“In the end it seems we're just toys, easy to break and hard to mend.”

― Mark Lawrence, Prince of Thorns

Vanessa sprang forward and pried apart the fingers of Alyssa’s hand, wincing at the crack of a breaking bone. But she could not be gentle as the girl's death grip on Alea already bruised her slender neck.

Void magic roiled in the air above them, visible to the naked eye.

Mireille who had been quite overwhelmed by the situation now finally came back to her senses and grabbed Alyssa from behind. “That’s Alea! Stop that!” Grunting with exertion she managed to get her captive away from the struggling and coughing Alea.

The scene undulated as if seen in a mirror of liquid silver.

A ghostly Alyssa pushed forward trying to reach for Alea and the body that looked so much like her own.

“I am so sorry this happened to you.” The voice came from behind her, a young woman's voice.

Struggling without any progress and with the distortions growing worse Alyssa let go and was pushed back tumbling and whirling. Strangely she felt no discomfort or nausea.

A girl hung in the darkness regarding her silently. Alyssa had seen her several times now, dreamt of her. She was like a mirror image of herself.

“What...what is this?”

“We are at the threshold of the void. The walls Between are thin here.”

“She, Charys, said I would return?”

“I was not there but if you say so.” The girl looked at the slowly stabilizing scenery. The Alyssa they were seeing was trussed with rope and healing spells flared as her friends tried to mitigate the damage to Alea, Mireille, and Iseret. Alyssa swallowed as she saw the body with her likeness snarl and toss before Vanessa gagged her with a strip of cloth.

“I have to get back there!” She pointed. “Why is my body doing this?”

“You became a naturally occurring undead when you died. No wonder really and now fragments of your personality and soul give this new unliving thing direction and purpose.”

“And what do I do now?”

“Breach the spheres, obviously. You can use breaking the second seal for that. You have no physical presence at the moment.” The edge of her mouth ticked a bit upward at that.

“Why are we speaking like this? The last time you were nearly mute?”

“By taking from you, of course. The longer you remain here, the more we become alike, and in the end, we are as one. That would not be in our best interests, though. Without an anchor, we would be swept into the deepest parts of the maelstrom.” Some slight anxiety was briefly visible in her dark eyes. “I recommend you hurry.”

The Mireille in the picture was screaming at Vanessa, who seemed stoic, but Alyssa had come to know her over the months, and she was not nearly as impassive as she seemed.

Trying and failing to concentrate, she pressed forward without success. Repelled by a film of ‘something’ she flew dangerously close to her doppelganger.

Focusing again and again, she suddenly felt a massive influx of void mana and saw her body draw upon the shadows still pooling on the ground. Using that felt natural even as it seemed to be anything but an oval manifested before her, but instead of darkness, she beheld a much clearer vision of the town and her friends.

“Good luck. And don’t hesitate.” The dark girl behind her murmured just loud enough to hear.

The sounds from outside became clear and with a desperate lunge she spilled into the ‘normal’ world again.

There was only a very short moment where she hung in the air before she was rapidly drawn into her body.

Somewhere in the forest surrounding Volstedt

Mordrak Redfang of the united tribes lifted his head, sniffing the air laden with the reek of decay. Behind him, several dozen trail-runners waited for his orders. Not as disciplined as the soldiers of one of the southern nations, they independently stalked through the night-time woods looking for enemies.

“There are undead ahead. Wait here while I scout the way.” His deep voice growled as he kept the volume low. Waving ahead, he and six others vanished into the darkness.

The trees rose high above them, bare branches covered in snow.

The moon shone from above, intermittently illuminating the dark figures running through the underbrush. The bushes and thorny vines parted with a whisper, closing behind the hulking warriors.

In front of them was a detachment of Nordmark soldiers fighting a rearguard action against a tide of undead clawing and slavering at their heels. As they watched, one of the men slipped and was buried in gleaming bones with only a choked scream to mark his passing.

“Quick. Bring the rest. We will use that distraction to ambush them. The dead will never catch us.” A cruel smile spread on his wolfish features.

“What do we do with her?” Mireille shouted at Vanessa. “We cannot leave her like this!”

“I don’t think there is anything we can do.” The vampire replied softly, nearly a whisper. “That is not Alyssa anymore.”

“Can we not make her one of your sort?”

“No. I cannot. There might be someone who can do that, strike that, there naturally are such mages, but I am not one of them.”

Alea coughed and cleared her throat before walking up to Alyssa, thrashing against her bonds. Cecily skittered across the ground where she had fallen as the bound girl had assaulted her, climbing on her shoulder and lending her its sight.

Calvin stood to the side, gazing suspiciously at the wight that had cleared the wall of Nordmark troops and was in the process of hunting the fleeing survivors. He lifted his arm half-opening his mouth to say something, then closed it again, the arm falling limply at his side.

