Udødelig Monstrum

Tófi, apparently.

Menodora's lip twitches, unsure whether to smile in gladness or sadness.

"Well, I appreciate that," she says, an embarrassed flush spreading across her cheeks. "It does my ego some good that my oldest friend wouldn't trade the real me for any other. You've seen me at my best and worst. Something has to be said for that."

The kiss is as unremarkable as Menodora expects. Truly, as unremarkable as she'd hoped. Her affections were often a muddled mess in her mind, wordless exchanges somehow clearer displays than paragraphs of explicit words.

For as much as she and Tófi speak, a soft kiss expressed more than she could possibly - coherently - convey in her current state.

Menodora tilts her head back with a bitter mirth - yes, both. "Well, you'd be correct. I'd be unbelievably cross if I'd discovered you'd taken advantage of my state -- moment of weakness, as you'd said."

She recalls that she's not as they remember.

Her dark hair, so unlike her mother's, no longer elaborately styled. Brown eyes. Clothes in softer fabrics, as opposed to formal and expensive textiles. Light colors, versus stark and severe tones.

Menodora wonders if she'd become a different person to Tófi far before her memory loss.

"I didn't know what I'd lost," Menodora murmurs. "Yes, it would be wonderful to live free of the weight of the past, but to do that, I would have had to trade my memories. That's not a trade I'd be willing to make ever. I'd lose Stella, and River, and you."

She looks at him intently. Her gaze is pointed.

"What are you going to do, Tófi," Menodora asks directly. "If we win this trial, your exile will be lifted, I imagine. Will you go back to Mjaunie in it's new form, try to regain some semblance of your old life? Will you stay in Swynlake? We talk so easily about my future... what about yours?"

They'd rather carry the complicated feelings that composed their relationship with pride, as if they were a medal, than have to deal with the alternative.

Yes, if things had been any different that choice would have been terribly insensitive: had Menodora been affected by a natural ailment then the Septarian's choice to rather not deal with her in that condition would not be as acceptable -would have possibly been an insult to their bond than an expression of it-

-then again, Tófi had never claimed to be a good example when it came to morals, so they didn't exactly feel guilty.

It hadn't been a black and white thing and they were aware that the only reason why their choice had been remotely acceptable was because there had been many, many other pieces in motion; That wishful thinking rarely worked and that, maybe, this was the Norn's curious ways of figuratively throwing a bone at them after so many times making them miserable.

To try and compensate for person that did not have as much luck as Menodora, maybe.

"There is no victory, nor honour, in taking advantage of someone who is already suffering -you talk about that time as if it had been sunshine and rainbows, but it was not"

For they remembered the angst, the heavy pauses, the moments of fugue and how Mena had tried to cling to anything that could maybe give her answers about who she had been.

"I am glad you pulled through. That there are many people out there besides me that care for your well-being enough to actively fight for it"

They did not have any details about what had changed or how-

-but given Stella's threat and the Comission's actions? They could fill in the blanks just fine.

They lower their head, pressing their forehead to hers in silent affection

Then the question comes.

"I am note quite sure, myself" they admit with voice lowered "Mjaunie, I am afraid, will never be the same as they one I once knew. Times change, people change, and even places do -tomorrow's Mjaunie is as foreign to me as any other place"

It's a bittersweet thing to admit: that time has erased the vague idea of what Home had once been and that they no longer belonged to the place that saw them live their first of everything.

This was not quite like outgrowing one's birthplace, not like expanding your horizons, no, it was like...being dragged away by waves without even noticing it.

"And Swynlake is...terribly odd for my tastes. The bi-annual catastrophe and the collective dreams are not necessarily quite to my liking, nor their over-reliance on..."

The word 'magic' is left unsaid, but remains very present.

"I guess I will cross that bridge when I get to it -or whoever the phrase goes"

She thinks of what that means. She thinks of the large swaths of time that pooled between conflicts, finally disolving when a dam (damn) breaks or a diplomat cracks and it all floods again.

An internal war could be arguably even messier than one against a common foe.

Tófi has fought in and against both.

"I don't like endings," Menodora says, a quiet admission. She's so used to cycles. Like those of the moon. Like those of tides. Like mothers to daughters. They are the sort of things that may hurt time and time and time again, but that hurt is familiar. Endings meant goodbyes. Moon isn't good at those. "But you know that. I've always had a hard time letting go."

Their friendship, for instance, is a prime example. If Menodora were a smarter woman, perhaps she wouldn't hold on too tight. Tófi has hurt her too. But it was a familiar ache that she had endured as to not say goodbye again.

Her lamenting has lead them down a morbid path.

Yes, Menodora had meant-- would Tófi miss her if she were executed, and thus, no longer there. Or, happier, if she simply explored beyond Mjaunie and Swynlake.

Instead, Menodora was met with the makings of a new discussion. Her own mortality.

and Tófi's semi-immortality.

It was foolish of her. But it was real as well.

"I'm sorry." Moon's voice is soft but genuine. An apology unlike the one from earlier. An apology not built on philosophical pondering but about the intimacy of their relationship.

Tófi has long accepted those wretched goodbyes.

She'd be foolish to discount the strength of withstanding so many endings.

Menodora tightens her grip on their hand. Holding tightly still to the present. Or the past. Carrying them - the two of them - into the future, one second at a time.

"I'll miss you, too," Menodora says, as if she could skim the surface of their feelings and try to understand. She tries to image a life with Tófi gone. Passed on to some other place, whichever afterlife they choose. It's impossible, though. They've always been there. For her. Against her. They've always been there. A constant.

"I'll consider myself honored," she starts, trailing off then to gather her thoughts.

Menodora comes closer still under there are nearly sharing breath. It feels intimate in a different way. New Year's a few years ago, cold had taken between them. Breath like mist or smoke or steam shared before they kissed her.

Their breath is invisible now.

"That you think so highly of me. That for even me just being a blink in your life, you care and have cared for me. Even as enemies. Even as friends."

She leans in, presses the most delicate kiss to their lips.

It's chaste, if anything.

"I sometimes wish things had been different between us. But if they had been, it wouldn't be us. It wouldn't be the thin line of love and hate. Love for another person, hatred of the situation you've both been put in."

She smiles, pulls back but does not retract her hand.

"When I was Mena, I asked if I loved you. You had said yes. I did. Past tense. You could have manipulated my feelings then; you could have wrapped my lost self around my finger. Yet, you didn't. Loved. Past tense. It doesn't feel right. Even when I have felt nothing but disdain for you, I've loved you. In that way that friends do. In that way that people who are meant to be in each other's lives do."

And if this were any other situation, any other person, Tófi would most likely wax poetic about difference between endings and beginnings, being nothing but an illusion, about cycles, about resilience and the bizarre nature of life-

-but they also understand where she is coming from, has a vague idea of how her experiences have shaped her and how, unlike them, she navigates the limited time she has been given.

So they merely nod, gaze softened.

'I've always had a hard time letting go.'

"I am somewhat glad that is the case" they admit, not thinking about their words until they hear them out loud.

They pause, then decide to elaborate.

"I like you better than Mena" which may, admittedly, sound a little cruel "I prefer when you are conscious of things, even the unpleasant ones, when you can be the you that is composed of little parts of everyone you have loved so far instead of a freer-yet-hollow version of yourself -the one that exists because you refuse to let go"

Of memories, of people.

And it is curious, ironic even, how they so openly admit how they will miss the other when they are gone, how the relatively brief time they have spent together has shaped them into a different version of themselves.

Tófi is no longer the angsty rebel, nor the somewhat standoffish tutor, but a worse third thing; And Menodora is no longer the innocent and carefree child, nor the jaded and reluctant warrior, but...a different person, that both encompasses that and is more than.

She is tired, scared, remorseful, but she is also wiser, and silently hopeful, she is learning, she is-

-kissing them. Huh.

Well, that is surprising -not unwelcome, mind, just surprising.

It feels natural, in a way: like a little gesture to express gratitude, like complicity, like fondness. This is not quite tainted by unnecessary labels or implication and, instead, just is.

And once it is done, things do not change a bit.

"I had hoped that you would return" they admit, voice lowered "and knew that you would be beyond mad if you came back to your senses just to realize that I had been less than helpful during your...moment of weakness"

Tófi pauses.

"I did not want to trouble any further. This was your chance to embrace a different life, free of the burdens of the past, if you had wanted"

They shake their head, chuckling, entertained by the whole thing.

"I did not want to accept it, hoped against hope and, admittedly, hated myself for allowed myself to do so -but also knew that letting go was the best, given the context"

Ah, there it is again: the fine, fine line between letting go and carrying on.

"But I am glad that you came back, that life gave us this chance to reunite and, maybe, voice some of the things that we did not have the opportunity to freely discuss, before"

Tófi looks at her with amusement. Menodora regards them with concern. Yes, she's argued the specific case against Ludo Avarius. Mostly, she had been truthful, she had earnest reservations about bringing such an unpredictable (to her) accomplice. Tófi trusted Ludo to a degree, but Menodora could not.

