#sevendaysoffright

This world really is beautiful, She thought to herself. All around were rolling green hills, crowned in vibrant flowers. In the valley was a village, lighting up with campfires as night crept in. Voices rang up to her like a song.

Past the village was the beach, soft and golden in the dying amber sun. The ocean itself looked like honey, shimmering and shifting as it danced with currents.

She was apart from it all, high above the world on a small mountain, dressed in soft lavender with silvery armor discarded all around her. Her navy curls draped down her back, framing her face and the small coronet on her brow. Green eyes were soft and melancholy as they saw the land through the veil of grief. Gloved hands clutched at a cyan piece of cloth, remembering.

“Honestly Spica, there haven’t been any attacks in weeks. I think it’s safe to cut back on the patrols.” He’d turned to look at her, walking backwards with a devilish grin. His eyes were brilliantly blue and glittered with laughter. Spica on the other hand, was very serious.

“Cut patrols were what killed Serenity, General.” She told him flatly, emphasising his title. The man frowned, turning to march in front of her again. Spica’s gaze softened.

She knew she shouldn’t be so hard on him. His liege was still alive, although since Serenity’s death Endymion moved around as though sleeping, he did still live. The Generals had not failed their mission. Unlike the Warriors. She thought morosely.

“Warrior Virgo!” Spica turned and saw two Terran soldiers rushing towards her, and turned again to look back at her companion. Rebels had appeared from somewhere, scaling the walls and attacking everyone in sight,

General Jadeite was alone in their midst, cyan cloak flying as he lunged and slashed at the intruders with his sword. As she watched, he was bisected by a rebel’s great axe. Warm blood splattered her face as she rushed towards the crowd, swinging her naginata through the shoulder of the nearest rebel.

She fought in a red haze, unaware of the world around her except for the enemy she was cutting down. She blocked several blows with the staff of her weapon, before turning one of the blades on her attacker instead. She stopped only when the air went still and at her feet lay Jadeite, miraculously still breathing, though barely.

She knelt beside his torso, tearful green eyes meeting his clouding blue. She barely noticed the blood soaking her black uniform, or the spine and entrails just to her left.

“I’m sorry Jed. I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you. I’m sorry that I’ve pushed you away. I love you.” Jadeite couldn’t hear her. Trapped in his own pain. Spica sat sobbing before taking his hand in hers and drawing her  small dagger. She heard footsteps behind her

“Rest Jed. Be at peace.” She whispered, slipping the knife beneath his breastplate and striking his heart.

The General’s funeral had been a stately affair, his corpse borne to his pyre by the other Generals and Prince Endymion himself. The Warriors had followed behind, dressed in their best armor and all hesitantly watching their commander, wondering if Spica could hold herself together.

Spica had remained emotionless, vacant. Even as she lit the pyre, she stood like stone. After the ceremony, she’d made to leave but Endymion stopped her, handing her the cyan cloth that even now she clutched at desperately. A piece of Jed’s cloak.

Spica ran. Far and as fast as she could, finding herself beyond the castle walls, at the foot of the great mountain, watching the village below. No one followed.

“Lady Spica?” Someone said, causing the Warrior to turn, mechanically. Just up the pathway, dressed in her ebony best was a young girl, maybe thirteen. Princess Dione, the Senshi Saturn. Her purple hair was swaying in the soft wind, and her plum eyes held wisdom beyond her years.

“Tutra is coming Lady Spica.” She said softly.

Tutra? Spica thought absently. Tutra was a day of mourning, and for those who recently lost someone it was a day of great danger. Legends said that Tutra weakened Cossira’s Gates, and that the dead would often roam about, trying to take someone back with them. Often, people who’d just lost family or loved ones would gather together, lest they risk being taken to Cossira by the spirits. Spica looked at the dying sunlight and realized that today was Tutra, and with nightfall, the spirits would begin their quest.

“I know, Princess.” Spica said. “I will be with the Generals. With the Prince.”

Dione nodded.

“Do not listen to him Virgo.” She said it as a breath, and when Spica turned to ask what she meant, the little girl was gone, and she was alone once more.

