in the minds of living things. Things like wishing they had a spoon or glass of water. These tend to dissipate into nothingness a few moments after their creation. More unique are inanimate chimeras formed from grand acts of creativity and focus. These are works of art or feats of architecture that can last defiantly in the Dreaming, powered by the emotions that were used to create their real-world counterparts. They are the embodiment of what the creator wanted to make, even if reality prevents them from fulfilling that Dream.
That said, I have found that an easy way to identify the quality of inanimate chimera is where they're found. Those found in the real world are bound to be destroyed by banality in short order. Those found in the Dreaming are stronger and richer existences, but they will still eventually break down under the grip of banality. They are especially at risk if placed near someone full of banality, as all are. Mostly.
These chimeras can be worked on to create chimerical ideas that aid them. The results of crafting the basic materials of the Dreaming are either crafted chimera or forged chimera. The former are simple things like creating a sword that is vulnerable to banality. The latter can only be made by knockers and are capable of persevering through the cold grasp of 'reality.' These forged chimeras are used for important things like tanks or war balloons, but they still pose risks if banal humans see them in use. Banality will actively crush them if any of its children 'see' us using them to do impossible things.
The other type is animate chimeras, which come in many different forms that any scholar of fae lore should be familiar with.
Animate Chimera:
The answer most of our childling-kin may give when asked what these are is 'friend.' They are the chimera that have life or the appearance of it. Many childlings have cried when wilders and grumps explained to them that their imaginary friend isn't a sentient being – firstly, when we try to explain to them what 'sentience' is calmly, and they start acting up when they don't get it – but instead a robot devoid of emotion or intelligence.
It can be challenging to determine if a chimera possesses sentience or not, just as it is difficult to discern whether they are on our side or not. One must not fall into the assumption that all chimeras align with our interests.
Nonsentient Chimera:
These chimeras don't think or have any form of real intelligence. They are props following a certain set of reactions to stimuli. They don't have the will to do anything else.
The easiest way I've seen used to identify a nonsentient chimera is to have a chimera repeat the same action many times over. If they repeat the same way each time and don't have visible unique reactions to the request, they likely aren't sentient. I have heard some changelings can identify them by sight, but I've never been able to.
There is scholarly debate over whether we should be categorizing these chimera like this for study or if we're falling into banality's hands by trying to box our world into categories. I'm not sure if it's true, but perhaps there's something we've lost along the way. Something we had as childlings that we can't even remember…
Sentient Chimera:
These are the chimera that can think and have a will of their own. They are born only of kithain and the least banal of mortals. They are difficult and costly to create in this Autumn era, meaning most of these are the result of a Kithain's chrysalis or accident.
All of us have gone through the dream dance. The sensations and power that flow through our veins are like nothing else as our minds are cracked open for the first time. The sheer power we wield at that moment often leads to the creation of sentient chimeras that reflect aspects of our inner psyche.
They can be one's greatest friend or their greatest enemy. There are dark chimeras in this world, born from the mind's darkest shadows.
Nocnitsa:
Named after creatures of nightmare from Slavic folklore, but not to be confused with them. These are the most dangerous of all chimeras. They are to our chimera what we are to the dark ones or the Fomorians to the Tuatha de Danaan.
They are the chimera born of our inner nightmares. They bring terror and fright to all they encounter.
Fortunately for our mortal charges, they are like all other chimeras in that they can't typically interact with the Autumn world. Sadly, more than a few of kin have turned to banality to crush them from existence, damning themselves in the process.
Chimera aligned with us are kids' imaginary friends or playmates and are sometimes the voices in the heads of creative adults they bounce ideas off of. Nocnitsa targets those they can, knowing that they can interact with low-banality humans and exploit that to their own ends. Sometimes, it is petty things like playing on a child's fear of getting in trouble by framing them for things they didn't do unless they obeyed the monster's commands. Other times, it is much more horrifying. A sickly child fearing their own death may cursed with near-fatal illnesses by a plague chimera. Another may find it impossible to swim upwards and catch their breath, held under the surface by the magic of a Nocnitsa's foul power.