The piece that's missing is that despite her being the one to ask for Tófi's help, their solutions frighten her. They, Tófi, were logical in ways Menodora was not. They pieced together ideas and objectives in a way Menodora could not quite see.

Menodora saw the walls of the problem as a limit. Tófi saw those walls as a challenge, no matter how their refined composure might suggest otherwise.

She can't help but look at her former tutor, mouth slightly agape, as they even throw in Ludo's potential as a "meat-shield." She knows Tófi is trying to inject levity, but she can't quite force a smile.

"You're awfully confident," Menodora says, their correction lingering as an echo in her ears. Nothing could physically stop a Commission member from going rogue following the trial's conclusion, cutting any of their throats for the sake of rage or vengeance. "I wish I had your faith."

What Menodora ought to do is trust Stella. What Menodora ought to do is allow Stella to rise to the challenge.

Stella was Menodora's little girl. Stell wasn't so little anymore.

No matter how the Commission felt, she was countess now. Menodora smiles softly at that thought. It wasn't how Menodora wanted Stella to become countess. And to think that Stella will be the last Perhonen countess in Mjaunie's history.

"If I tell you that I'll think about it?" Menodora asks, tilting her head upwards to catch Tófi's eye. Her own are a wooded brown, deeply serious but not distressed. She's always wondered if it was the brown or some other of her rotating hues. She's always known Tófi to prefer her blue eyes.

Perhaps if Menodora becomes desperate enough, she would go to Ludo Avarius's home herself. The half-kappa would not be delighted to see her, but to be able to explain the situation herself...

Menodora reaches for Tófi's hand, her fingers brushing the back of his hand. The hand she'd permanently altered as revenge. As a form of control. It looked healed now. Was it healed? The emotional wound hadn't recovered in Menodora. She wonders what Tófi's feelings on it are. It would be insensitive to ask. She looks away.

"Do you feel vindicated, perhaps?" Menodora asks, voice far away as she presses closer. There is a contrast in her tone and posture, between wariness and comfort. Her voice is tense, while her body is somewhat relaxed against them. "That we've - the Commission and the Perhonens - have deeply entangled each other? Entrenched and trapped each other in this political nightmare? I have to wonder what this all looks like from your perspective. From the outside."

It's so silly. Menodora draws her knees in, becoming smaller under Tófi's arm, folding in on herself some.

Menodora looks back up with inquiring eyes. "What would you do in my absence," Menodora asks, partially teasing but deeply imploring as well. She wants to know. "Would you miss me? Be glad I've gone?" Menodora pivots her body. They're incredibly close now. Closer than before. "If we lose, you know what I'm implying. But if we win, I'll never be countess again. Perhaps I'll leave Swynlake and explore a life outside of Mjaunie. Would you miss me? Or celebrate?"

People being able to fully overcome their long-held incorrect beliefs as soon as they were proven wrong would be nice, but that is, sadly, not how things work (not for Humans nor Monsters): while Moon being able to realize the errors of her ways is a big step there is also a long, long way to go when it comes to letting go of her harmful ideas, internalized or otherwise.

The process could take a lifetime, really, and still be incomplete by the end of it.

That is why Stella and her generation are such an important part in all of this: they will be the ones not only making the real change, but accommodating to it and making sure it stuck. And, again, even then one couldn't really expect things to be over with after just one generation -three or four of them would be optimal, but one must always account for the fact that progress, specially for Humans, is rarely linear and that they would most likely face resistance along the way.

But Tófi does not particularly mind, for they have all the time in the world and then some.

'You're awfully confident, I wish I had your faith.'

"I have survived many wars" they remind Moon "more than you could image, more than merely the ones written down in books. And there are a couple of truths I have learned through all of them: one of them that people will always find a reason, stupid or not, to fight-"

"-and that conflict always ends"

They pause, knowing that she is about to point a potential error to their thinking, so they add:

"The ending does not have to be satisfactory nor clean-cut, sometimes war's intensity ebbs and flows and sometimes conflicts come back from the apparent death, but I know, from experience, that things always end"

Except them, of course.

"Humans will always find a new thing to occupy their funny little minds with, new enemies to ally against, and the past will eventually will be left behind. Thus is the circle of life"

This whole thing might be a mess, the ending to a long-standing cycle-

-but it was also a natural part of progress. And it, in due time, would pass.

She reaches for their hand, and they hold her: asks about things she knows the answers to, which are replied with nothing but a knowing smile.

Then asks a real question.

'What would you do in my absence?'

Funny, how it all connects: how things always ending includes her.

"I will be sad" they admit.

Not 'would', but 'will', for her eventual absence is not an hypothetical but a certainty.

"I have grown accustomed to your presence, to your peculiar way of going about things, to the challenge. And I will miss you once you are gone"

That, they believe, is no secret.

"But if 'we win', as you said, and you decide to change, to explore new horizons and ideas...I would be happy for you"

It's a complex thing, that: they would be happy for her and hope she enjoys her chance to be free to explore the everything the world has to offer while she still has time to.

But they would, will, miss her: her presence as either a constant or something in the back of their mind, the knowledge that somewhere out there existed someone that was not only kind-of their equal, but that managed to best them, once.

"I would give you my blessings, try to keep in contact as much as able in order to..." they pause, searching for words, then continue "...enjoy the time we have, I guess"

She is considerably close now. How curious.

"And I will miss you when you are gone. Treasure the memory of you for whoever long I may continue living -probably to the detriment of those who may have to live up to the standards you have created"

They chuckle at that.

“No,” she says quite sternly. “It’s not a good idea.”

She knows Ludo, she knows Ludo’s family. His siblings, his parents. Their disgraced state after Ludo had caused harm time and time again, made a fool of them so often that they’d been nearly exiled themselves. Menodora felt for all of them, she had been friends with them once upon a time. Sort of. In a professional sort of way.

“What is to keep Ludo from taking advantage of the situation? You know him to be power hungry and opportunistic. The answer is no, Tófi.” Though, saying it, she feels bad for it. Is this her anti-monster prejudice or practicality coming through? Menodora doesn’t trust herself to favor one over the other; neither was reliable.

Still, for her sternness about the situation, her apology is genuine. She expects them to say something, possibly make her feel worse with a well placed comment or two about her actions. It doesn’t come. Instead, they tell her ‘don’t’ that it is even. Nothing about anything they’ve done to and against each other has been even. He’d committed great crimes against Mjaunie, betrayed her trust, killed her mother… Menodora was sorry for the part she’d played in his misery, but to call them even felt wrong.

Menodora searches their eyes as they speak next. Dear Moon. Calling her to action.

(Tófi, I’m tired. Don’t make me fight anymore.)

They pull her close yet again and Menodora hates that she can feel her frustration with them dissipate the moment she’s against their chest. It’s a calming sort of sensation that feels familiar, even if they had never had the sort of relationship in the past that included hugging. She’d been warned that to do so would be dangerous. What is the danger, Omnitraxus… that I shall find a comfort in someone so abhorrent?

Maybe that was the danger to them. She would and could see Tófi as more than the enemy. She might have tried to rebel against the system far before Stella would - maybe even when she was sixteen. Maybe before their battle. Maybe before the banquet. Before anyone had to die. Was it Moon’s fault after all?

Like Tófi had said, now was not the time to feel sorry for herself.

“I’ll write you as many apologies as you’d like,” Menodora says softly, resting her head near the crook of their neck, “if we all manage to survive this. I’ll even sign it ‘Diamonds’ if you’d like, seeing as you are the only one who still calls me that.”

She doesn’t have the right to cry. Not now. Not after her apology to them and her part in all this nonsense. Not after she was weak enough to trust blindly, allow herself to become cursed.

“I’ll take Stella to the sanctuary myself if I have to. It’s a matter of getting there at this point,” Menodora says after a moment, a recklessness taking hold. Or maybe it was desperation. The tighter this circle — the better contained — the better for all of them. “Like you said, where there is a will, there is a way. I just need to find that way in without compromising everything.”

Moon, naturally, does not wish to deal with Ludo or the Avarius Clan in general -thinks of them as nothing but disgraced "nobles" that have outlived their usefulness.

Ironic, that, given the current situation and just who had, just some centuries ago, hand-picked them as puppets in order to intervene with the Monster Nation's politics

Sure, they were a rather dull bunch, and, sure, they were easily manipulated-

-that was exactly why they could be useful.

"Him being hungry and opportunistic is exactly what would keep him from taking immediate advantage of the situation" they explain, trying to keep a straight face even if the whole scene they have found themselves in is rather humorous "If things were to change for the better thanks to his intervention he would find the love and approval he so craves for. And if things were to turn awry he would become a martyr for a cause, which would also bring them love and approval, specially amongst Monsterkind, whom, you may remember, have not thought fondly of his Clan for a good while"

"He might not look like it, but he has a great deal of potential and, ironically, a natural affinity for magic"

Which was rather novel for the Mjaunie-born Monsters and was, most likely, an effect of the Avarius' lineage mixing with other, foreign, magical beings.