Spica knew she should go inside, go to her Warriors, or to the Generals. Or even to the Prince, like she had told the little princess she would. But instead, the woman watched the sun die. She watched the moon rise in the sky and felt the world go silent.

She sat in silence for a long time and nothing happened. She began to believe that the myths of Tutra were just that, myths when she heard something.

Lady Virgo!

Spica jumped to her feet, turning. There was no one there, though she could have sworn that it was Serenity who spoke. That’s impossible. She thought. Serenity had been dead for over a year. They had made certain that Endymion wasn’t alone that Tutra.

Spica...She heard it again, voice after voice whispering it on the wind. She recognized all of them. Her Warriors that had passed in the war. Her parents. Finally, she heard his voice.

Warrior Spica. He said it so teasingly, the sound darting away towards the caverns, Spica could see his mischievous grin as he danced out of reach. She followed the sound, casting a light spell in her palm when the caves went too deep for the moon to follow.

Spica She hears, ever deeper in the darkness, and so she follows it. Finally, she found herself in a great cave as wide across as the valley above them. There are houses too, made of glassy obsidian with shadowy figures darting in and out.

The woman moves down, drawn to one house beneath a ledge. Going inside, she found a fire burning and kneeling beside it was a tall man with golden curls. He looked up when she walked in and smiled broadly.

“Spica!” He rose to his feet and picked her up, twirling her around once before putting her down. She watched him for a long moment.

Even in the firelight, his skin was grey and his blue eyes were still cloudy. At his waist was an angry red gash oozing blackish blood.

Spica grimaced, realizing that death was hiding the true damage from that night.

“Is this Cossira, Jed?” She asked, looking around his house. The firelight reflected off of the ebony and his furniture seemed to be made of precious stones.

“Sort of.” He said cryptically. “But it’s nothing compared to home.” He looked down to meet her eyes.

“Home?” She asked. “Endymion’s castle?” Jed nodded.

“You’re dead Jed. We...I lit your pyre this morning.” She said quietly and Jed smiled at her.

“I know. But with you, I can come back.” Spica frowned, so he carried on. “A spirit can become whole again when accompanied by a loved one.” Spica thought for a long while before locking eyes with him again.

“You can come back? To Endymion, to your brothers?” Jed gripped her shoulders.

“To you.”

Spica started walking back through the obsidian village after that, gripping his hand in hers. At first it felt wispy, insubstantial. Then, as she moved into the tunnels it felt firmer. As they reached the opening, he clenched her hand back. They walked through the cave to find themselves in a room filled with deep mahogany and white marble. Furnished in soft lavender and silver.

Her chambers in Endymion’s castle. Spica felt Jed’s hand leave hers and turned around. There was no one there. Jed was gone.Spica fell to her knees and sobbed. She felt as though her heart had fallen from her chest. In her hand was the piece of cloth that Endymion had given her that morning. Somehow she had carried it in her fist throughout her entire journey.

“Spica?”

The woman looked up, startled. There, in front of her door was a tall figure with blond curls and brilliant blue eyes. His hands were still ashen and shaking terribly. Spica walked towards him slowly as the sun rose through the windows behind her.

“It hurts Spica.” He whispered, reaching out for her. Taking it, she watched as he pulled his other arm away from the wound at his waist. In Cossira, the gash had been maybe an inch deep and slowly rivuleting black ichor. But now Spica could see the muscles torn and glimpses of pink where his spine appeared in the blood. His whole body shook with the strain of trying to stand.

“Spi..ica.” He groaned, and she looked up into his eyes. He was in agony. This is why the dead aren’t meant to return. Spica took his hand in hers, never breaking eye contact as she drew her dagger from her belt. She heard soft footsteps coming down the hallway towards her door.

“Rest Jed. Return to peace.” She whispered painfully as she she slipped the blade into his still heart. His face turned peaceful as he vanished into ash.

She fell to her knees, weeping as the first rays of dawn reached her.

She woke with a start, rising stiff in her bed.

“Jem!”

The blonde looked around the room, trying to remember. She was alone in their bedroom. Jem was fine, she was at her brother’s. Liam had asked her to come over for some reason or another.

Getting up from bed, Ally took deep breaths, trying to calm her frazzled nerves. The woman shuffled down into the kitchen, comforted by the sounds of nails clicking against hardwood marble as her dogs followed.