The most intelligent of them know they can't interact with the world in the presence of a banal person and without the belief of a dreamer. Thus, they target the minds of banal people rather than the world around them. Their closed-off minds mean they right off anything supernatural until it is too late. They write off the whispers of the Nocnitsa and the nightmares they cause to the mortal as part of the normal world. They instead deny good but never question evil.
Connecting to the souls of their target, they induce nightmares in these people, finding it the most dangerous game to do such to banal humans. It is a mark of honor for them to drive one such person into the throes of darkness. Yet, the most honored are those who drive banal humans into realizing their existence, thereby getting a small foothold into this world. Such a foothold only exists when the person is alone, but the nightmare-kin prefers it that way.
It prevents their toys from getting help. I have heard of those who have tried, humans pleading for someone to save them from the monster under their bed.
No one ever believes them.
Nervosa:
Chimera bred of madness. Their forms range from outwardly human to eldritch existences capable of driving a moral to a befitting madness. Rarer still are those with shifting forms, and even rarer are those with no form to speak of.
They can be friendly or dangerous depending on the situation and what form of madness they were born from. For example, someone born with germaphobia may help clean an area, but one must be careful not to make it seem like something to be cleaned.
Others are far more dangerous, such as the Mirror Nervosa. These are born of the madness of self-hatred. That seemingly unbeatable aspect of sentience drives humans to fixate on perceived weaknesses and anxieties. The one that destroys any achievement to replace it with the sorrow of how much you could've been. Mirror Nervosa personifies these vulnerabilities in the human soul. No matter how strong one is, their mere presence is enough to chip even the most shielded of hearts.
Thankfully, like most chimeras, a majority of these are weaker than our glorious kind. Chimeras lack the human bodies to protect them from winter. In my opinion, they can only temporarily exist in this world due to humanity's acceptance of imaginary friends and not being actively denied like our kind are. Further, they lack a soul as we Fae define ours and are meant to exist as side characters to our own stories.
There may be a couple of exceptions, and many have esoteric powers separate from our own arts, but I'm sure any kithain worth their salt can beat even the strongest chimera. Especially the dragons. Or the Bunny Man.
Changeling Codex 9 – The Dauntain:
The Dauntain are the damned traitors to our kind. Weak-willed fools that serve, whether knowingly or unknowingly, banality.
Suffer not the Dauntain taint.
Many changelings have different opinions about them. They are a struggle to understand.
As Fae, we can understand nightmares. The Dark. The Thallain. The Adhene. The Fomorians. They are our anthesis. They are fear; we are hope. They are agony; we are jubilation. They are evil; we are good.
The Dauntain violate this long-understood duality. Both sides of the war for the dreams of this world have unyielding spirits for good and for ill. Yet, the Dauntain deny both and leave the world without a soul.
Know that I do not write this lightly when I say I would sooner live in a world held by our ancestral enemies than one in which its spirit has been smothered.
Yet, somehow, some fools believe they are the hope for the future. They are how our kind will survive the coming winter – by betraying all we stood for and bowing to banality. Those fools often become Dauntain if they aren't undone before that can happen.
How one becomes a Dauntain is not truly understood, as are the effects it has on a Fae soul. The best we have managed to do is create categories of the betrayers analogous to our kiths. These were developed by brave kithain scholars to better understand our new foe. However, where kiths are a means of familial connection between those with similar dreams, many of the Dauntain hold no tolerance for those similar to themselves. Perhaps because they, too, despise themselves.
The Typhoid:
Let us begin by discussing the only pitiable breed of Dauntain. The Typhoid were normal kithain that were twisted into servants of banality by the actions of others. They had no chance to resist as their soul was flooded by banality, yet often, they, alone among their kind, struggled to regain what was stolen from them. In doing so, they curse more of our kin to their fate.
A majority of these are kithain bound by the blood of kindred. It matters not whether they have gone through the dream dance or not, for all our kind are equally bound by the curse within vampiric blood.
Ghouls are bound to their masters through the blood they drink. They fall in love with their masters, being willing to do anything for their sake as long as the blood bond keeps their hearts entrapped.
Many of our kind become undone through the banality held with vampiric blood – besides for that of our Malkavians, though you still will be bond if you drink their blood. Our unchanging cousins are truly cursed, for even their blood tells of their inability to change or make new things.
