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[Cezanne Abella]

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Ranna was so enthusiastic that it was hard to keep her attention on any one thing for very long. Cezanne had given her a tour of the thatre, leaving out the grand suite upstairs she used as her own bedchamber, in case Valentein was in bed resting. Where had he been? She remembered a letter from him vaguely, but her mind could not linger on him no matter how hard she tried. Thoughts of Morio always occluded all else. The bed, with its red velvet drapings and flowered vines up the bedposts, and Morio lying there, beckoning her to him…

“Miss Cezanne?”

The sound shattered her reverie so abruptly that Cezanne prickled with anger before quickly regaining control. “Aye Ranna?”

“Will we be painting sets?”

They stood in the guest room that Cezanne had given to Ranna. Cezanne answered the girl’s questions for half an hour, still surveying the girl. She had looked her over as nonchalantly as she could, head to toe, trying desperately to find….Aha, of course!

Cezanne beamed, looking at the girl. Her questions were so enthusiastic, her excitement so sincere. It reminded her of herself when she had decided to build the theatre. Before the first cast she had hired fell apart…before Valentein…Her thoughts became muddled again.

“First things first Ranna,” Cezanne purred. Your eyes are so beautiful. I’ve plenty of costuming, let’s find a hat that brings out your eyes. The bells that droop from yours distract from them. Wouldn’t you like something that brings them out, so the young men notice them? Ranna’s tails wagged excitedly with the notion, and her violet eyes took on a dreamy quality.

Cezanne pulled out a gypsy’s headdress in a hue of purple not unlike the young Kitsune’s eyes and handed it to Ranna to try on. Ranna quickly took off the jester’s hat and slipped on the headdress. “It matches my eyes!” She nearly sparkled with excitement.

Cezanne smiled. “Aye...it looks lovely!” She turned toward the jester’s hat that Ranna had tossed on the bed. “Yours is also beautiful. May I?” She was already reaching for the hat.

Ranna’s eyes cut back toward the hat somewhat guardedly, but she responded evenly. “Yes, I suppose…”

“It’s so elegant. Did your mother make it?” Cezanne examined the jingle bells one at a time.

“No, I did.” Ranna smiled at the compliment.

“I’m very sorry,” Cezanne cooed as she found what she sought, grasping a bell that was slightly larger and rounder than the others. She ripped it off the hat and handed the hat back to Ranna. “But I’ll be needing this.”

Ranna’s eyes were panic-stricken as she took a step toward Cezanne and reached out.

Cezanne smirked and added, “And you’ll be needing to step back.”

Ranna was crestfallen, budging backwards only an inch and seeming to ignore the vague command. “You don’t need that Miss Cezanne…”

“I’m afraid I do. And I said, step back.”

Ranna stepped back against the wall obediently, and a smile played on Cezanne’s lips. “You may do as you wish here, but don’t set a foot outside the theatre. And no magick. I have a letter to write.”

[Ranna ab'Arawn]

---

Ranna stared angrily at the door Miss Cezanne had departed through. How dare she trick her that way? Placing a hand haughtily on her hip, she gazed at the standing harp Miss Cezanne had added to the room. The lacquer of the harp's wooden timber gleamed in the soft candlelight, its strings mute for now. Some consolation prize it was, and definitely not worth her freedom. Her tails swished furiously back and forth as she stood there, trying to decide what to do next.

Miss Cezanne had rambled back and forth like mad, from trying to explain herself in regret, to speaking as if she was a woman scorned. A woman sworned... She liked that phrase, she would have to remember it for her next poem. Shaking her head, she forced her mind back to the current situation.

"don’t set a foot outside the theatre."

Okay, so she was stuck in this building while Miss Cezanne was off writing some letter to her mother. The whole situation made no sense to the young kitsune. Miss Cezanne had professed some great love for her father, but daddy was so old! She kept saying she just wanted to speak with him, but it just made no sense that she needed to invite her mother here to do it.

Ranna sank down onto a stool, pouting at the unfairness of it all. Why did she have to be in here? Why did that mean, old, lying crazy-woman Cezanne have to go and take her ball for? She sat there in the throws of a superbly youthful temper tantrum, fretting and steaming about the situation. Her father was going to be furious with her. Had he not explained to her, most seriously, in fact, about the importance of never ever -EVER- letting anyone take her ball away? She sighed, it just wasn't fair at all!

She screwed her face up into a spiteful smirk. Whatever Miss Cezanne had planned, it wasn't right. So why should she sit here like a perfect little house guest, waiting for whatever happened next?

"...And no magick."

Well, it wouldn't really be magic, would it? She couldn't help it if she had a natural way with plants and things.

She waited in her room, listening for what seemed like hours until Miss Cezanne's footsteps finally came down the stairs and she passed Ranna's room on her way to the main floor. Ranna crept from her room to the top of the stairs and watched as the other woman left the theater to send the letter to her mother. Then she herself descended the stairs to the main theater. She set about her business, and worked as quickly as she could. There was no telling how much time she would have to work with.

She knelt close to the floor, much in the way she had as a young pup, and coaxed plants from the earth below the building. Slowly and surely, they pushed upward between the stones of the floor, bursting into vibrant life within the room. Satisfied, she moved a foot further and repeated the affair.

It took a fair amount of time, but in the end the mischievous and vengeful kitsune was satisfied. Casting a gaze at her handiwork, a smug smile graced her face. It looked like one of her druid ancestors had exploded in here. She barked a laugh and headed up the stairs to her room, thankful for whatever relative she had inherited these nature powers from, tails swishing in arrogance. Tonight, she would live up to the kitsune tradition of pranking to teach a lesson.