Making a cup of coffee to wake herself up, Ally thought about her nightmare.

“You’ll be too late to save her Ally, too late to say goodbye. Too late to watch her die.” The voice whispered, relishing in the tears falling from brown eyes as Ally franticly searched for a clue to where her wife was.

“What do you want?!” The woman shrieked, flinging papers and folders off of Jem’s desk as she looked.

“Well, I wanted you. I wanted her.” He said casually, before his voice turned cold and snarling. “But the two of you were too good for me, weren’t you? So instead, I’ll just kill you.”

Suddenly, the dream shifted and Ally was running down a familiar hallway, rushing towards a crimson door with the number 13 bolted to it. As she reached it, it opened slowly, revealing Jem sitting there, tied to an old chair.

She was bruised, blood dripping from her lips as soft green eyes locked with Ally’s brown. She said something that Ally couldn’t hear. Three words and a sad smile that she couldn’t understand. Then the world went white and echoed with the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

Ally’s screams echoed in her own ears.

She shook her head, trying to clear the dream from her head again, sitting at the small dining table Jem insisted on.

Bella, Jem’s small dachshund was lying in her bed beneath the oaken legs. Jamie, her husky was on the couch. The two of them were staring at the front door, waiting patiently for their owner to come home. Ally remembered the first time her mother-in-law had come over and Jem introduced Jamie as ‘her grand-puppy’. The woman snorted. Ana was not happy.

“I miss her too.” She told the dogs, petting her own german shepherd’s snout as he rested it against her legs. “She’ll be home soon.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Ally heard keys in the door. Oak and stained glass opened to reveal brilliant blue curls.

The dogs all raced towards the door, hellbent on bowling the petite woman over her own two feet.

“Sit!” Her melodic voice rang out, sounding tired and a little bit hoarse. The dogs sat, obediently before following her silent hand gesture and going to their individual beds in the living room.

Laughing quietly, Ally rose to her feet and walked over to her wife as she closed the door. Jem was wearing what she called her “comfort clothes”, a navy blue turtleneck and soft black pants that looked like slacks and felt like velvet. Jem liked to joke that she wore those particular pants when she wanted to sleep but needed to go to work.

“Good morning beautiful.” Ally whispered, putting an arm around her wife’s waist. Jem looked up, meeting her eyes and smiled.

“Good morning darling.” She returned, kissing her wife gently before groaning and leaning on the taller woman. “He drank tequila.”

Ally grimaced. Jem’s brother was notorious for getting into toxic relationships and drinking himself sick when he decided to end it. The stronger the alcohol, the worst the rebound would be.

“Let's not invite the next one for dinner, yeah?”

Jem laughed, pulling away to go up the stairs. Ally missed the warmth in her arms.

“Where are you going?” She asked, following the small librarian.

“I’ve got work in a couple of hours hon, I need to shower and get ready.” Jem said, turning to look at her, confused.

Ally had a bad feeling about work.

“Stay home? Please? We’ll curl up on the couch and watch TV. We’ll watch one of those home makeover shows you like so much. Please?” She rambled. Jem’s eyebrow furrowed.

“What’s going on Ally?” She asked, sitting on the top step. Ally sighed, moving up to sit beside her before explaining her dream.

After a second, Jem placed soft hands on either side of her wife’s face, her dark brown manicure resting against Ally’s temples.

“Ally, I’m okay. Nothing is going to happen.” She smiled. “As much as I would love to stay home with you today, you’ve got adopters coming into the shelter today, remember?”

Ally blinked for a second before groaning. Jem was right, she had a self-defense group coming in to look at some of her guard dogs. She couldn’t push it off, or have one of her volunteers do it either because Ally had been working personally with the dogs.

“Fine…” She sighed. “But will you stay home?”

Jem looked at her incredulously.

“Ally, I’m not going to…” She trailed off, seeing the frantic worry in the other woman’s eyes before letting out a sigh of her own. “I had a couple of projects I wanted to work on anyway...I’ll call in and take a couple of days off to finish them.”

Ally grinned at her before hugging her tightly.

“Thank you.” She whispered into Jem’s lavender-scented hair.