Those who don't come undone or – more often – go through the dream dance while bound to a kindred find their very souls seeped in banality. It operates like a virus, growing in their souls. Yet, their spirit refuses to be ignored, or perhaps it doesn't want to be smothered alone.
They cry out, sharing their pain for all to hear.
The hearts of our kind are open to one another. Banality uses this against us, spreading from changeling to changeling. A single typhoid can lay low an entire freehold by accident if people mistake the banality cursing through their veins as signs of being nearly undone rather than those of a virus.
A key difference between the two is that banality beats down on our souls, freezing us until we forget who we are and are undone. The curse of typhoids is banality entering the fae's heart rather than beating it down or festering in their mortal soul.
It is an internal threat until it can be cured or all the infected or dead.
The infected take on physical traits of the source of the banality. For example, they may gain a vampire's pale skin or fangs. If something else were able to infect a fae soul – like, say, a wolf – they would take on the traits of a wolf or whatever infected them. My speculation is that this is the result of one's fae soul being forcibly changed by the banality of a foreign being. Their fairy halves are forced to take on the 'normal' traits of the infector. This has no evidence, and I refuse to risk my life interacting with a typhoid or anyone who has.
While I did say these are the only pitiable group of kithain, such a claim only applies to them as a group. There are some horrific monsters among their number.
The most infamous of these – and perhaps all Dauntain – is the Lord of Foulness Lhandrem. Fearing death, he made a deal with a vampire mage to become a ghoul. His people revolted as he ignored the land until it fell in disarray, only to return a blight upon the world. The Sidhe slaughtered them all to the last. His hatred for our kind grew in step with his desire for immortality.
Lhandrem hunts and kills our kin with ruthless vigor. He spreads his virus through changeling communities and uses then uses his vampiric powers to exterminate them in their sickly states. Through this, he is said to have single-handedly killed more of kithain than all other Dauntain combined.
The last anyone heard of him, he was spotted heading for Egypt. I heard rumors that he'd learned of a path to immortality within those ancient lands and sought to claim it for his own.
I hope he gets sand in his mouth and chokes on it.
Nihilist:
They are similar to typhoids in that they are a banality hazard for all around them. Their powers are driven by their nihilism. They see no point in this world. To them, life has no meaning. No purpose to the suffering and tribulations of life. They wish for nothing more than nothing – the sole emotion they feel for most of their gray days.
These fallen changelings drain the world around them of emotion. Glamour is removed from the world, leaving nothingness in its place. Areas around them are drained of all color and life. Changelings caught in their Dauntain aura are at risk of being drained of glamour and being undone. Chimeras are dissolved as their existence is undone.
As befitting persons who see no point in doing anything, they aren't an active threat. They have no motivation to do anything, but they still fail to live up to their duties as changelings. Moreover, their draining bubbles can grow to be quite large, sucking the joy out of entire chunks of a city. The number of bystanders affected may even surpass those infected by typhoids because they aren't limited to changelings.
Humans, changelings, nature, civilization, all things have their joy equally stolen away by the weeping despair of the Nihilist.
Apostates:
These are the most disgusting Dauntain. They are changelings that believe this world is lost to banality, yet we'll find ourselves back in Arcadia through its cold embrace.
To them, banality doesn't steal away the warmth of glamour. It instead repairs it from this reality, forcing it back to the Dreaming where it belongs. They truly believe that this reality – in its natural state – is one without hope or spirit.
Reportedly, there are variations among the beliefs of these Dauntain. In other words, don't try to assume the beliefs of one of them based on the actions of another unless you know they are part of the same group.
Their goal for our kind is unified.
That is for all our kind to die by cold iron.
Even writing that down sends chills down my spine.
We all know that cold iron embodies banality – the deadliest and foulest creation of man that can destroy our very souls. Yet, remember, they foolishly believe banality will return them to the Dreaming. They think that killing ourselves with cold iron is the only method by which we can expose ourselves to enough banality to escape this world.
They've clearly been driven mad by banality, acting on its behalf to stamp us out with a smile on their faces.
They've clearly been driven mad by
The less dangerous Apostates are those that simply go around destroying glamour. This is mysterious and unthinkable, but we can defend against it. Furthermore, they are easy to identify as they reak of twisted banality.
The most dangerous are those like Terrence Devereaux.
