The little form rested inside her benitoite home, growing and growing, listening quietly to the voices outside. She knew she was next to something, or someone, just like her, as she could sense their glow piercing through the thin shell every time her eyes flickered open in her conception. They were there...and so was this voice, this soft, wonderful voice that whispered to them and told them wonderful things. About him, their father, about their mother who...wasn't there? About her brother who was right next to her. The voice was calm and rumbling and purring and she could feel his warmth through the stone that he gave them both.

As soon as she knew these things, she knew that this is where the story started. Her story. Her father told her and her brother stories, short and brief and wonderfully imaginative as she slept, and her whole world revolved around them. As she slept, she dreamed wonderful, bright dreams of glory and love where everything was perfect.

She was in no hurry to leave this sweet place of dreams and stories and love till she felt too tight inside her bright home, and her shoulders and legs were curled up uncomfortably tight. It was time to wake up, she knew, time to come away and start. She pushed against the walls, her eye half-lidded, blinking through the fluid, and she pushed and pushed until the walls gave way and she took a sweet breath of cold air.

She blinked and coughed and looked around the small little cave room.

Heartbeats and soft words cradled him just as much as the benitoite shell, and he smiled inside his egg, curled up, head tucked between his front legs, overly long ears twitching, cataloguing every word of every story like it was gold, precious, invaluable. The more stories, the more active he grew, aching to press his ear closer to the warm, rumbling voice, closer to both of the foreign heartbeats.

The truth of some of the tales didn't hit him, not yet, not so young; they stayed foggy and mysterious, some undiscovered adventure that had yet to begin. But he knew he had a father, the one with the gentle words, and a sister, her heartbeat strong and echoing through the amniotic fluid that filled his oceanic-blue egg. Worming about, his hooves tapping on the thick gemstone walls, the unborn babe gathered all his strength, and tried to push up and out, get even closer to the voice and the pulse.

A loud crack! hit his ears, and he shied away, a frightened mewl muted by the watery substance that had kept him sustained. Golden eye wide, he watched as a shard of light pierced the shell, and flinched back when it grew. A chunk of the chrysalis slowly broke away, falling to the floor with a thump and a rattle, but while the fluid of the egg drained, the tiny buck stayed curled up inside, shivering, velvety ears flicked back and staring anxiously out into the world. Curious but stilled by fear of the unknown, he let out a shaky bleat, one ear pitching forward to search for the heart of his sister and the voice of his father.

He almost wished that it was still snowing. The snow had stopped a few days ago, and cool white slathered the slick stone of the waterfall room, yet to melt in the ever chilled atmosphere. Sometimes he visited the patches of snow, leaving his pawprints in the gentle ballooned surface of the snow, early in its melt. It was still moist and icy, but the moisture had begun to seep further in, releasing air from its pockets to form a tough shell that kept its innards still fresh. He liked to feel the cold of it on his skin and remember the wedding; when it was still snowing, it was easier. He almost wished that he had magic that could make it snow, or feel more magical the way Clover had been able to make her stories feel real with light. But he could do no such thing; his magic only permitted him to shake the ground, make shiny rocks and listen to memories he'd heard over and over again.

The cat was sitting at the entrance of the den, watching, imagining those snowflakes twisting through the air and landing on his nose. There were gentle gusts of air churning from the waterfall, crawling across the ground and playing with his wiry fur that he could pretend belonged to someone else, and he listened to the gembounds of Maji Walezi slowly go about their business, speaking to one another and walking their worn paths. His mind was ebbing away to memories again when he heard the first crack. The sound broke the silence, that of a jewel cleaved from its base - his benitoite cracking, falling to the ground - his eyes widened, and he was left only for his spine to stiffen, startled by the noise.

Until it slowly dawned on him what was happening. He heard the rock crackle, more of its surface peeling, clattering away, a new life breathed into the air. That smell was fresh and bittersweet, floral and ambrosiac and familiar all the same. Bartos slowly turned, and there he could see the cream catdeer unfold its long, gangly limbs, revealing itself from the remains of the benitoite. Only a couple seconds after, the twin chrysalis broke apart and a second had emerged, almost identical to the first. Bartos was left stunned and stricken, until the boy had mewled helplessly and then his instincts all came rushing in. He blinked rapidly, trying to rid himself of the tears that threatened his eyes, and limped towards the two, reclining before them and pulling them closer with his paws. Close as he could get, at least; though they were young, the babies must have been at least half his size already, and he tried his best to provide a heat source for the two, a gentle and soft barricade from the rest of the world. "You're here... you're here..." He stumbled, still dumb struck, blue eyes washing over the two in awe. "You look so much like her..."

But they weren't her.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting this whole time. There was no way it would be her; instead, what came was both of them, a pair of creatures made of both himself and her, and he supposed that it was better that way, because they were more an artifact of their love than the skeleton of her. "I-I love you so much." He quaked quietly, without any idea of what to do beyond embrace them.

She blinked and mewled just a little at the turn of events, watching as her brother peered out of his shell, so similar to hers, his looks so similar to herself.

