ten days past, there was a cry in a storm, a call to arms, the summons they'd all been waiting for — and she was there, and then she wasn't. damask with her busted lungs, the best she could do was fly away wheezing and sound the alarms, spread the word for the real ones out there who weren't too pathetic to fight, huff it out for her father, her family. same day, another hour, the aftershocks came, as if all the caves were shuddering and relaxing after cycles of holding an overdue breath — but her, she knew better than to exhale along with them. couple days later, she was looking for intel on what had gone down ... and she finally got it. night after that, she couldn't sleep. woke up, couldn't eat. went to see auré, and for all the thinking and planning they were doing, preparing for the very faint possibility of some sort of danger, for all their ostensibly mutual uncertainty, she couldn't cough it up. that left a full week of eyeing the hole in the wall of their home — holding off until auré was ready, watching him oscillate and deliberate when he didn't even know — poring over her stupid little projects, forcing down food despite the invisible brick in her throat, squeezing her eyes shut until it stuck for a few hours' time because nothing's gonna help you sleep at night, you're damned if you do and damned if you —

... fast forward to the present, and the light at the end of this literal tunnel felt like some sick kind of joke.

taloned footsteps scuffed along the dusty floor, louder and heavier behind her than beneath her. with her father at her back, the accipiter advanced and cast around at regular intervals, tracing the carvings, the play of light within the crystalline planes of the passageway's sides. she wanted to trust this, marvel at the unabashed beauty of it, the world of potential waiting ahead of them, but ohh, no, you don't, not with your daddy around. gotta be cool, now, don't we? can't let him see your bleeding heart. you're the one who patches up his.

she drew to a halt. quicksilver eyes lingered on the yawning mouth looming before them, otherworldly and inviting. keeping her vision trained up ahead, damask waved her muzzle over her shoulder: hold up for a second. with a practiced flick of air at her stone, pulsing bodies of red thrummed into her senses. "it's a smaller room, i think." her voice cut softly through the silence, quiet as always. "no greaters, and not a lot of lessers. bats, mostly — not like any i've ever seen, solitary, very still. they shouldn't be a problem, but i'll remember their places and steer us around."

now she looked back in earnest, peering up through her brows. "you may want," she began, "to check one more time, before we go in. can't be too careful — right, dad?" chances were, he was way ahead of her, but it's awful nice of you to pretend he's confident enough to need reminding. just in case, yeah? just in case.

that's you. damask vita: professional pretender.

consider the coast: clear, and her spirits sunk a little lower. you were kinda hoping it wouldn't be, weren't you? ... of course not, of course not ... okay, how's about we just think about that scenario for a second. her eyelids shuttered in a blink, and auré's face became a skew of horror, eyes flown open, ears and crest slicked back and trembling. is that what you want? is it, damask? that'd be just fine, just as long as it isn't your fault, just as long as your conscience is clean? the image flickered away, leaving a soft, oblivious half-smile on his lips. she rearranged hers into the same. you coward. as if your truths are someone else's to tell. as if anybody ever made it that easy for you. she broke away and set her gaze before her, through the encrusted arch enticing them inside. "lead the way," her father was saying, and a hint of trepidation (cold feet, hm?) flared alive in her chest, because gee, that'd make you the first one in there, wouldn't it? huh. that can't be right. must be some mistake. but she put one foot in front of the other, again, again, approaching the threshold, and ... drumroll, please! ... crossed it.

an impossible expanse opened up all around them, a kaleidoscopic world, all angles and amaranth. formations rose and fell from above and below — crystalline equivalents, almost, to the chambers' stalactites and stalagmites in canis. autopilot kept her feet going as she lifted her head, eyes floating up, left, right, and left once again. the ceiling soared over them, illusorily infinite. shafts of light planed back and forth in its indiscernible depths — it could've been a few hundred feet up, or it could've been miles. "wow," she murmured, because with him around, you've gotta say at least something. her gaze went low. hardened. flickered. she lifted it and set it dead ahead. are we not gonna talk about that? no? no? no. not so much as a thought for the upside-down blur walking beneath her, its every move a swimming copy of hers ... nor for the twin that pushed into her periphery, slipping sharklike and distorted through a jagged, glassy wall that stretched up and up from nothing alongside them. they weren't shadows. they were reflections. boy, oh, boy, the whole damn room is made of mirrors. that gonna be a problem for you?