He is a well-known Apostate infamous for his charisma. With his words alone, he is said to have rallied changelings worldwide to his cause. Rumor claims he is preparing an army to try and kill as many of our kind as possible in a bloody crusade. Nobody can track him down, as he always disappears before being caught.
The saddest tales are of the childlings. Terrance Devereaux is what is known as a 'saint.' His legacy prevents him from intentionally harming others. He instead uses nothing but his words to convert others to his side or to get them to end their own lives via cold iron. Many childlings have been lost to the latter as he plays on their innocence and naivete. They put their faith in the nice Eshu, who simply claims to want to help them. And they do what he says—destroying their dreams for all eternity.
Many speculate that his blood flows strongly with Eshu's birthright. It leads him to be where he needs to be to fulfill his goals and helps him know when he needs to flee.
Information I have gotten from people who lived around where he first went through the chrysalis claim that Terrence Devereaux's goal stems from his dream dance. When he went through it, he was being beaten by his human father. Living a life most would call horrid, he caught a glimpse of Arcadia at that moment. For a few seconds, he was in utopia, surrounded by love and hope, only to be returned to a world with none.
They claim he left his human home and searched for his paradise, never to find it. Learning of the path of the Apostate, he took it as his very own. Seeing it as the only path to escape the hopeless hell of the Autumn World.
The most insidious aspect is one I've only heard once from a friend who spoke with the only member of the cult to flee in the moments before she was undone. Terrance Deveraux doesn't believe in what he preaches. He may stand as a Seelie 'saint,' but underneath that is an Unseelie 'fatalist.' He has no hope in this world. No hope that they may find paradise through banality. If what my friend was told is true, we can only speculate on his true motive. Perhaps he is driven by the hope it is true, even if he doesn't believe it. Or maybe his view of this world as beyond salvation means he is trying to save people from their pain by bringing them to a final death so they don't suffer anymore.
It could be anything, but Terrance is the embodiment of the most dangerous kind of Apostate. The zealots may fight, but the evangelist turns hearts.
Changelings are the greatest in the world. We can win any fight, no matter how impossible it is. Yet, should our spirit be twisted before the dual, we will only know doom.
The Black Magicians:
They are mysterious and dangerous. If the Apostates are dangerous for their words that pull upon all the kithain's wish for a better world, they are dangerous for seeking the power to fulfill their own wishes.
Often, these start with good intentions. Examples could be using banality to eliminate a rampaging chimera or bedlam-ridden fae. From there, most see a slippery slope and grab a sled. They learn to use banality as a weapon, a force they think they can control like a Jedi 'just' testing out the dark side.
Most quickly become beacons of banality, destroying everything glamours around them in a quest for power. They come to hate all in this world and will eliminate any who may have the smallest ability to oppose them.
Banality tends to overtake and claim these diluted magicians quickly, but the damage they cause before it happens can be catastrophic. Some tell stories of Black Magicians fearing the dreams of others and using the power of banality to snuff out the hearts of all around them, changeling and human alike. A city once full of hopes and dreams is reduced to nothing as it dies hopelessly.
All for the Black Magician to lose his own heart as well, undone by the very act meant to secure their power. They become no different from the others they cursed.
Their souls bounded in banality, unable to ever dream again.
The Cursed:
These Dauntain are similar to the Black Magicians. The difference is that they seek vengeance rather than power in itself.
They often, but not always, take the Oath of Undoing. Most oaths are pledged between changelings and the Dreaming. The will of the Dreaming itself ensures they are honored. The Oath of Undoing is different. It is a vow one places between oneself and banality.
It is an oath pledged to eliminate the very soul of another kithain or group of kithain out of vengeance. This oath violates the will of the Dreaming, for we have no right to extinguish the light of another of our kin, especially not in these dark times. Thus, a changeling can use banality in the place of the Dreaming. It boosts them, filling them with the power to stamp out the soul of any of our kin. Yet, it doesn't stop there. Once they have tasted revenge, it doesn't stop there. They will keep using their powers to kill others of our kind until their souls are overcome by banality. No one knows why they do. Perhaps out of revenge for being examples of what they lost? Or maybe they come to view everyone as being targets of their vengeance.
Others of the cursed become what they are by losing their heart to an endless drive for vengeance. A modern legend of this happening is Brand, the Burning Wrath.