Was he....her? He looked the same, had the same dazed look on his face, had emerged at the same time, had the same cream colored fur that she could see on her own limbs. But that wasn't the case, she thought. She didn't see out of his eye, she saw out of hers. So they were the same, but separate. That made sense to her. That was the way it should be.

Then the owner of the voice moved over to them both, collecting the two of them in an embrace against the cold air, saying that they were here, they were here, and that he loved them. She smiled, and rubbed her forehead against the hug.

She already knew that the voice loved them both. But now she could see for herself who it was that loved them, and she purred. The beautiful bright blue gem in her eye socket flickered with a golden inner light, and suddenly her whole body was bathed in a soft, warm glow as she smiled into her father's fur.

He blinked in the dim light, golden gaze slowly roving around the room, finally gathering his courage to slowly, shakily pull himself out of the remains of his sea-blue chrysalis, bleating in surprise at the image of another. His sister, she had to be, and the little buck's fluffy tail wagged from side to side happily, ears beginning to relax, too long and floppy to stand up on their own, curling down from the top. She was looking back at him, and he shrunk back a bit from the examination, letting out a startled mewl when a shadow fell over the both of them.

But the shadow had his father's voice, and his head turned to greet the cat, a low, quiet rumble of a strange purr starting up in his chest. This was the voice that had comforted him in the egg, told him stories about heroes and villains and romance and adventure, and slowly, he relaxed under the weight of that knowledge, blinking in surprise when his sister seemingly began to glow from her own happiness. All he knew was that the word - love - that was important, a gift. He couldn't return it verbally yet, only managing to push his forehead into Bartos' chest are let out a rumbling, purring bleat.

The broken-off shard of his chrysalis lay by his back hoof, and with a move of more instinct than skill, he moved to tap at it. The benitoite gemstone that had replaced his left eye sparkled and shimmered with a glow of aquamarine, and the chunk of egg began to glow. He blinked, turning his head from his father to stare at it, hesitantly reaching out a front hoof to nudge it before slowly batting it closer to the cat himself, leaving it by his paw with a pleased mewl, tiny nubbins of horns tapping against his unharmed front leg.

All at once, he was feeling all three of them.

Four of them.

Her voice had pierced the veil, cutting through the cloud of emotion that strangled him. Her voice, above everything else, her voice, from the darkness - like a tiny, hopeful light in the night, searching among the trees. He choked as it resonated in the back of his mind, falling forward into the two catdeer; not into them, but more relishing their warmth, wishing to sink into them and disappear. She haunted him. At least, in these two lives, she was honest. They were what he had fallen in love with, that light, that hope, that love. And she was out there, somewhere; he believed, he always believed, but through believing he had steeled himself as a skeptic first and foremost. His love was out there, only she was lost in a dark forest, and he could only see fleeting glimpses of her searching light. What would he find, if he ventured into that forest?

No, he was afraid. He stood at the edge, at the line of the shadows cast by the treeline, but he would not set foot. He pushed her voice away, because what he wanted was her in purity, in innocence. He knew that he had called to her... once, twice, so many times, but could he bear it now, to see her in contrast to these children? They were so flawless. They had never done anything wrong, but he saw what darkness immersed in her, and he was afraid. For all the times that he had believed it was still her, he knew he'd been only talking to a wall. And now she was real again, pushing into his thoughts, wanting to be here when it really counted, and he wasn't ready. He was a coward.

Maybe he thought that they could protect him, as he buried his face in their soft, slick fur, plush in that feline aspect and yet so thick with the smell of her. How could he hide behind them? "I don't know if I am ready." He admitted in shameful earnest, whispering into their fur. And all at once, they reflected her the same way that he loved, the same way he was afraid; one of them glowed gently, and the other had turned to deliver him a shining rock, and he blinked as he lifted his gaze to his son's gift with a weak smile. "I love you so much. I love you so, so, so, so much." His voice creaked, and he was afraid, and he couldn't let her in, not yet. He wanted so much to believe it was her. He knew it was. But this love, it obsessed.

For as much as he believed that she was still Clover, just this once, he was afraid that she might not be.

Slowly as he embraced the children, the ground began to rupture. It was gentle, and the least bit frightening, and strangely silent. An elegant facet of cobalt blue parted the ground, and then another, climbing with ease along the lip of the den and from the ground. It pillowed out into the air and glistened in the artificial light, smiling a heavenly dome over those that it protected inside, a thick shield of benitoite that severed him from the rest of the world. He would break it when he was ready. But he was not.

She had just passed through the opening to Pisces, Beast by her side, after they both had gotten away from Vazi safe and sound. The only thing that kept her going was the thought of coming home to Bartos and to the children she'd never seen.

She was full of trembling excitement and nervousness and panic that all broiled together in her belly as she walked, then jaunted, then ran towards Pisces, Beast keeping up with her easily with his bright eyes, and she just couldn't wait to get home to him. She wanted to see Bartos again, needed to see him, the need burning in her heart, and she spoke to him through the link when she got hints that their children were waking up.