...and he has a literal army at his service, too.

Which was a phenomenal extra to have.

"And if the worst case scenario came to pass, Stella would, no doubt, be able to easily thwart him and carry on with the mission without a problem"

Which would, admittedly, be a good scenario for Tófi too -but that was besides the point.

"Also, he is portable and could make for a good meat-shield. Think about it" they add, jokingly, because there was no way in Hel that Tófi of Septarsis would ever, ever, talk about such a foolish little creature such as Ludo with genuine fondness or, God forbid, legitimately trust his very predictable, eager nature.

No, no, Avarius was a tool and nothing more and them defending the half-Kappa's honour was nothing but pragmatism.

Anyways... Moon does not relax on their presence, not quite, but at least leans into them and decides to humour the Septarian a little by promising the written apology if-

"Not 'if', but 'when'" they correct.

They were well past the point of no return, with no other way but forward.

And she seems to get it, for a moment, because she feels determined or resigned, either or, for a second, talks about doing things herself regardless of the complications.

And for a moment, Tófi feels proud.

"I wish I could help you, personally, but, as you already know..." there was no way for them to access Mjaunie and-

-well...

"The best I can do is offer our cooperation, even if teeth-clenched"

Our.

Not only theirs, personally, but...

("Have you asked the crocodiles?")

This was how Menodora was going to get into so much trouble. Her life was already on the line, what's another sentence.

She breaks from their comfort, their hold. Sits up, stares at them directly. Searches their eyes, hoping it's a joke but knowing - even from the start - that it was not.

"You know I can't take you there," Menodora says, her affect serious, though not firm. "You, of all people, should know that."

It's true. From the time Menodora was a young girl, she was taught and told and scolded that no one besides those who were worthy and right should be allowed in the Magic Sanctuary.

"Worthy and Right" - the descriptors for the Magical High Commission and the Perhonens. Neither were true of either party, Menodora thinks bitterly.

The Magic Sanctuary was a place in Mjaunie, mostly regarded as too fantastical to be real. It was tied to the teachings of the Magical High Commission, their understanding of what magic was often stemmed back to lessons they'd gleaned from the magic there.

It wasn't for outsides. It wasn't for monsters.

Menodora tries to meet Tófi's gaze again, amber eyes leveling with theirs.

"You also know that you and I have no way to get to Mjaunie without suspicion, nor do we have cause to go. You; you're exiled, if you hadn't forgotten." Her voice is pointed, almost cutting. She doesn't mean to be hurtful, but there's incredulity in her tone. "Myself, there can be no indication that I remember anything of Mjaunie. Doing so would arouse suspicion by the Commission, possibly inspire their ire."

Which means that everything was to be left to Stella.

Menodora could wretch. She glances away from Tófi, something akin to embarrassment - even shame - on her face. Menodora was of no use to anyone, not in her current state.

"The chances of being caught are high, and I don't have my shears. Nor would I be able to do so undetected. If anyone is to seek out Glossaryck where he hides, it needs to be Stella."

There is remorse in her tone, but no pity. She's not going to self-pity for this task she's abandoned on Stella's shoulders.

"You were right after all, though," Menodora says, reaching for their hand again, knowing that she can't return to their comfort for the things she's been saying. "Magic -- magicks -- are no better than monsters. Worse, even, because we have the false security of false superiority. We make the rules, only to tell you that you've broken them."

Menodora lets out a slightly pained half-laugh. A minimal relief on the exhale.

"Tófi... Undskyld."

(Of course she does).

There is no need for her to point out the many, many things that make that plan, in it's current state, unsustainable -but she does so, anyway, maybe for the love of the game.

"Where there is a will, there is a way" Tófi nonchalantly replies.

Because nothing can ever be as simple as just marching somewhere, knocking at the door and angrily asking for the fucking manager, clearly, and hoping for things to be that way was just plain silly.

Ah, humans... always searching for the most obvious way to go about things.

"It does not have to be you, or me, in there" they continue "I have not forgotten the terms of my exile, nor did I expect you to be able, nor willing, to march into Mjaunie given what has happened, min ven"

It would, admittedly, have been terrific if they could handle things themselves.

Alas...

"I could send someone Stella's way" the Septarian, of course, refuses to further elaborate on the who, for they like keeping their cards close to their chest "and I could always arrange a distraction for the Commission to look somewhere else while they sneak in"

The kind of distraction that could raze a portion of Mjaunie to the ground, but a distraction nonetheless.

"The distraction would keep them busy while the other individual acts as our hands and eyes as they accompany Stella inside the Sanctuary"

It was not a risk-proof plan, no, for there was always the risk of Ludo this individual screwing things up, as they usually did -but it seem worth the time and effort.

For the first time in a while, things feel as if they make sense, and-

-and then Moon surprises them with nonsense, with a somewhat backhanded comment and a apology, of all things.

Tófi 'hmm's, then nods.

Truth was, Menodora had not been given a chance, nor asked for opinion, when it came to...the whole shitshow that was Mjaunie -she had been born into a rigged system; Sure, she'd had a certain degree of choice about some things but, ultimately, the game had been rigged long before her mother was a faint idea on her grandmother's mind.

She, technically, did not have to apologize, specially not now that she was aware of how much of a mere tool for other's interests she had been all along.

But, at the same time, she had helped perpetuate the problem, had taken their finger-

"Don't" they correct "Let us call this even"

You benefit an unfair system, I kill your mother. You take my finger, I make sure the mere memory of me makes the rest of your life miserable.

You feel sincerely apologetic? I kind of help you topple the system.

Maybe. Sort of.

"Feeling sorry for yourself will not change the situation, dear måne" they offer, along with a hand, beckoning her closer "now it is time to act"

They wait a moment before pulling her close once again.

"Though I will admit that the idea of you eventually writing down that apology and signing it, for posterity's sake, does bring a smile to my face" they joke.

Hey, a man Septarian could dream.

Tófi's attempt at comfort is mixed. It leads to conflicted feelings. Perhaps it was not Menodora's fault that she was treated the way she had been... but it was Menodora's fault for not realizing. She felt she had a large responsibility to Mjaunie, had the title and duty to uphold. Only now had she realized - far too late - that it was a heightened sense of obligation for nothing. Her responsibility was a sham in order to facilitate the real government in charge.

It cycles back to Menodora feelings like a failure.

"Even if they could summon Glossaryck," Menodora says softly, "he has every ability to refuse. He doesn't need any of us. Mjaunie could collapse and he'd not mind. His interest lies in magic, not what magicks or mortals do with it."

Altogether, that tugs deeply at Menodora as well. Saddens her. The trust and reverence she'd had towards Glossaryck had been shaken. Any affection she had for Glossaryck -- respect as well -- was waning. Menodora hated that.

The... soup thing?

Menodora lifts her chin to look at Tófi more directly. Eyes wide and confused, an amber-brown sort of shade.

"Oh, the way he'd mix the soup in the cauldron," Menodora offers. "I had always been of the mind that it was some kind of potion or--"

She trails off, thoughts starved by memory. "He'd adored my mother, we know this. Their relationship was largely built upon understanding the weavings between magic and food."

The thread, though, does not register for Menodora and she worries what that means. What is she blind to that Tófi is attempting to offer... what knowledge there is there.

"Do you think Stella could summon them with her magic? She's powerful, I know it. Unfocused, but her raw potential is there."

Menodora swallows hard.

"What should I relay to her? There was no prescriptive time that Glossaryck appeared to any Countess, only the fact that he appeared when he was ready. Or when we were ready."

We - us fools who upheld some crown-like status. Blind to the affects of their hurt.

"I'm sorry, I should know better. I should have asked questions. Being sorry doesn't fix anything, I know that."

The former-Countess shakes her head. "I had a thought, a fear. Do you think, possibly, with all the contention... Glossaryck may have found his place amongst the monsters?" She hesitated to say it, seeing as "Monster" was the word that got them both into an emotional tizzy. She means it thought. "I remember he was too ambivalent for the Commission's tastes. Did you ever hear anything about him perhaps - maybe - conversing in the Monster Temple? The mountains?"

Maybe it was kind of ironic that the Septarian did not understand and did not wish to understand the Djinn, for that kind of feeling might be just what Glossaryck had always meant to cause others and how he, after many centuries, continued being a mystery even to the dynasty he was supposedly affiliated with.

('Affiliated' seemed to be a good descriptor, for the only Perhonen Tófi was certain that Glossaryck had been actively fond of had been Comitessa)

Having no answers frustrates Tófi in a special kind of way, even when they know they are discussing a being that has never cared to be understood and has, at every given opportunity, striven to remain as unapproachable as possible; The Septarian's ignorance on the topic is not exactly unjustified...but it isn't exactly something they are particularly proud of, for it feels like an oversight instead of an active choice.

They were a scholar, dammit, they were supposed to know things, even if said things were uncomprehensible pieces of shit that enjoyed other's confusion did not want to be known.