no comment. she gritted her teeth.

forget the beauty, forget the spectacle, forget awe and wonder and whatever rush the place had invoked — all of it was melting into malaise, and the upright double was — gaining on her? it was the wall, its gradual curve: a few minutes' walk ahead, it ran into their path before it petered out. this course was not sustainable. she'd have to steer them around, yet harried as she was, all she could think was away. what you need is a distraction. "hey, i've been meaning to ask," she began, veering off in a sudden swerve —

and oh! hello, hot stuff!

a black-and-white figure ducked into view, spotted her, and froze, brows drawn into a tight furrow. its feathers rippled and wavered as it pulled around to face her, but once it went still, the image was clear, unclouded. it hovered in place, staring her down. get a load of her, damask! lookin' good! hahahahah! the stranger took a step back. its features weren't frowning so much as they were falling. heh, heh ... pretty as a picture, even down with a case of the blues. but she's flimsy. delicate. breakable. better be careful when you ask her to dance, kid; drop her on the floor, and she'll shatter like glass. oh, those eyes were almost lifeless, and she was dying to just disappear, pulse kicking up for all of a second — but the knife in her chest was twisting, spitting out magic, and the figure she was facing shimmered with light: bluer blacks, whiter whites. it seemed to ... crumple, somehow, looking halfway between crying and burning. its nose flared and squeezed in a tiny snff. pathetic. all at once, its eyes narrowed, muzzle twitching in an infinitesimal hint of a snarl. she tightened her grip on her stone, and the colors died down in forcible measures, hot flashes and chills rolling in turn through her skin. that thing in the mirror? it wasn't her. it wasn't her.

you're right. it isn't.

in the time it took to rip herself away, damask had already straightened up and wiped her face clean of emotion. she sought out her father — found his eyes ... settled there. cold snap. heat wave. cold snap. heat wave. stifled shivers plucked at her features, her feathers, narrowly contained.

you're fine. that didn't happen, got it? you are fine, you piece of shit, and you're gonna look it, sound it, you're gonna feel it.

"how have you been?" she said. a little too much stress on the you. "really been, i mean," she said. "i didn't want to pressure you," she said, "but ... we should have done this sooner, and it's been a minute since you gave me a straight answer. i want a number on a scale of one to ten."

now swallow your own hypocrisy and say, "honest."

look it — check. sound it — check. feeling it, though ... even for damask, that wasn't so easy to fake? sure it is. let's spell it together: F for the fire she couldn't feel in her nerves, and I for the ice; N for nothing to see or hear or fret about, and N for everything is ... ? fffffine.

see? he believes it. so should you.

and auré's blissful ignorance was all that mattered. with effort, the accipiter kept her feathers from shimmering and her breathing from stuttering, holding it steady as that final word took leave of her throat. a quiet hum emanated from her father's in response, too harshly. she didn't like that. "one to ten, hm?" more an echo than a question, but damask nodded anyway.

this was what she liked about numbers: they were unequivocal. he could add a tally mark to the truth, sugarcoat it or explain it away — (wouldn't you?) — but there was no mistaking the figure itself. when it came to words, his definitions differed from hers, as did their respective interpretations of his psychological well-being. her appraisal? just a wild guess, but not the greatest. nah, who're you kidding, kid. that's not a wild guess. it's not even a guess. all right, fine. ever since he'd taken his test, fallen asleep, and woken up weaker ... he hadn't been himself, wary of strangers, jumpy in crowds. and you know exactly why. he still hasn't got the juice to fight the one thing he's so afraid of, worst comes to worst. no chance of that happening, though, right? right? oh, yeah ... wrong. and with that, a fresh wave of dread, followed by another lance of pain. the flashes and chills were dissolving into something more like pins and needles. auré took a step sideways, and damask reciprocated in the other direction, suppressing a wince at the consequent static that fizzled through her legs. far more of import: the way her father fidgeted, hesitated, cast his gaze elsewhere. she didn't like that, either. oh, give him some credit, though. always assuming the worst, aren't we? haven't you realized that whenever you're wrong, your own pessimism is the reason why?