For a split second, the night deepened, and something brushed across the senses, like a feather made of ice. Then Alyssa’s body contorted, and the bindings groaned as they took the strain before she fell back, still once more.

Vanessa narrowed her eyes and quickly stepped closer. Beginning a spell, she was interrupted as reality distorted, and a calm dusky glow fell on the still body of her bound friend.

The light was gentle, like an evening spent listening to whispering leaves bathed in the fading glory of the dying sun.

And then it was gone.

Alyssa felt as if immersed in a tomb of ice, struggling to form words; she found herself bound and gagged.

“Mmmmmh!”

Then there was the light and a featherlight touch of a cold hand on her brows before she felt the cold separate from her by a tiny margin but enough to gain a bit of sanity.

The broken finger snapped back into place even though Alyssa had not really realized the injury; its absence brought some slight relief.

‘She is back. Quick, release her bonds.’ Asandria’s words echoed strangely, and Alyssa saw the specter more clearly than she ever had. The void energies were also starkly defined against the night sky. A deeper black against the backdrop of the starry heavens.

Vanessa looked at Asandria incredulously, but then one razor-sharp claw of blackened ice formed on her fingertip, and she slashed the cloth gag.

Coughing, Alyssa tried to form words only to find her mouth dry as a desert. It was not uncomfortable, but she could feel her tissue straining, and her muscles seemed more powerful and less sensitive at once.

“Water.” She gasped.

Mireille’s eyes lit with unconcealed joy as she scrabbled for the waterskin at her hip. “You are alive! I knew it!”

Cyrus gave a keening screech and eyed her suspiciously. The formerly lustrous green-brown and black scales seemed to be interspersed with grey.

The waterskin was placed at her mouth, and she took a greedy gulp before noticing that it did not help much. Her hands struggled instinctively to grasp the skin, and suddenly there was a crack as the rope snapped from the unnatural strength brought to bear.

Alyssa and her friends flinched from the sound before the formerly bound girl blinked in embarrassment.

“What the hell?” Mireille, who had been stabilizing her head and holding the waterskin, leaned forward and looked her squarely in the face.

Alyssa gave a tentative smile and then struggled into an upright sitting position brushing away the rest of the broken rope and the cloth scraps of her gag.

“Care to tell us what the hell happened?” Mireille asked not only of Alyssa.

“I think that someone or something intervened in our favor. But if it lasts and if it is to our benefit in the end, I do not know. She is clearly more in possession of herself, and that is at least one positive.” Vanessa took a step back and eyed Asandria with suspicion. The latter raised a spectral eyebrow at the scrutiny.

Swallowing a bit of the water still pooling in her mouth and washing away the remnants of the healing potion that Alea had forced on her, Alyssa raised a hand and said, “I think I’m good for the moment.” The words had a questioning tone but became firm toward the end. “I…I think I did it this time.” Guilt was written on her face. “I could not let you die. I couldn’t. Not while I had the ability to help. And if you…” She nodded at Vanessa. “...were killed it would be all over for us too. So I gambled.” She sighed. With a start, she realized that she did no longer need to breathe. She had forgotten to after her last words and had to consciously inhale to continue talking. The weirdness nearly short-circuited her thoughts before she gathered herself and continued. “There was a vision. I know it sounds pretentious, but I think Charys spoke to me and helped me...to get back.”

Vanessa slowly nodded. “That is not unheard of. And what I know of her could fit. You received a blessing, didn’t you?”

“I wouldn’t know?” Alyssa grimaced. “But I also think that it is likely. I don’t feel nearly as bad as I should, actually. Being dead and all.” She giggled hysterically at that.

“Shh. You are nowhere near dead.” Mireille looked at her reproachfully and hugged her from behind. “Perhaps your condition with the runes and paleness...and the eyes spread a bit. But you are still you, I would know.”

“I…” Alyssa struggled and felt her eyes burn without the ability to shed tears. “Thank you.” She finally finished. “But I think Vanessa is right. The void and that strange red crystal dust killed me. And Charys only made it so that I’m not some slavering, newly-risen undead.” She smiled self-deprecatingly.

“I don’t think you would have become something so simple, but yes, I think that is correct,” Vanessa interjected. She still looked wan and injured even as her most obvious wounds had closed, and the effort to stay on her feet seemed to be draining her. Iseret, who had been quietly standing to the side, guarding them, took a step closer and surreptitiously entwined her arm with Vanessa’s, stabilizing her.

The sounds of distant fighting had been a constant all the while, but slowly the battle seemed to wind down, and it grew quieter.

“So you are like Vanessa? Do you have to drink blood and turn into mist?” Mireille asked, but the cheer injected in her words seemed a bit forced.

Alea put a hand on the red-heads shoulder and shook her head. “Don’t pester her. We have to get to somewhere safer we can’t remain here.”