He was redcap wilder. He was said to have been bullied in his normal life but found safety among changelings. When a young pooka childling went through the chrysalis, they explored their new surroundings through pranks and jokes. It is speculated that one of the little pooka's pranks went a step too far, and the Burning Wrath murdered them for it. However, he ate the childling's corpse, so the truth of that night is forever unknown to us.
It is said that Brand went mad. The Dreaming punished him for his crime by letting banality tighten its grip around his soul. Yet, in eating the small pooka girl's body, he gained her glamour. Bits of her power and soul were feasted upon by the redcap's insatiable hunger.
The power he gained outweighed the punishment he received. And he is said to have loved the taste of the bunny pooka.
Thus, as if to justify what he would become, he declared that every changeling was out to torment him.
With a cruel vengeance, the teen inflicts his judgment onto any kithain he can get his hands on. Developing a taste for torment, he tortures the kithain in his grasp like he claims they will torment him. He takes slow bites out of them and tortures them to see if they taste good to him yet. Once he thinks they are almost ready, he burns their bodies with his art to cook them, earning him the title of 'the Burning Wrath.' As it said, those flames are infused with his hatred of this world and our kind.
His victims range from all kiths and ages. One story recounts an elderly woman who, in her twilight years, finally awoke to her true self. She was joyfully admitted into the changeling community, happy to have people to talk to in the final years of her human life. Two weeks later, she didn't come to the freehold. The entire community went to search for her, arriving too late as Brand had already eaten most of her body. What remained was the ashen leftovers.
Others tell of his burning hatred for pooka and his wish to exterminate them. One cat, pooka, a tiny five-year-old, is said to have survived his assault because of her twin brother's sacrifice. A dog-pooka with the art of winter, he is said to have frozen her to prevent him from getting to her. Sadly, it said his stasis spell didn't work completely, so his sister was still aware and could see everything that happened.
It is said that Brand has killed over two hundred changelings by now.
The power he gained from eating those innocent people outweighs the punishment inflicted by the Dreaming. From what I hear, the banality still accrues around his soul. At this point, he is a frigid beacon of banality out to crush and devour the dreams of all others until nothing is left.
Sadly, he is, but one example of The Cursed and the path vengeance can lead one down, for it blinds you to the beauty of this world in favor of simply destroying until that is all that is your entire world.
The Lost:
These are changelings that actively deny their fae nature. They reject the idea they are anything other than human beings. In doing so, they let banality pour around their hearts like stone. They actively seek to destroy other changelings, insulting the Dreaming and the world they should be a part of whenever they get the chance. Many think these fools do so out of a twisted vindictiveness. They couldn't handle the real world and retreated into the safety of the Autumn. Now, they want to drag us down with them.
Others think they have no clue what they're doing. They don't realize their mere presence killing the Dreaming around them through sheer disbelief. Their powers as fae to inspire hope and belief in the magic of life inverted into something twisted and cruel.
Either way, being around one of the lost is like being around an Autumn Person. I've experienced it myself, and it was as if I were standing in a blizzard trying to crush me. For a few moments, they even got me to doubt my eyes. They almost got me to think the Dreaming was fake and I was wasting my life in a make-believe world.
As noted, most of these are changelings that rejected their true selves during their dream dance. When they, in the brief moment of endless joy and knowledge, reject their heritage for comfort.
The others are almost always changelings broken by psychologists who want to break them. Mold them into something they're not. The most infamous example is Anton Stark and Katie Denholm. The former is a psychiatrist known for his crusade against our kind. His first patient was a young childling named Katie, whom he broke through a series of drugs, elector shock therapy, and other forms of mental manipulation to drive her into becoming one of The Lost. It is said she is now his apprentice and the pair are striving to make their methods commonplace worldwide.
Some think they, as well as the others, can be saved from their doom. They think we should.
They have kinder hearts than I.
AN:
Thank you for reading. Next chapter, I think I wanna be one of the side story ideas I have. Show off other fate characters in WoD right now. Specifically a certain pair and another.
Also, if anyone knows what the virus spread by the Typhoids cannonically actually does, please tell me. Please leave it in the reviews. Or make on comment on spacebattles. I can't find it anywhere.
Have a great day!