“You’re welcome.” She grumbled heatlessly. “But I don’t want any complaining next time I decide I want take out for dinner.”

Jem got up after a moment, still heading into the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Ally asked, causing the smaller woman to groan.

“I still want a shower Ally. I feel like trash.” She said frustratedly as she pulled off her turtleneck. Ally grinned when she saw the tattoo in the small of Jem’s back. Surrounded by her other ink was a portrait of a lion with a blue jay sitting on it’s back.

Jem had gotten the tattoo on their first anniversary, and this next June would be their fifth. Ten years since they’d met fresh out of high school.

Ally went downstairs, making her wife coffee and breakfast. A weight had been lifted off her shoulders when Jem agreed to stay home. She knew she was being silly, but she felt better anyway.

Hours passed by and Ally was sitting in her office at the shelter, helping a family through adoption paperwork for a five year old german shepherd. Dale was a sweet old pup who’d cuddle up with them every night and play with their son every afternoon. He was a perfect fit.

She felt her phone buzz as she saw the family out and found a text from Jem waiting on screen.

[12:17]J: Going to the store? Want anything specific?

[12:19]H: Wait until tomorrow, I’ll come with you.

[12:19]J: (eye roll) Ally, we need groceries, and I’m out of thread. It’s ten minutes away.

[12:22}H: Fine...Buy chips?

[12:23}J: Yes dear.

Ally smiled at her phone before looking at the next name on her clipboard. Jazzy, a nine-month old rottweiler who’d been chosen by one of the self-defense chicks. Back to work then.

The blonde locked the doors at 6:30 sharp, finally finishing the last of her paperwork for the day. Walking to her truck, she looked down at her phone.

[13:50]H: Hey babe? Want sushi for dinner?

[14:00]H: I could grab chinese instead? It’s up to you.

[18:00]H: Bluejay? Are you there lovely?

[18:30] Jem...I’m on my way home.

Ally broke more than a few traffic laws coming back to their house and screeched to a halt in their driveway when she saw the front door standing open.

“Jem!” She called, running through the front door. She heard the dogs howling, they were locked in the basement. There’s plenty of water down there, and Jem puts the winter clothes in bags on the floor. She thought absently, moving through the house, looking for her wife.

The house was a mess, like someone had been looking for something. In the kitchen, a bunch of bags were strewn about on the floor like Jem had never gotten the chance to put away all of her shopping.

Moving up the stairs, Ally heard Jem’s cell phone ringing. Following the noise, Ally ended up in Jem’s office. It was untouched. Her writing the desk sat under the window, covered in papers with her laptop closed and the printer turned off. Against the other wall was her gaming computer, turned off as well. The wall with the door was covered in bookshelves, but the ringing was coming from Jem’s laptop.

There, on top of the chromed lid sat Jem’s smartphone, lighting up with an ‘Unknown Number’ screen.

Ally answered it.

“Hello Ally.”

“Who is this? Where is my wife?” Ally asked angrily.

“Easy now. She’s fine. Jemstone is here, with me. As for who I am...I’m upset you don’t remember me Allycat. We’ve had a lot of fun together, the three of us.”

Jemstone...Allycat…? It was like someone flicked a switch. Before she and Jem were married, there had been a guy in college. Damien was his name. He was a biomed. major. They all played video games together, went bar hopping, took classes. He’d even shared an apartment with them for awhile. The two women had invited him to their wedding, but he vanished.

“Damien?” She asked hesitantly, only to be greeted with a loud cry of approval.

“You do remember Allycat!” He sounded insane. “We’re going to play a game now. Somewhere in Jemstone’s things is an address. One you should recognize. If you aren’t at that address in two hours; I’m going to blow pretty Jemstone’s brains out.”

Ally hadn’t even fully processed the sentence before she flew to Jem’s whiteboards on the wall, looking for handwriting that wasn’t the blunette’s own graceful scribble. Nothing there so she moved to the bookshelf, throwing crates of crafts and skeins of yarn to the ground. Twenty minutes gone. She heard Damien talking, but she couldn’t focus on his words as she ripped through her wife’s office.