“I will have to find some more sustenance. And as much as it pains me, I will have to leave for a short while.” Vanessa sighed. “I will be back as soon as possible. But I’m not much use as I am now. Please be careful as long as I’m gone.”

“We take...this house.” Mireille pointed at a large residential building, probably once the home of a well-to-do merchant or craftsman.

Calvin, who had been silent up to now, nodded. “I don’t claim to understand what happened here, but I think we should seek shelter. The cold and our wounds don’t mix well.”

Vanessa gave Iseret one last look, nodded, and then hurried toward the gatehouse vanishing inside using neither magic nor mist to hasten her steps.

In front of the townhouse, Calvin readied his staff, summoning a ball of fire. Iseret shook her head and said, “Wait. I can do it without destroying the door.” Quickly she took out a strip of metal and worked on the lock. A quiet ‘click’ sounded, and the door opened on well-oiled hinges. Inside, the foyer was smelling of old, cold dust, and protective blankets shrouded the furniture. The floor was made of polished stone with inlays of a darker color forming geometric patterns. It was more cramped than a noble’s house, but the inspiration for the décor was obvious. Frowning men and women, some at the desk of their study, some with an ornate cane in front of a landscape, looked down on them from picture frames lining the stairwell to the floor above.

“Good choice if I say so myself.” Mireille looked a bit smug and then turned serious before helping Alyssa inside.

The ground floor should contain a dining room and servant's quarter, kitchen, and the like, so they climbed the stairs and quickly found some guest rooms.

Deciding to rest for the remaining night, the girls and Calvin separated while Iseret went outside to look for Vanessa.

The large canopied bed stood in the center of the room with a wardrobe to the side and a small alcove containing a washing basin and bedpan on the other.

Alea was very quiet and sat on the side of the bed, brushing her hair in an absentminded manner.

Mireille was staring at Alyssa, who tried to comfort Cyrus, who was still very much disturbed. “And?” Mireille finally broke the silence.

“I don’t know. Charys, I truly think it was her, told me her brother Jaros instigated her to help me. And that I could and should end the lich queen. I have no idea how I should accomplish that, and she did not tell me. She told me that she would not truly bring me back to life so as to not ‘cheapen’ my sacrifice.” She gave an unladylike snort. “I could live with…” she began to laugh as she realized what she was saying before breathing deeply and continued, “I would really like to live with not having made a heroic sacrifice.”

“You should have thought of that before doing something so stupid.” Mireille scolded. “Yes, it looked bad, but Calvin had not even come out at this time. There would have been something we could have done other than you killing yourself. Don’t think it’s all on you.”

“Perhaps.” Alyssa slowly felt her neck and cheeks with her hands, looking at her pale, white skin. “It feels as if it does not truly belong to me.”

“I think you are not completely back yet,” Alea spoke up. “I have some notes on soul magic. Perhaps I can help.” She still had her back turned to them while brushing her hair, but Cecily stood on her left shoulder, eyeing them with cold crystal eyes.

“I hope so.” Alyssa let herself fall back into the soft but dusty sheets. Ridges from the brocade cover pressed into her skin, but the feeling was muted, and if she were asked as to the temperature, she would have been stumped. There was also no feeling of fatigue, only a vague sense of exhaustion, of alienation.

Mireille pounced on her, making a hissing Cyrus back off. Grabbing the startled Alyssa, Mireille hugged her desperately. “I’m only glad that you are not dead.”

Patting her friend on the back helplessly, Alyssa smiled a bit. A pair of green eyes flashed on the wardrobe in the darkest corner, and a soft miau reached her ears before the being vanished again with the swish of a dark tail and a soft touch of calming thoughts.

Alea put down the brush and climbed into bed before turning her back on them. “Good night. Try to sleep a bit.” She mumbled.

Alyssa softly disentangled herself from Mireille and removed her bloodied coat and boots before she, too, laid down, intending to sleep before realizing that she no longer felt the need.

Mireille grabbed her as soon as she had gotten comfortable again and did not let go, even while sleeping. Watching fingers of grey light slowly creep along the old, white-washed walls of the room, filtered through the shutters closing off the windows, the dawn gradually overtook the night. She listened to the soft breathing of her friends and felt the deafening silence where her heartbeat used to be. The jewel in her arm prickled like a limb waking, and she felt the energies contained within slowly begin to reintegrate with her being.

Asandria was a pale presence hovering beside the window, seemingly looking outside through the cracks. But that was a talk she did not want to have at the moment.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she remembered the funeral she had attended with Charys and the face of her mother she had long tried to remember. ‘Thank you.’ She thought at the goddess and inanely wondered if that constituted a prayer.

A faint warmth brushed over her skin, and she opened her eyes with a start. It was the first hint of temperature she had felt since waking up in the snow.

A hand made of golden light brushed lightly over her head, the sensation mixing with memories of the distant past and another warm hand warding away her fears.