(no subject)

[the_lioness]

The air smells of winter and death. This is her first thought as she moves quietly through the barren trees, the soft crunch of packed snow and the underlying carpet of decaying leaves the only sound in this unsettling landscape. There is no purpose to her presence here, yet she walks on, away from reason.

The beauty of the forest buried in snow can not be denied, but she is convinced that the lack of noise and the way her breath hovers in the air before her will slowly chip away at her sanity. She stops and turns in a circle, her head swiveling this way and that, searching for some sign of life. Alone, the sole living occupant of this sleeping world, she feels hunted.

"Sane, sane, I'm really quite sane," she chants to herself, desperate to break the silence. "Mad. What is that, anyway? Someone with more imagination than most? I am imagining this, surely."

Shivering, she realizes she is standing here, ankle deep in frost, wearing nothing more than one of Coram's long linen shirts.

"Goddess," she mutters, biting back a string of curses. If only she had time to fetch a sweater. But there is no time.

"Time is running out, Lioness. Do not dawdle." A flash of orange, and Roger stands before her, resplendent in purple robes. She hates that they are purple. She hates him, her vision clouding with red. Growling, she digs her nails into her palms and moves to strike him. Her fist passes through his head; a slight pulling sensation not unlike that of dragging a hand through still waters is the only suggestion that there is anything there at all.

"Bastard," she replies.

Roger laughs, his gloved hands holding an ebony box. Her eyes go wide, and she bites her lip mercilessly, reaching for it. It is yet another futile gesture.

"I am dead, my pet, and thus unable to be here. And yet I am. Why is that, do you suppose? What goes on in that red head of yours?" His smile shows far too many teeth, like a wolf. "Ah, but I know. Others know too. You were not thinking of Tortall and duty when you killed me last, were you? You thought nothing of duty and only of Thom. Of your dead brother. Of vengeance."

"Silence," she roars. Her hands shake, her face pales. "Mithros, your questions. Do not presume to know what goes through my head."

"Presumption has nothing to do with it. It is fact." Eyes trained on her face, Roger lowers his head and blows a hot breath across the box, watching the smooth surface fog. It is an oddly seductive motion. "Your dirty little secret, choking you much like the anger currently coursing through your veins. I can see it. Smell it. Fear and anger and duty and love, warring. Who else would you avenge?"

"It was my duty, you insufferably arrogant pig." Snow starts to fall, and she blinks until the snowflakes on her lashes melt.

Roger drops the box. It shatters into tiny shards that resemble black icicles, a bright white light reflecting off the snow and momentarily blinding her. "Yes. That was terribly convenient for you. But now... Save him, if you are able."

Adam. Adam stands several paces away, staring first at his hands, covered in blood, then at her. There are questions in his eyes that she wants to answer, but there is no time. She sucks in a breath, her heart pounding as she croaks, "He does not need me to save him, you fool. Besides, he is naught but an illusion."

"Is that so? Then you won't mind this, I assume." He waves his hand and Demon Gray stands beside Roger, his teeth bared and spittle foaming about his mouth. The wolf glares at her. She glares back, automatically reaching for a sword that isn't there. It is just her, in Coram's worn and patched shirt, and the wolf. Roger vanishes, but his laugh remains. She misses the silence. Even Adam has disappeared, though she hears him calling her name from a distance, his tone both annoyed and worried.

The huge wolf's gaze is faintly mocking as he paws at the ground until he uncovers an apple. It is whole and bright green, the color as alien here as the red of her own hair. Bright colors reminiscent of spring, when the thought of death is far from the minds of the living. A dangerous sound rumbles in Demon Gray's chest as he devours the apple whole and gives her one last look before racing away, leaving no footprints on the new layer of snow.

A challenge. One she must win, at all costs.

Breath lodged in her throat, she gives chase, hunting the wolf that is hunting the illusion of Adam. She tells herself it is just a vision, an image plucked from her brain and used against her. But then she sees Adam to her left, weaving his way through the trees with a carefree smile. He looks happy, and she sniffs, changing course. So does Demon Gray. He veers in Adam's direction, his stride lengthening with an unnatural speed.