he opened his mouth, and she was already forecasting what would come out, a couple words ahead of him. "i think i'll say —" a six. "— an eight." see? told you so. for a second, she couldn't help but feel a sliver of doubt — and yet, and yet, she had to trust him, had to trust him, and ... if he'd been lying, it would've shown in his face, turned towards her once again. she listened in attentive silence as he elaborated — an acceptable, believable answer in all, if more than a little vague in how he phrased it. when he remarked on their environs, it was less a change of subject than a natural shift. she hadn't missed the distracted stops and starts in his cadence as they walked, nor the breathy note of enchantment in his voice. he seemed to ... really like the place. at least somebody does. "quite a sight to behold," he was calling it, and on that, at least, she didn't disagree, so — "yes." there's your cue to go and let him behold some more. she angled her eyes into the cave, away from her father's unfurling wing —

"and you?"

well, well, well! that's your favorite question! damask inhaled, looked back at auré, and set down her foot; she'd only just begun to lift it. a set of black-and-white pinions fluttered up to her chest, reflecting his gesture, playing along. "me?" she let the wing fall away and shuffled it back into place. a thin smile tugged at her lips on command, understated, ironic. with a tinge of humor: "ah, you know me." not that answer's maiden voyage, is it? ... and ever-so-slightly quieter, sliding into silence: "i'm just the same as i've always been."

yeah, just the same. exactly the same.

you know what he sees when he looks at you? a scared little kid, something fragile, something weak, you saw for yourself — and y'know, he'd still call you darling if he weren't trying so hard, probably still calls you that in his head, but not out loud, not anymore, and why's that, huh — ? because he respects you, because he's a decent father, so why don't you be a decent daughter and — (her smile was fading, twitch by tiny twitch) — and respect him too, damn it? eight out of ten, he says, and is that really so hard for you to believe? here's the best chance you're gonna get, and he's not just your daddy, not just your best friend — he is your ████, damask, the ████, so — she bit down on her teeth. so treat him like it. starting right now. let's go.

all at once: "listen, there's something you need to know."

a dark haze of forcible composure came over her features, broken only by the shifting headlights of her eyes — a trace of anxiety in the tension around them, a jitter in her pupils as they switched from facet to facet of his face.

"it came back, dad. at the raid, out of the golem, after i left. i don't know how it went down, what came after apart from the tremors, whether it's an isolated incident or it" — (yes, you do have to finish that sentence) — "isn't." somehow, somehow, her voice didn't tremble, tightening only faintly at the very end. off another tongue, the words might've sounded sort of ... crowded — yet damask pronounced them cleanly and levelly, all precision and professional remove. the same went for these. "i didn't catch word until yesterday." oh you FILTHY LIARFAKERCOWARDPRETENDER — "it's not enough information, i'm aware, but i can find more. i will find more." ... as if that makes it okay.

there were a dozen ways she could've finished — are you all right?, i'm sorry, please don't be upset ... a dozen empty, impotent offerings. no. you know better than that. instead: a breath. she drew it in like smoke off a cigarette, chest and shoulders rising. the breeze whispered into her ribs, dancing around the still-smarting jasper seated inside, courting it, soothing away the last of its temper. something like a ghost seemed to ooze up from the floor, something like fingers — she could see them in her lowermost periphery, feel them crawling up her legs, tendrils of a magic she knew all too well. hello again. tufted ears shivered over her hackles. always coming back for more, are we? the ensuing wince was too strong to stifle in its entirety. she blinked, hard — glanced off to the side ... and when she dragged her eyes back where they belonged, there it was: a silvery-white light, manifesting just in front of auré.

the wisp wasn't as monstrously impressive as her first, (the one she'd cast for wilder,) but it also didn't need to be. half a step back, and she coiled up tighter with her tail 'round her feet, guiding the light in timid little nudges of intention. it slow-danced around its recipient in a porpoising circle, then returned home, just opposite his breast where he could've went and held it. a glowing little gift — not like the one she'd carved out of wood, intangible, fleeting, yet ... rich with meaning, all the same. if she couldn't tell him it'd all be okay, she could at least sort of show it, a message in the magical bottle of a winking, bobbing wisp.

and all the while, she clung for life to her father's soft-boiled eyes.