Mjaunie has always kept most of their vital information hidden away from prying eyes, has always hidden things were only a select few could reach them and even then... well, the current situation illustrated just how rigged the system was.

There must be a way... something that struck Glossaryck's attention enough for him to appear.

Pudding? Books? Magic? Watching them, specifically, suffer?

(No, they won't talk about the whole broken arm and subsequent near-death experience. Ever. That had been something not even Tófi understood, even centuries later).

They feel lost in thought, barely anchored to the present by Moon's presence against their chest, by-

-her words.

Has Glossaryck ever identified as a Monster? Have they-

...oh.

Tófi's eyes widen as something seems to just click into place.

And they laugh, for this- all of this, feels so silly, and of course Moon has always been close to having an answer -hers is a particular point of view, a relatively fresh one, not unlike the way in which a child finds creative solutions to problems that plague adult's minds.

"I know for a fact that they identify, mainly, as a nuisance" they finally say "as something beyond mere classification, as...Magic given form, instead of something you can just label -neither Man, nor Monster"

So...

"As Magic given form, I would imagine he prefers to remain as close to a magic nexus as possible, as...close to the source, in a way"

No, they are not talking about the Monster Temple -but they are referring to a similar structure, a vague Mjauman-aligned equivalent of it and whose existence was more of a myth.

"Har du spurgt krokodillerne?"

It feels like a word salad, it does, but...it does make sense in context.

It feels like an opportunity unlike any other.

This, in this moment, is what Menodora has needed and craved. And yet, this is what Menodora had often, if not always, rejected. Tófi draws her into their chest and she feels like a young girl again, tormenting Tófi with the insistence of a hug. The Commission stomped that out of her quickly when they'd realized, but Menodora couldn't imagine Tófi being as bad as they said. A hug would cheer them up. A hug would cure their monstrousness.

They refer to her by a softer nickname. Kiss her on her head - near her temple - and Menodora could collapse into herself there. Admit to them everything that has transpired, past what she imagines they're already privy to. The deal with their lives on the line, yes. Also her deep loathing not just of herself - which she's already admitted to - but of Mjaunie itself. A deep fissure in her trust, in her reliance on the histories she'd always known Her life and purpose had been built on lies and other people's hate. She was a proxy to their power. She has always been used.

Until she wasn't. Until she no longer mattered. The crimes levied against Stella were treason. What crime would The Commission levy against her? She can't imagine what they'd charge her with, she'd done nearly all that they'd ever asked.

No. No, she knows what they'd choose. They'd say she chose a monster - Stella - over them. Would it be treason? They might call it that. But it might also be for being a failure, or proof of theirs.

Tófi's lack of acquaintance with Glossaryck hurts and aches. She figured it would be true but she had a sliver of foolish hope that Tófi might have the answer. Menodora bites her lip hard, knowing that hope felt slimmer and slimmer. Withering with each dead end.

"But perhaps you know of them and what they used to do," Menodora offers, probably a bit too desperately. "You never cared for them, but surely that doesn't mean you were unaware of their whereabouts during those periods he'd disappear?"

She feels yet another crack form in her faith. If there were any divine intervention that could occur, it would be welcome at any time. Some eureka moment that would strike Tófi or Menodora, where they'd recall a secret hiding place or retreat that the Djinn might have favored.

While Glossaryck was meant to be the family scholar, long ago the role fell mostly to Tófi to teach the (approved) histories, as Glossaryck had very little interest in politics, which is what the histories of Mjaunie were largely overrun with. Civil wars and derision. Glossaryck cared about magic for magic's sake, not the petty fighting over who was right.

"The Book of Spells is in The Commission's hands," Menodora murmurs, a soft, near-broken sound. "The fate of Mjaunie is on Stella's shoulders and I don't know how to help. Stella's fate, and the Monsters Nation's fate. They'll soon be at the mercy of Mina Loveberry if we can't stop them. I don't know what to do…"

They say they -- the two of them -- will make things better.

Menodora has her doubts.

"Yes, I've tried to summon him. I've pleaded at the mirror, over different talismans granted to me over the years. I've tried summoning circles and reverse warding spells." Her eyes are wet with tears, she would never allow herself to cry in the open like this before. It was how dire the situation had become. She had no ability to wall herself off to someone who might possibly understand. "I wasn't taught these things properly, Tófi, you know this. I don't know how to summon, not like Glossaryck would like. You were there. I was only really taught how to burn."

Tófi couldn't exactly blame him, though, for he knew that not establishing limits early on would probably mean having to guide a Countess through trauma or burnout 24/7, something that was, for a creature entirely born of magic, as dull as being forced to watch paint dry.

Glossaryck's was a respectable decision. That did not mean it was the most practical one.

The Septarian replies with a soft hum, acknowledging Moon's words and refusing, still, to let go of her as she explains her frustration, her apparent fear of being left alone to face the absolute mess the Commission had created and-

-and of course Mina Loveberry was involved. Of course. That little Solarian lunatic surely wanted nothing more than to finish what her leader had started.

(Seth, Tófi thinks, would probably be proud knowing that the impact of losing Solaria had shattered her right hand's mind beyond all salvation).

"Ssh, that is not your fault, Diamonds" they say, voice lowered, as they continue trying to soothe the poor woman in their arms "they knew teaching you such things would put them at risk"

Those with power rarely wish to part with it, after all, and-

"Besides, chances are that they do not know how to contact Glossaryck either"

That was a blessing in disguise.

The Djinn's actions, confusing as they were, were...somewhat fair -for no 'side' of the conflict benefited from their presence at the expense of the other.

Tófi bites their lower lip and squints, trying to remember something, anything, that could be of use when it came to Glossaryck, to one of the Djinn's eccentricities that could serve as a clue of their whereabouts.

His fondness of pudding comes to mind, but leads nowhere.

There is also that thing about worms being his 'roomies' he used to joke about, but that also strikes Tófi as a false lead, for it refers to the Book itself and since the darned thing is still in the Commission's hands... yeah, that would be another dead end.

And-

"The...soup thing, perhaps?" they offer.

Now, the 'soup thing' was something Tófi had no real understanding of, save for the fact that Glossaryck would, every now and again, would be seen cooking some kind of...thing around the Perhonen he was supposed to teach magic to and the Djinn's little cauldron eventually became a signal that the future Countess was about to 'graduate'.

Tófi, for their part, did not know what the darned thing was supposed to do, mean, or even contain, but...

Well, this guess was as good as any.

And not as radical of an option as the other thing he had in mind.

There's no guarantee that Tófi won't betray her in the end. Even if they -- if Stella -- wins the trial and keeps their family and monster-kind from total massacre, there's no telling what comes after. Tófi could very well be furious for her part in all of this. In the oppression and suppression of their people. Securing their future may not be enough.

And yet-- She can't help but feel lulled into the possibly false security that Tófi offers her.

They argue against her, saying that she survived, rather than failed. Menodora disagrees. She had failed. She'd failed as a protector and mother. She'd failed Mjaunie, she's failed Stella. She'd failed River, she'd failed herself. She'd failed Tófi too... Menodora feels like she could collapse in on herself with each word Tófi spoke.

They are optimistic. They validate these 'truths' that Menodora can't bring herself to believe. Every attempt to bolster her leaves Menodora closer and closer to falling apart.

She survived, but who else didn't?

It was her actions that left Eclipsa trapped in her tower prison, unable to find her husband and child. It was her actions that removed monsters from their even temporary homes, scattering them without hope.

Tófi's thumb brushes against her knuckles and Menodora thinks of the dark marks that lie beneath the glamor. Something that may not even be what she had originally thought of it. Could the reason her glamor were so resilient be because it wasn't a glamor at all, but rather an affect of her shapeshifting lineage?

She doesn't feel as if she can fight back. Tófi speaks of fighting back, but Menodora doesn't know if she has any fight left to give. She's tired. So, so tired.

Tófi might become tired, but she always recalls their underlying drive. Their understanding that there were things bigger than them. Menodora is selfish by comparison. Her world was small and limited in time and place. Tófi was aware of how things are, the way of the world and its harsh realities. They didn't get to hide behind the protection of a title. They may have been tired, but they fought on. Picked up their weapon when there was no one else willing...

"I'm changing for the worse," Menodora admits, voice timid and a little broken the last word, "I'd have blindly swung at any challenge despite my training. Now, though... I'm far too afraid of making the wrong choice. I know more know, and I feel too paralyzed." She takes a shaky breath, "I've upheld the wrong choices for so long. I've caused far too much harm. You were right. I'm selfish and pitiable. I just don't know how to summon the courage to... to not be."

She looks down at their hand and the harm she'd caused them. It takes a moment before she has to stop, before the guilt starts to burn her.

"I know you want me to fight, but I have to trust in Stella now. I'm no longer Countess, which I think you've known for a long time by now. I'm no longer Countess, and even if Stella is able to best The Commission... I'll never be again. You should be glad of that, Tófi."