"Adam! Run!" She screams, aware of the panic in her voice. There isn't enough time for her to reach him, and she has no weapons. At this moment, she would do anything for a bow and arrow. Adam turns and gives her a lopsided grin, taking a bite of an apple. He waves. "Why won't you RUN? RUN, ADAM!"

He freezes, the apple hovering near his mouth. The wolf leaps for him, and she cries out, but the animal sails through empty space and lands a good distance away. Adam is gone again, his voice ringing out from another direction entirely. Twice as angry now, Demon Gray charges past her, his thick, coarse fur brushing against her leg. Whimpering, she turns and follows, but the cold has turned her feet into nearly useless bricks weighing her down. Tears slip down her cheeks and promptly freeze as she struggles to move faster, slipping between the trees and dodging icy patches. She skids and falls anyway, punching the frozen ground in frustration.

"Trouble?" Lucifer leans lazily against a tree, smoking a cigarette and smirking as only he can. His feet are likewise bare, but his skin is a healthy pink, unlike the blue of her own.

"Yes, damn you. YES. Adam! The wolf... why won't he run?" She blinks, scrambling to her feet. "Why won't anything I kill stay dead?"

Lucifer looks bored. "I saw him wander past not a minute ago. He appeared to be all in one piece."

As the last word passes his lips with a faint hiss, Adam runs by, faltering when he sees his father. He slips, barely staying upright. The wolf is not far behind and gaining speed.

"Why won't you help him?" Even as she asks, she knows better than to expect a worthwhile answer. She bends and scoops up a handful of snow, flinging it in Lucifer's face. It melts instantly. He simply smiles and draws on his cigarette, waving her on. "You are too late, you know. Go. Please, please save my son?" He quirks an eyebrow and starts laughing.

Running once more, she feels her lower body grow increasingly heavy. Glancing down to make sure her feet are still attached, she crashes into Adam. He is real, solid and alive. His hands grip her waist, and he looks at her accusingly. The collision knocks the breath from her lungs, and she gasps his name, face screwed up as she tries to breathe. He frowns, shoving her aside and turning to face the wolf. This time, she is the one to freeze, but not of her own accord. Every muscle locks, her limbs refusing to obey her mental commands. She can not speak, only watch as the wolf comes on, his face a vision of death, of blackness and failure. Her failure.

It is over quickly. Shaking, she regains control of her traitorous body and sinks to her knees. Adam is no longer there, but the blood remains, staining the snow. She cries silently, ignoring the wolf watching her from several yards away.

"Why? Why won't you just fight me? I'm the one you want," she whispers.

"Are you?" Roger asks, his voice light and curious. Never has she hated him more. "I wonder. It might just be part of our dance, Lioness. I find it entertaining."

He moves as swiftly as a cat, pulling her up by the laces on her shirt. She squirms, preparing to battle him to the death. Again.

"Cease your struggles. You can not fight me here." He pulls her forward, eyes an icy blue. Without warning, he tosses her into a tree trunk and holds her there with his hand at her throat. Her limbs are locked again, but she scowls at him with every drop of hatred and fury she can summon. The look in her eyes promises death, and more.

"Yes, that's it. Hold onto that feeling. It is familiar, isn't it? The thirst for blood. Vengeance." His hot breath smells sour and metallic, like blood. "Careful. It is neither noble nor chivalrous to let those you love fall into danger..."

The world spins and goes black, Roger's insane laughter slowly fading. She feels a cold, hard surface pressed to her numb cheek and carefully opens her eyes. It is dark, and she wonders briefly if she has gone blind. Something soft rubs against her leg. Biting her lip, she sits up fast and pulls her legs in, blinking at Myles. Her cat meows and stares curiously at her.

No, not blind. Cold and on the floor, but not blind. Alanna starts to shake again, burying her face in her knees. She sits like that for at least an hour, crying into Coram's shirt. It is not yet the middle of the night, but she stands stiffly and gets dressed, wanting to be anywhere but here. There will be no more sleep this night. Head down, she slips through the bar and out the back door, taking a seat under a tree in the forest. She sits there until dawn, staring sightlessly at the lake.