What did they look like? Were they lovely, like Bartos? Were they soft and kind and wonderful and open-eyed at the bright new world? She wanted to know if they dreamed while they grew, what they looked like, if they took more after her or her husband, and the more she thought about it, the more her heart sang. She was almost there! her husband, her children, were waiting for her, and all that she had gone through in pushing Belladonna out, all the suffering she went through, every moment in that drowning, screaming sea was all worth it to experience just this anticipation, this wonderful feeling of homecoming. She'd never had a home before, and now....!

She felt something though, through the bond with him that made her pause and falter. She felt him close his eyes and draw their children close and she felt the quiet hurt inside him that told her to stop. He wanted her to come, he wanted to see her too, but he closed the door on her anyway, and it broke the built up anticipation she was feeling like a bullet shattering glass.

She stopped not thirty feet from his front door, staring blindly at nothing, her full attention on their bond. What she saw there was his back turned to her, his eyes closed tight, his teeth clenched, holding onto his children with all he had, his brilliant, wonderful, awe-inspiring magic that once protected her from the jaws of a wolf....now protected him from her.

She couldn't breathe, she just stared dumbly, in a daze, her breathe coming in short, shallow bursts, her body shaking, then trembling.

He was afraid of her. He knew it was her. And he closed the door on her. She leaned her head back, her eyes scrunched up, trying to keep herself from crying but failing, and tears slid down her cheeks. She couldn't cry, she deserved this, she had done countless horrible atrocities in this body she shared, and he was justified in protecting them. Could she really say the same if Bartos was infected with this monster that ruined lives? Would she let him in on the off chance he would keep the disease down?

She tried to reason with her broken heart, but that was like trying to talk a broken window pane into magically fixing itself. Like trying to tell the guillotine to attach the head to its body after it had done its duty.

Slowly, numbly, she walked towards the home Bartos had made, where her kids had slept there, growing silently without her, and she saw the erected barrier that protected them both, and she slumped against it, her pale glow shining through the beautiful blue stone, till she folded her legs underneath her, her cheek leaning against the shield.

Beast came up behind her, silently, watching, his light filling up the dimly lit room.

"Clover Speech" "Bartos Speech"

He was left reeling, grasping at empty air, suffocating on nothing and everything at the same time as he felt the bond. He wanted to push it out and feel only them, their children. He hadn't wanted anything but her. How could he do this, how could he - betray - and though he loved her, the connection to her gentle light stunned him and sent him into shock, and all he could do was try to get a hold of himself. It was a soothing poison, and he wanted so badly to fall into its comfort like he had before, like he'd always wanted. But it took a certain strength, and he couldn't. He was terribly afraid.

He felt her coming upon the den, each step she took another resounding thrum in the forefront of his mind. His fear mounted, he didn't know what it was exactly that he was so afraid of, only that he was. He was afraid of his love for her and how overwhelming it was, and he was afraid that she wouldn't be who she promised to be, even though he knew that she lived there somewhere, and he was afraid that he would see her and she would be perfect and his fear would be for nothing. She was running. The distance between them was closing, he could feel it; like a thread growing tauter and tauter, closer and closer, the connection was becoming all the more powerful and he could even feel his heart racing, picking up with hers. The light. That warm light.

The sound of hoof beats stopped. She was here. Just outside.

He held his breath. He couldn't help but, and he listened, and he cherished her presence so close to him. It was a sweet perfume that could sweep him away, he would do anything to turn and look upon her, feel her again. He remembered the stories, the sound of her laugh, he almost expected her to call out to him. He expected her to advance on the wall and break it down, there was nothing that could keep them apart - he wanted there to be nothing, but there was. He wanted her to charge in and soothe his aching heart and chase the fears, he wanted her to prove him wrong, because he was too afraid to do it himself. She was there, and for a brief, ignorant second, he was relieved - he was happy - he was in love. You're here, and I love you so much, and I'm... sorry.

She slumped against the wall.

There was no desperate crash through the gem, to reach him despite all that had happened, to promise him that it was over and she was here. She had only given up. A silent resignation. A gentle glow, a plea that wasn't powerful enough.

I'm so sorry.

The wall began to groan again, and the crystal along the wall facing the inside of the den thickened. The cobalt grew harder, denser, crawling up from the ground and outward from its facets.

I can't let you in this time.

The thought flickered weakly, severed between the steadily hardening wall and the distance he gave to the bond. He shook, every part of him.

I lo ve you. But I'm not stron g e no ug h, Cl ove r .

His shoulders began to quake. The thickening wall gave a powerful lurch, and the light bled out of the den, leaving them warmed only by the subtle glow of the children. He choked out a sob.

I'm so s o rry i' m so sorr y i'm s orr y i'm so ss o r y

The link began to degenerate, or maybe it was just the wall that he had built, physically, mentally. The wall that blocked her from his thoughts, erected and at the very same time torn down, and he was left exposed - unable to think, unable to speak to her anymore. He shook there with his face buried in the soft downy fur of his children, and he wasn't strong enough to block her out. Sadness, weakness, vulnerability, all revealed itself as he unraveled. All of his hope, all of his melancholy, delivered through that link without the ability to explain itself, he broke down.