She ran to their room, searching through Jem’s vanity. Nothing in her makeup, or in her jewelry. Nothing in their dresser or closet. Thirty minutes. Back to the office, just in time to hear Damien say something on the phone. She didn’t even realize she’d put it on speaker.

“Wakey wakey Jemstone.”

“Jem? Damien, let me talk to her! Please.” Damien made disapproving noises, like he was scolding a child.

“That’s not part of the game Allycat.”

“PLEASE!” Ally yelled, moving to her wife’s work desk and nearly throwing the laptop out of the way. One hour. Minutes later, she heard Damien singing softly.

“You’ll be too late to save her Ally, too late to say goodbye. Too late to watch her die.” He whispered, seeming to relish in the fear he caused as Ally frantically searched for a clue to where her wife was.

“What do you want?!” The woman shrieked, flinging papers and folders off of Jem’s desk as she looked.

“Well, I wanted you. I wanted her.” He said casually, before his voice turned cold and snarling. “But the two of you were too good for me, weren’t you? Leading me on and then surprise! You’re getting married. So now, I just want to return the favor. I just want to rip your heart out.”

Suddenly, Ally’s hand found it, a small notecard with one of Jem’s chocolate brown fake nails taped to it. The address, just as promised, was familiar. The apartment complex she and Jem lived in before Ally’s shelter took off. The one they’d shared with Damien. Forty-five minutes left.

“I’m coming, Bluejay.” She said firmly, well aware that the man could hear her.

Ally was laser focused, barely aware of the world as the barreled through the city into the college town, into the parking lot of a nearly abandoned apartment complex. Five minutes left.

Up seven flights of stairs and Ally was running down a familiar hallway, rushing towards a crimson door with the number 13 bolted to it. Two minutes.

Her hand gripped the handle and she pounded on the door, shoving it open, revealing Jem sitting there, tied to an old chair.

She was bruised, blood dripping from her lips as soft green eyes locked with Ally’s brown. She said something that Ally couldn’t hear. Three words and a sad smile that she couldn’t understand. Then the world imploded and echoed with the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

Ally’s screams echoed in her own ears.

“What is your real reason for coming here Kallyis? Why would you bring an army to a temple under the guise of refugees?” Lysa asked the man kneeling at the marble feet of a goddess.

“My sis-” Kallyis stopped and corrected himself. “The Queen has decided that your temple, your forests are the best vantage point in our war against Avalon.” Lysa rose to her feet, eyes wide as she realized the implications. Lysa was cursed in that moment to see something that tore at her soul. She closed her eyes.

She reopened them to find her body standing in the square. Looking down, the woman was no longer in apprentice garb, her loose grey tunic replaced with the purest white and bordered in sky blue diamond embroidery. Why am I the Head Priestess? Lysa looked in front of her and gasped.

The jade statue of Baldr had been destroyed, crumbled upon his pedestal with only one half of his head resting on the pile. She looked around to the various temples and saw each one destroyed. The forests on fire.

Hearing screams, Lysa ran towards the Hall of Acolytes, praying that the apprentices and acolytes were all gone, escaped before this carnage.

Lysa pushed the double doors with inhuman strength and the oak splintered. There, in the fire pit was a young acolyte, writhing as some figure in armor stood over her.

“Tell us where the Queen is, girl and we’ll make it stop.” The soldier growled, gesturing to another soldier behind him. The man, a mage  turned his hand and the flames rose higher, licking her skin and causing a wrenching scream.

“Please! I don’t know!” The girl cried, Lysa recognized her as Morgan, a young priestess of Geneva. Before Lysa could do anything though, the flames enveloped the girl and her scream stopped. The fire died and the soldier spoke again.

“I believe you.” He turned towards the doorway and Lysa recognized him. Tall, muscular and blessed with a head of hair redder than the Gods Flame. Brilliantly blue eyes and a coronet of moonstones resting on his brow. Prince Kallyis of Albion.

Lysa’s coal-dark eyes opened when she felt hands touch her shoulder. During her vision the priestess had fallen to floor and Kallyis tried to catch her. Rising shakily to her feet, Lysa stood between the feet of Anahita and looked remarkably like her patron. Black curls billowing around her face in unfelt wind, and her black gaze painfully cold.