She doesn't know how much Tófi knows. Perhaps they have an informant. It's likely. Tófi knew the value of knowledge more than most.

Her knees are slightly sore, the way she holds her weight over them. The way they dig into the ground. Her skirt will have stains, perhaps. Maybe she shouldn't be kneeling...

"Even if you tell me not to think too much on anything," Menodora says, regarding Tófi's dismissal of her concerns - and perhaps their hurt feelings - with a lacklustre laugh, "I'll have no choice but to do so. Lamenting is my way, after all."

But even still, Menodora's humor is cast somewhat with a shadow of sadness. The trial looms over her, threatening to suffocate her with every passing thought.

She goes on about what's really ailing her, trying to be discreet in her volume. There was no doubting, though, the severity of their conversation. Her tone conveyed as much, even hushed.

"The trial in March, you know of it, don't you? Stella's challenging the Commission for the Fate of Mjaunie. She needs to find Glossaryck, but since Stella's left, we haven't been able to summon him at all. He takes very little interest in the actual political goings on, as you remember."

She looks away, then to their eyes. All hopeful, even if that is a mistake. "Tófi, I don't know what to do but I need to protect Stella. I need to find Glossaryck and I need your help. Please." She leans closer, brings free their hand between hers and holds it tightly. Twines their fingers together. "Tófi, please."

It is something, Tófi thinks, she's had to carry ever since that fateful Peace Treaty gone awry; Ever since that day she had been forced to carry the weight of everything even when in reality the Commission's voice was the leading one, when her role was of a sacrificial lamb and scapegoat should anything go wrong.

They are cannibalizing themselves, they got rid of their strongest piece out of paranoia: discarded Moon as is she hadn't been a very valuable (and malleable) piece -it can't be all for nothing, they must have a plan or at least believe they do.

Tófi hopes their overconfidence does them in -it would be a satisfactory thing to witness.

Right now, though, wheels are spinning still and Moon has been trampled by them and then kicked aside.

They can't really blame her for feeling the way she does -that is why they let her go on even if her self-loathing bothers them, why they try to soothe her with little caresses to the hand.

"These are merely the first steps" they reply, voice soft "change is a messy process, min ven. Things will look bad and feel uncomfortable before they get better and become familiar -you are not worse than before, you are just measuring things with the old system"

They move in place, hand still in hers, guiding her closer and offering their chest for support.

"Give yourself time, Diamonds" they whisper, lowering their head to place a kiss on her head.

There are many things that are bizarre to think about, like her no longer being a Countess, like the future of Mjaunie depending on Stella instead of her, that much Tófi would concede, but...

It could be worse, even when the Trial is coming soon, when-

The mention of Glossaryck surprises them -the fact that the creature has been missing? not so much.

"I am not particularly familiar with them" they admit.

They had broken one of the damned creature's arm once, just to see if they could, and had experienced a near-death-experience in return.

(Needless to say, Tófi no longer associated with them)

"Have you tried reaching him via the Book of Spells? that seems like the most obvious way to-"

'Tófi, please' she whispers.

Their fingers are interwined and something deep in their chest softens.

"We will make things better" they continue, voice still lowered "we just need to think things through. Have you tried summoning him by any other means? "

Her breath collapses out and Menodora can't help but feel the corners of her lips tug into the slightest of hopeful smiles. Menodora hadn't been able to wear her wedding ring since New Year's, but she still lightly twists at that place on her finger. A long-sustained habit. She's sure it must seem like a taunt to Tófi now...

She still her fingers and clasps her hands tightly together instead, as if to quell the restlessness. Direct her energy somewhere that's not the rapid beating of her heart.

The thought occurs that she could turn and run. Doing so would be merciful, perhaps, upon both of them. She thought that magically severing their ring finger in the height of a civil war might have been her worst offense. Perhaps her most recent bout of ignorance -- both of herself and towards them -- was far worse?

Menodora shifts her weight as if to turn before she hears their voice again. How could their voice be a comfort to her through all this. Likely, it was the desperation of being seen and known, in ways that no other person could understand. In the ways only Tófi themselves could and would.

Their invitation has her by their side in an instant, kneeling beside them in such a way that she feels, again, like a child. As if she were still their student. Eager, and hanging on their every word. The trouble with that is when those next words are a question.

'Hvad plager dig, mit kære barn? Jeg lytter,' they say.

What was troubling her? Many things, some of which she could not even say.

Menodora might have broken down there. To sobs, even. To feel some semblance of her old life coming back for her when she was far beyond its reach.

The illusion that The Commission had cast over her was shattered now, and Moon's entire life was laid before her, made of fractured pieces sewn together with lies. Every tear in their story quickly mended with another patchwork deceit.

Menodora inhales sharply, as if to stifle a sob that doesn't come. As if to stifle the words that she knows could damn not only her, but Stella, River, and others who had only come to help them. IF she told Tófi, would they betray her again? That was their curse. I knife at the throat so you wouldn't notice the knife to the back...

"Tófi, I've failed," she says, voice so soft it sounded fragile to her ears. "I wasn't able to be there for Stella. For anyone. And now I'm back and everything left feels jagged."

She glances at their book, not meeting their eyes. Digs her nails into her palms…

Menodora bites hard on her lip, though doesn't draw blood. Shakes away the miasma that's overtaking her and tries to fluff up her personality again. Smile and be Mena to anyone who could possibly see her from afar. A scrying spell of some sort would not be below the Commission, not that she seemed much of a threat to them as far as they know.

"I'm sorry for the things I said that hurt you, Tófi," Menodora says then, laughing, to try to mask her hurt as humor. "But I have to admit… I'm surprised that you gave up on me so quickly. In a way, I thought you'd fight back against my ignorant comments with the pride or indignation of a Monster General. Am I really such a lost cause?"

Familiarity can be poisonous, can turn someone lazy, make them jump blindly to conclusions just because there is comfort in patterns; Tófi of Septarsis knows all of this and, regardless, can't help but feel a vague sense of calm within what feels like them falling back into their very own particular routine.

There is a danger to feeling, for too much of it can blind people, just like there is a danger to not feeling, which can make you apathetic; Too much hope can poison you, but too little of it will stop you from even fighting.

They know they shouldn't allow themselves to lower their guard, that just because the latest problem has ended doesn't mean that all of the problems are done with, too.

-But, again, to not let themselves enjoy this at least a bit would be contra-productive in the long run-

So they scoot a little, the faintest smile on their lips, and decide to actively listen, to see (for there has always existed a rather considerable gap between what Menodora says and what she truly feels, and if one wants to get a good feel of what is really on her mind they need to use all of their senses, not just their ears).

She deeply inhales.

Seconds pass.

(She looks shaken still)

So they reach for her, placing their free hand on hers, offering silent solidarity.

'Tófi, I've failed' she begins -and so, they listen to her as she tries to make sense of the mess of emotions, of dead-ends, that cloud her mind.

"Nonsense" they say, once she pauses for air and her gaze falls "You survived -and that, min ven, is more than enough"

There is so much more that they want to say, like how she was not responsible to what had happened to her, that she was a victim of other's actions, interests, that having been manipulated had not been something she had actively chosen, that she is allowed to feel hurt-

-but they, at the same time, refuse to voice any of it (for allowing themselves to be that open would surely be inconvenient in the long run).

To allow oneself to be so openly guided by things such as emotions is too human, they think, so when they finally speak it comes from a different place, a different intention:

"The past is in the past. You have the opportunity to keep on living, to change, to improve"

Their thumb caresses her knuckles.

"You can still make them regret the day they even considered messing with you, Diamonds. You can fight back -things are not over until you decide they are"

She can make things right -with Stella, with her family, with Mjaunie- it is only a matter of desire to do so.

"You survived. You are stronger, wiser to other's manipulations, can see things from a different perspective now" they continue "You have not failed, you are just changing"

Change is unexpected, is painful, is scary.

But they know she will manage.

She always has -always will.

She then speaks: apologizes for yet another thing she had no control over; And while it stings, while Tófi still feels hurt by the reminder of the impotence of that moment, by the sense that things would be objectively better for her were they not around-

"Do not think too much about it, min måne"

With those words they try to steer clear from that conversation, from having to explain what they would rather not admit to feeling in the first place -to their own failures.

All love of her life had to be kept a secret.

Most days, she smiles through people's assumptions about her. She accepts that others expect a brighter, happier her, who was perhaps less sharp or aware. She understands that it's better for most people to anticipate her as very little more than Mena.

With everything going on in Mjaunie, and the fate of Monsters and her family on the line, Menodora has very little room for error. She is resigned to most people, close friends excepted, knowing very little about her as she pretends not to know much about herself.

She can't even reach out to River, thanking him for everything he's done. Telling him she loves him... it's for his own good. It's for all of them.

It feels wrong, somewhat, and a betrayal to herself as well as those who knew her. Her life was currently a misrepresentation. Her life was currently a lie.

All this to say, Menodora was spiraling slightly.

Her past had been built on lies of the commission. Her present was based on a lie of their devising, meant to lock away her mind to an unimposing state. Keeping her from being a nuisance.

They dismissed her as she was no longer useful to them.

They discarded her without care for what happened.

The thought made her ill.

Sh had trusted them. And she had trusted wrong.

She didn't feel like herself because she wasn't allowed to.

She's walking in the park on a Sunday, all thoughts carried away between herself and her book. It's when she crosses into the shadow of another being that she knows before she even looks up.

He looks tired. He's always looked tired.

Menodora regards their face, and the lines there. The weariness. Is he looking at her with a slight disdain? He should, after what she'd said to them last.

"Tófi," Moon says, cheerful as Mena. Her soul isn't up to playing. Tófi has always been the sort to see right through her. As far back as when she was a child. His resignation of her ignorance had haunted her as she remembered it, the memory a dull sting every time she is reminded. Another layer unfolded. "It's a lovely day, isn't it? Have you come to the park to read?'

But her dark eyes probably convey it best. She knows. She hopes they know. And she's desperate for them to notice her.

Even if Tófi of Septarsis has been forced by the powers that be to remain relatively far from the eye of the storm the after-waves still manage to reach them with a considerable intensity -one they don't particularly appreciate.

It's not like they have ever retired from the fight, no, they have just simply taken a step back from the battlefield proper and tried to build something independent from it, expand their horizons, leave the leading roles to those who are able to lead from the front instead of the shadows, those who are able to be near the action-

-and yet, things still manage to reach them.

It's tiring, but they have no other option to endure, to try and silently gather themselves somewhere else and keep on moving. Such is the nature of quasi-immortality.

They, unlike what they generally let others see, are not immune to any of this, they also need to occasionally seek solace in the little things.

Picking a nice spot somewhere under the trees and trying to distract themselves with a book, for instance, is one of the little treats they allow themselves to enjoy: it's a nice distraction, allows them to be in contact with nature and, sometimes, when sufficiently distracted, they can almost pretend they are back home instead of some foreign land.

Their reading spot has been deliberately chosen: it is out of most people's way, yet not too distanced as to make them look unnecessarily weird, so it should, by design, be quiet-

-but the sound of familiar footsteps (they could recognize them anywhere) break the silence.

She calls for them.

They, for a second, consider not looking up from their book and spare themselves the ache on their chest that looking at familiar-yet-unfamiliar eyes may bring.

They don't want to play pretend, they don't want to force themselves to spare the blissfully ignorant's feelings, they don't want to be silently reminded of just how corrosive their influence has been on other's life even if that person does not quite remember it.

"Mena" they greet back, voice tight, just barely looking up from the book.

But...

There is something off-

-there is something where there should be nothing, there's a tiredness in her that vaguely echoes their own, there is...

"Moon" Tófi correct themselves, after sparing her a glance.

There is a heaviness to her presence that would not be able to exist on other conditions, there is this quiet desperation nested somewhere in her voice, hiding behind her smile, that is sadly familiar.

She is back.

It is a relief.

Yet, it hurts them for reasons they would rather not dwell on right now.

"Sit with me, min ven" they offer, closing the book while using their remaining index finger as a page holder while actively avoiding her previous questions (she, after all, does not need to concern with their methods of self-soothing, nor consider them even needing such things, for they are the older one here, they are her old teacher, they should be a reliable source of-)

"Hvad plager dig, mit kære barn? Jeg lytter"

But they know -and they know they are not really able to chance a thing, that such things are bigger than themselves.

But, still, they want to help and ease her mind, appeal to that human instinct that makes them think that seeking someone older, more experienced, will make things better.

Mena feels lost and hurt but she knows she has no right to. She's the one who'd hurt them first, even if she doesn't understand how or why.

Everything about this interaction that had felt hopeful has fallen away in the most spectacular and tragic fashion. An old friend and she's lost them already by not being who she was before.

There's a dull wound somewhere. In her chest? In her lungs? It affects how she holds herself. Mena is doing her best not to deflate, or stand and wish them a good day before leaving.

"What would be a complete loss to you, Tófi?" Mena asks quietly. Are you losing me, or is it something else?

Mena doesn't actually expect an answer. It seems that, from now on, Tófi wasn't interested in discussing the matter further.

They withhold their thoughts. They withhold their feelings. They withhold their secrets.

Tófi states that they wish to spare them (collectively) any further discomfort, but Mena's true discomfort comes from her lack of understanding. How can she make this better?

She can't. And that's the problem.

Mena feels entirely helpless in all things. This was just another one.

"Then I suppose I'm at your mercy, Tófi," she says, voice soft, eyes averted. "I'll allow you to dictate the makings of the evening then. I'll just be glad for your company all the same."

Tófi of Septarsis isn't quite sure and, frankly, they don't feel quite fond of the mere idea of having to dwell on it -for if it is not time that they may be losing (they got a virtually infinite amount of that), nor energy (a renewable source), then...what is exactly that they are losing?

To name it, to think of it, feels...wrong.

It is not about effort lost, it is not about resources, it is not about time.

So what is it, exactly?

In the end, they decide to avoid the self-reflection and reply with a vague sound, born from the center of their throat, and a vague tilt of the head.

Besides, it is not like Mena is expecting a real answer (her expression reveals as much).

"I, personally, have no plans" they admit "but let us see where things take us, Mena"

This rendezvous may be over as soon as they take their final sip of tea, they may find a comfortable middle point where they could try and pretend they were not familiar strangers now, or they may find something else to distract themselves with -there is no telling where the situation may lead and Tófi feels that the uncertainty of it is more bearable than...the more personal one, the unnamed, silent thing that makes their chest feel tighter.

"Lad os bare lade tingene være, for nu"

They want to savour what could be their last shared moments, even if they do so in awkward silence.

They were old friends.

If the old her understood them, then why couldn't she? She's pondered the idea that she might be better as Mena, with a new start. She wonders if she does less harm as Moon.

When people had called her that, Mena had looked at them with curiosity. She supposed they could pull "Moon" from Menodora, and the meaning made sense. Then it came to her that she had come up with the short name and Menodora had been more puzzled still. She didn't even like the nickname Moon, why would she even suggest it?

"Maybe it is just the way things are ought to be," they had said.

Mena frowns. "You're too smart to just accept things as they are," she says, an objection to their statement. "Life may not make sense, but you seem like the type of person who doesn't merely accept the status quo. Or, rather, you strike me as the type of person to challenge it in small ways. You challenged me on my view of Monsters."

Sure, Mena might be making some assumptions while saying this - might be incorrect about her assertations - but the impression she got from Tófi was that they did not take things lying down.

A spark surges from one ear to the other and there's a pained echo in her chest. Maybe she was too close to a truth?

She shuts out that possibility before continuing through the conversation.

"I don't think that's true," Mena argues. She didn't think herself so argumentative, but it appears that she can really be less agreeable than she thought. "I mean about you not having secrets. You give me the impression that you have many of them, actually." Mena purses her lips before giving Tófi a sort of wry, knowing smile. "I wish I could remember more of my own secrets. I think it would make me a more interesting person. I accepted Monsters, I was from some nearly unknown place in Denmark…"

Mena looks at him directly. "Are you withholding your thoughts to spare me? Or yourself?"

-but, at the same time, they aren't exactly right

No, Tófi of Septarsis, was not the kind of Monster to just accept that which they could not change and moved on with their life -they'd always been far too particular about their beliefs to just let things go, too prideful to let others dictate how things were ought to be when they, generally, had been in this earth for far longer than most of them.

But... things change. They, themselves, had had to change, to adapt, several times before not just to be remotely accepted in both Monstrous and 'polite' society, but to not be left behind.

Maybe this is one of those turning points when there is nothing left but to accept things, maybe it is wiser to count their losses and save both parts the pain of having to remember.

"One must choose their battles" they merely reply "Sometimes is wiser to retreat with grace than to face a complete loss"

They had tried. They had failed.

This, all of this, was something beyond them -a part of Menodora's life they were no longer a part of, something that concerned those closer to her instead of an old enemy.

If someone could ever find a cure to the situation, it would not be them: for they had only offered her confusion. They would never be the one that could get through to her without further damaging her in the process, they-

"Sometimes, min ven, it is better to forget"

Which, granted, is a terrible thing to say to someone suffering from amnesia.

"I believe there is no better way to keep things secret than to keep them out of mind -ergo, forgetting about them is the best way to honour them"

She looks at them, a little smile on her lips.

They could almost be fooled into believing they are talking to her former self.

"I have two" they finally admit "Secrets, I mean. But neither of them are mine to tell, nor yours to hear, I fear"

Are they related to her?

...yes, one of them is.

Would they ever tell her about it?

No.

"As for the other thing...I merely wish to spare us from further discomfort -we still have the chance to enjoy the rest of this evening, even if it means ignoring certain topics in the process"

There's a dull ache in Mena's chest, an anxiety that her body remembers but her mind forgot, as she struggles to reconcile her actions with this consequence. She digs her pinky nail into her palm to steady herself, as if that hurt could distract her from the much more invasive one that's pressing on her lungs.

Isn't it better to let people be as they are? Mundus and... monsters? If she doesn't understand what Tófi is, isn't agreeing to let them be enough? That's a form of acceptance, even if it isn't acceptance. Acceptance of the fact, not acceptance in understanding.

Mena's mind thrums nosily at the dissonance.

What had she been like before that she could accept and understand a monster? What had she been like before that she was so different from who she was now? It seemed that people thought she was more spontaneous the way she was now. Was she more or less likable? More or less stern? More or less kind?

There's a strain as Tófi ponders(?) her stance and Mena wonders what cruelty her words caused, if any.

"That's not..." what she meant... Mena looks at Tófi, eyes shifting in her dejection. Brown now, much like they looked when she was newly seventeen, a weight on her heart and shoulders she hadn't known previously.

Mena bites her tongue, lets the taste of some sour words come across it and dissipate against her teeth.

"Is that what you'd rather?" Mena asks delicately. Carefully, for she knows something she's said has shifted their air and inhalation. "For me to embrace being me as I am now? Or are you merely placating me and my mood. You seem wounded. I don't understand why but I'd like to."

She offers a hesitant smile. It seems wrong to smile in their presence, she's done something she doesn't understand.

That seems to be the common thread... Mena doesn't understand. There are things grander than her that she fails to grasp.

A thought strikes her.

"But, Tófi," Mena asks, brows furrowed as she makes her way through her thoughts, "why am I only re-learning this now?" She looks up to their eyes, trying to force them to see her -- really see her. "We're friends, aren't we. We would have been friends, I would have loved you in some way or form. Why is that a trait that I would have forgotten. I have to admit, there are people I hold close to me that I haven't lost. Cass Hamada, Hercules Kouros... people who aren't in town anymore like Elinor DunBroch or Aurora Briar. I can remember them, but you? Someone from my childhood, someone who I would have previously accepted as your are and myself with no recollection? How does that make sense?"

She's teetering far too close to a revelation. A headache threatens to flare. Mena pushes on.

"Tófi... can I ask... what's a secret about you that only I would know?"

She tries to debate, but lacks the courage to do in a definitive way -she, instead, mutters a couple of words and repositions herself, forcing them to see her as she tries to make sense of the bizarre place they have ended up in.

Their problems mirror each other, it seems, for both want to be perceived, understood, just...not in the way they are, currently; Mena wants to understand what being herself entails, Tófi wants-

-well, they are not quite sure of what they want, or why, really. Exposing their true nature had only caused problems and would continue to do so, and they are fully aware that someone else's understanding is something they will probably never obtain, given the...uniqueness of their situation.

It's rather ironic, really, to think that Moon had been closer to understanding, to really seeing, them back when she saw them as nothing but a cold-blooded murderer and manipulator than Mena, with eyes unclouded, will ever be.

'Why?'

'How those that make sense?'

The questions are unfamiliar, yet the way in which she presents them make them think of the way in which a young Menodora would cling to little bits of newly acquired information, how she would try and dissect, then morph them -try and extrapolate why if A was true, then why B was not and what could possibly mean in the grand scheme of things.

Tófi feels the need to point out what seems obvious to them: that there is no such thing as a coincidence and that the gaps in her memory are there for a reason, that someone had deliberately made her forget it, them.

But...just how useful would voicing such a thought be, really?

And they are just so tired...

"Maybe it is just the way things are ought to be" they reply, in a moment of merciful cruelty for both of them "Life rarely makes sense"

She tries again.

But...

"I have no secrets besides my nature" the Septarian lies "what you see is what you get. There is no Eureka moment I can offer you, nor magic words that will make things click in your mind, Mena"

It would be so easy...hell, to admit to their part on Comitessa's death would probably bring them full circle -but, at the same time, why would they admit to it when they had seen, just minutes ago, just how futile it all was, that magic would erase it all from her mind anyways?

To say it out loud would only be bothersome, so they decide against it.

Tófi was proud of being a monster. Some creature that wasn't human and perhaps wasn't of moral standing.

How can anyone be proud of that?

Mena feels suddenly very uneasy in Tófi's presence and wishes they'd go back to before. Before she knew they were a monster. But that would be pretending it didn't exist as well.

The ignorance of not knowing would have been blissful again. Why couldn't this be a memory that was swallowed whole by whatever curse had taken hold of her? Engulfed so many of her memories.

Mena tucks some hair behind her ear, hands wandering for something else to fidget with. She decides to braid loose strands on the side closer to Tófi...

"I guess I'll simply have to be content," Mena starts, twisting some strands before braiding them under, then over, "to not understand. Some other me may have understood you perfectly, might have accepted you... I'm sorry I can't be her."

She leaves her hair half-done, looking up and away from Tófi. At the rest of the decor. At the walls, really. Just to avoid having to have her gaze linger on any specific thing...

"But you said I loved you once," Mena recalls, turning her attention back to them. Bright blue eyes all inquisitive. Bright blue eyes like the ones they'd known a long time ago, if she could recall that detail. For some reason, being with them -- knowingly or not -- her eyes tend to go back to what they'd once been. "Had I loved you knowing what you were? -- Are? What you are?"

Had she been that forgiving?

"What I mean to say," Mena eventually says, softly, "is I suppose I'm just so astonished how different I was from who I am now. I don't know if I like that old me better. Maybe, if I never heal, this fresh start would be better for everyone."

It is a normal (no, an expected) reaction, really; Humans are naturally conditioned to reject what is different, to what may potentially harm them -to try and distance herself from the situation, from the problem, is self-preservation at it's finest.

They, theoretically, understand.

And yet...

There is something so profoundly perverse in Mena's words-

-no-

-in what Tófi makes of them-

-that make them yearn for her past self: the one that would rather hurt them directly, knowingly, instead of in this accidental way.

'Some other me may have understood you perfectly, might have accepted you… I'm sorry I can't be her

(...) Had I loved you knowing what you were? -- Are? What you are?' she asks.

As if Monsters were unworthy of love, of being loved, as if such a thing required a profound amount of knowledge or effort.

Both of which she refuses to-

It- there is a rational way to interpret all of this, there is context one must keep in mind, there are important differences between the demeanour of one who was born and raised surrounded by knowledge (twisted and bended beyond recognition as it was) than of someone who has just recently learned about the existence of what lies beyond the surface, of someone who is scared and tired; Tófi knows this.

But there is something so indescribably heartbreaking in exposing yourself completely only to not even be rejected, but to be deemed unworthy of the effort it takes to try and understand, to be classified as being so 'other' that being deserving of affection, of understanding, requires some sort arcane knowledge that was lost in a previous life.

And she...doesn't really notice what she's done, for she continues speaking, mourning her lost self while also shielding herself in the hopes that this can be a new beginning.

Tófi wants none of it -wishes not for new beginnings, nor for the past to remain imperturbable, haunting their every breath.

They are at an impasse where neither the past or present are good enough.

'Maybe if I never heal-'

A minute, in which Tófi of Septarsis remains uncharacteristically quiet, goes by.

"Maybe" they finally concede, voice tight.

They feel so, so tired.

"I wish you the best, then" come their words, born of an airy defeated exhale "may this new life bring you the happiness the other did not, Menodora"

A part of them wants to hope against all hope, to cling to the sentiment that this is not how is going to be from now on, that this is not how it is ought to be...yet another part of them feels so resigned to this, to the fact that things rarely are how they are ought to and that life rarely has satisfactory resolutions.

"I will not bother you further -for a memory of a bygone past has no place in your new beginnings"

A monster.

Tófi's tone sounds, perhaps, agitated, and Mena is quick to look reproachful for whatever mistakes she's made.

She supposes that what Tófi has said makes sense. To be a monster and be able to hide it, perhaps people believed that to be dangerous. Perhaps people believed that to be deceitful or duplicitous. True authenticity must be sacrificed for survival. It doesn't seem fair.

There is something in the way Tófi speaks that shifts, and Mena can't help but tilt her head and look at Tófi so imploringly. She doesn't understand, yet she wants to. In multiple ways, what could that mean?

She searches for some meaning in their eyes but even then, that uncanny aura returns, and she finds them hard to look at.

"In your species, yes? But Tófi, how can you be proud to be a monster?" Mena asks. "A monster. Why, when I think of a monster, I think of something abhorrent. The term itself means something frightening, despicable, without morals or feeling… something daunting." Mena's eyes are somewhat wide at the implications of what Tófi has said. "That's not what you are."

A Monster. In multiple ways...

It's a joke. It really must be a joke. The line between the literal and metaphorical blurs as the slight ache in Mena's head returns. Persists.

"Is this some act of self-loathing? Is it some guilt that clings to you, that colors your view. Tófi, you can't be a monster. You've been so kind to me, I can't imagine you as something so fearsome. So wretched. Is that something you want to be? Is that really what you think you are?"

And some small voice inside her, her own or maybe a past-her, wonders about herself. Perhaps she's not a monster in the way Tófi means, but the dark hue of her finger tips... maybe she herself could be monstrous too...

There is something so utterly Nietzschean in having been gifted a blank slate but being forced to rewrite your mistakes, to having to introduce that to the people that-

-that-

-matter. Somewhat. In a way.

(Even if it's a complicated one).

They had told Mena, moments before, that she continues to be the person she has always been and that she will always be -that, sadly, applies to them, too: their nature remains as unchanged as their actions even when they could try and pretend to be something else and start over in a better way.

But to do so, they figure, would be to betray themselves, their actions, their nature...everything they stand, and have ever stood, for.

So there is no real alternative but to...do this, to face this which as much grace as possible, even when it means re-breaking bonds, when it means further solidifying themselves as...

...well, a monster. And a Monster, with a capital letter.

Having to reintroduce themselves to Moo- no, Mena, is not what pains them, no: having to explain her, in roundabout ways, that she must not trust them, that she is ought to hate them.

Is it deserved? Oh, definitely.

Still, it... is a burden Tófi would prefer not to have, even if they refuse to turn their back to it.

'See, this is what I am. And this is why you are ought to hate it', it feels like.

To have to expose themselves in such a way just to be faced with confusion, which they must (as gently as possible) guide back into disdain is-

-tiresome. It makes them feel their age.

And they hate it.

"The same way you why you, occasionally, might feel proud to be a human, min ven" they finally reply "we, both of us, are complex creatures, capable of both marvelous and horrible things -of which we sometimes feel proud, or ashamed, of.

That definition of what a Monster is...is, I am afraid to say, terribly ethnocentric. Very human. Not the way in which I would describe what it means to be what I- what my people are.

I am what I am, Mena, not what your kind believes, or wants me, to be. There is no self-loathing, no guilt guiding my thoughts, just simple, objective truth"

It's like living in a castle, or some beautiful estate. It's like being in a room full of people with their eyes on you, because you're important. Because there was more to her than just Mena.

And it's the shock, the horror, the worry that overtakes Mena as the memory churns. There is no explanation -- visual or physical -- in this memory for why she feels unnerving dread. It's a nightmare within a memory, it's a dream she can't quite forget.

But she has forgotten. Or, she is forgetting. And Moon's palms and wrists ache as she clutches Tófi close and just needs to ask why -- why did they do it?

Why did they remind her? Why did they hurt her? Why did this have to happen?

There's a flash of silver in her mind, a half-crescent. And blood washing over her and Moon suddenly feels so terribly ill, the sensation staying with her far longer than the memory does.

Because, simply, as her sobs die down, so does her recollection. So does this dream that's not a dream -- that's --**

"I've wrinkled your shirt, oh, I'm so sorry," Mena says, coming back into herself. Eyes still wet, tears no longer flowing. "That's my fault, I hope it's not too much trouble for you," she says, though her hands tremble and the darkness at the tips of her fingers stubbornly do not go away... She wipes at her eyes, drying them with force rather than softness. She must seem to them like a proper wreck.

Mena looks up at Tófi's face, and she doesn't understand why their expression seems solemn and somber. Had she done something? Was this her fault?

The last thing she remembers is... --**

"You said you were a monster," Mena says, her hand lightly touching their face. Which, in fairness, might be a bit too familiar, even for them, "but you look as you look now. Is that... that's intentional, isn't it? Have I ever seen you as you were before this?"

"You don't seem like that much of a monster to me, Tófi. You seem... perfectly un-monstrous to me."

Never mind that they had just nearly caused her a mental and emotional collapse, now it seemed that the most important thing for Mena was the fact that their shirt was wrinkled.

Mena apologizes profusely as she dries her eyes, seems embarrassed and then gives an apologetic smile -while Tófi is not quite sure if they can meet their gaze quite yet.

She might be cursed to forget, but they are cursed to remember.

Then the next comments come, a natural progression of the previous conversation, but-

-the questions, the comments, are a little out of character, a little insensible for both Menodora and Moon, which makes them purse their lips and bite their right cheek's interior for a moment in an effort to stop the whatever mean comment they might spout back.

It takes a good minute before they can fully gather themselves, remind convince themselves that she means no real insult with her questions.

"There is not a single way for Monsters to look" they say, trying to inject some of their usual nonchalance back into their tone to various degrees of success "there is the belief that the more human we can make disguise ourselves like, the more dangerous the Monster is"

There might be some technical truth to that, for having access to anything that may modify their natural appearance meant the Monster either had incredible wits or access to cloaking magic...

"But that is a terribly anthropocentric way of thinking, for, again, there is no correct way to present oneself as, just a...sociably acceptable one. And, sadly, the more human-presenting one is, the higher the chance to get treated decently.

I don't look like a Monster, but I am -in multiple ways-, that I can assure you, min ven"

"I'm not sure," she answers quite truthfully.

She wishes she wouldn't be. It feels rude to reject one's nature. But still, to admit that they were a monster and that Mena had once been okay with that...

Her full name. The name Tófi had called her that had burned her ears. They say it again, every part complicated in her feelings. Menodora seemed so uniquely pretentious, and yet, it seemed apt. Eline, which she could remember but not place. Perhonen -- it's a family name, that's all.

Butterfly. The same name as Star from the play. Which surely can't mean much. Which certainly doesn't grasp at her thoughts, pounding in her ears like some sort of curse. Drumming and thrumming against the walls of her mind.

Johansen. Thrashing against her and Mena presses the heels of her palms to the corners of her eyes, trying to hold back tension and tears that seize her thoughts and focus.

Johansen, Johansen, Johansen. Why couldn't she hold onto that? Why couldn't she remember. It's slipping. Johan-- Joha--- ***

"Then why can't I remember it!?" She suddenly snaps and then immediately feels regretful and apologetic about. This can't be her fate. She cannot be the person whose mind torments itself into forgetting her own full name.

Mena could scream. Menodora could scream as remembering tried to singe at remaining thoughts.

She shoves those thoughts down like bile as she focuses instead on whatever secret Tófi might share. Perhaps she expected a favorite childhood book, or some sort of innocuous crime. No, instead... instead...

'You are the reason why your mother is dead'

Menodora could wretch. Something in her breaks then, the heat behind her eyes, the stinging in her temples, the well of tears within her eyes.

She had invited a killer. Her mother's killer, and guards as well. What kind of fairy tale had she been living? What kind of nightmare was this after all?

And everything builds and everything cries in her, clawing for air when she feels as if her head and heart and vision would give out from the pain of burning within her senses.

Shut up, stop it, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked, what happened, what did I do, how could I have done such a thing, how could I get away with it, Tófi please, please, please, please--

Mena shrieks as she doubles over, head in her hands, the memories far too much and forcing the air out of her lungs and tears from her eyes. Licks of fire and sparks dance at her fingertips, igniting nothing but leaving a painfully hot sensation in their wake.

Her past reckoning against a curse, it seems, and Mena's ability to recall it fighting back. She's feels sick. She feels the need to kneel on the floor to catch her breath.

It's likely only because she's already sitting that she doesn't full-on collapse.

Tears pool in her eyes and burn and even as she sits, in shock from her outburst, she can feel that secret slipping away. No, no! Can I keep it? For as horrible as it is, I can't-- did I know--

And it's 'why' all over again...

She turns to Tófi, her questions spilling from her like a flood as she grasps rightly to them, her hand at theirs that she'd injured, the other at the shoulder she'd once impaled. She remembers neither of those things. Yet still, the memories that live in those places flare and her fingertips are overcome with a dark hue that begins to crawl up her hands towards her wrists.

"Tófi, why did I do it? Before I forget, please -- why? How could I have done such a thing? Did I know? It's my fault but please tell me I didn't mean to. That it was an accident!"

Their words are still slipping, their revelations threatening to die away.

Tófi, please. Please.

She feels weak and faint and she clutches harder to Tófi. She knows this is her fault for asking. She knows this is such an escalation from what they'd seen from her.

Meekness and fearfulness dissolving into desperate madness.

"Why did I tell you? How could you possibly have known?"

Mena pales and her expression darkens as she tries to fight back whatever is trying to drag this moment, their words, back into the void-

-and to think that, of all things, it's that person's surname that has made her try to fight back, the thing she is clinging to...

It's almost insulting that indirect mentions of Star, of Comitessa, that their mere presence, had not changed a thing for Menodora, but that the mention of that pathetic chi- no, that pathetic excuse of a man, has her reaching out, fighting the all-consuming void on her memory.

She snaps, curses the unfairness of it all -and, for a brief moment, Tófi can see an echo of the fierce desperation in her eyes that they had seen in the battlefield, a lifetime ago.

The fire in her eyes flickers, the flame leans into a new direction.

She shrieks, doubles over as she holds her head between her darkened hands-

-and looks at them, eyes clouded by tears.