It served Miss Cezanne right for taking what didn't belong to her.

[Cezanne Abella]

---

“You see, Ranna, at long last my audience has arrived. Opening night came sooner than we ever dreamed.” Cezanne smiled, looking down into the horrified violet eyes of the young Kitsune. Light footfalls filtered in from outside, betraying the presence of a visitor on the steps. As the footsteps entered the theatre, Cezanne reached down and released a rope that was tied around her waist. The red velvet curtains rose on the theatre stage, and in the center stood Cezanne, wielding Night’s Kiss, the dagger’s blade biting menacingly into the neck of the Kitsune girl.

Haydn stopped dead in her tracks at the entrance, seething as she took in the scene. She instinctively dropped into a stance of aggression.

“Tsk…I wouldn’t,” Cezanne purred, pressing her dagger tighter against the tender flesh of her hostage. Haydn did not move from her stance, but simply surveyed the situation. Cezanne continued, “I don’t have to harm the child. I don’t wish to. But you have something I need. And I have something you will want.” Cezanne flashed a shining golden ball with one hand as Ranna tried to turn her head to catch a glimpse of her prize possession.

“Ranna…” Haydn uttered. She looked to Cezanne then, her tone acrid. “What do you want, Twoleg?”

Cezanne beamed and answered without hesitation. “I will be needing yours too.”

Haydn growled. “It won’t do you any good.”

“Nor will it do you any good without your child. It would be a shame for her to die thinking you didn’t care enough to save her.” Cezanne held Ranna tighter as she shuddered in Cezanne’s grasp.

“She knows I do,” Haydn stated evenly. “You want my ball?” She lifted aloft her hand, palm open, and a brilliant gold ball materialized within it. She glared at Cezanne for a moment, but threw the ball hard in the human’s direction. Cezanne dropped the dagger and caught the ball, releasing Ranna to run to her mother.

Without wasting a second, Haydn pulled out a crossbow and notched an arrow. The realization struck Cezanne not a moment too soon, and swiftly she spoke. “You will not take up arms against me.”

Haydn reluctantly forced herself to put away the crossbow. Cezanne smiled in relief and triumph. “Now, I think it’s time Ranna went upstairs to her room.” Ranna silently released her mother and ascended the stairs to the second floor.

Haydn sneered at Cezanne. “I’ve eaten less troublesome Twolegs than you.”

Cezanne smirked. “Troublesome? I could make you turn your blade against your own flesh. All I ask is that you sit and talk with me.”

[Cezanne Abella]

---

Haydn sat scowling at Cezanne across the table, which seemed oddly out of place with its cheerful, freshly-picked bouquet as a centerpiece. She answered Cezanne’s questions through clenched teeth, against her will.

“How did you meet Morio?” Cezanne inquired.

“In Sanctus. I was searching for word of my father, Orion.”

Cezanne nodded. “Was it love at first sight?”

Haydn thought for a moment on her answer. “There was an attraction there that neither of us could deny.”

Cezanne smiled dreamily as the beautiful white-haired Kitsune spoke more freely. Somewhere in the dark corners of her mind, the memories that unfurled merged with her own, forming altogether new ones. Memories in which she herself met Morio in Sanctus, while searching for word of a loved one. Of waking in his arms, bonding with him in a way that only the Kitsune can. She felt as though her entire life suddenly had new meaning, springing from a well of love and hope that she never knew existed at the center of her being.

When Haydn had grown silent, Cezanne remembered her purpose in bringing the female to her home. She leveled her gaze on Haydn, her smile fading. “It’s a lovely story. You are a very lucky woman. But this is how your story ends. Now you will go to Morio, and you will tell him you are leaving him, and then you will return to the theatre. You will tell him nothing more. No sidetrips, and no distractions. Do you understand?”

Haydn’s glare turned icy as she regarded Cezanne’s demeanour, but she simply replied, “I will do as you have commanded.”

Cezanne smirked as she stood, turning to ascend the stairs to her bedchamber. Haydn rose wordlessly and stalked out the front door, into the Umbran night.

[Haydn ab'Arawn]

---

Seething in anger, a myriad of paths to revenge flickered through her mind. As she left the theater, she knew she would simply bide her time and obey the command. She understood now how her father must have felt when he had been shackled with a collar like a pet.

She sought Morio out in Cove. As she walked, she spotted him atop the wall, in his usual spot. He smiled as he saw her, and with heavy head, she climbed the stairs to relay that most hated message. Taking human form before him, she gazed at him. The words so difficult to say, so wretchedly forced from her by magical control. She clenched her fist, but she could not keep herself from carrying out the magical command.

"Morio.. I'm leaving.."

He was confused, but she could offer no more explanation, as per Cezanne's command. She simply repeated herself, taking a step away and recalling back to that hated theater to assure their daughter's safety. She could only hope that by leaving her bond with Morio in place he would suspect something was amiss.

"Your deed is done," she said to Cezanne. Cezanne nodded.

"Don't fret. If I can make him happy, I will. If I can't...well... I'll be dead and you will have him back."

"You are insane," Haydn retorted, folding her arms.

"Oh come now, Haydn. You'd die for him too...."

Haydn smirked, "He's MY mate. He would for me."

"Was.. I believe you left him," Cezanne smiled.

Haydn didn't respond, only tightened her mouth. She hoped Morio would suspect something with the bond left in place.

"You don't have much to worry about..." Cezanne was saying, "An orc tonight told me I was too ugly to eat. You know I don't have a chance. But I have to try."

"Half your problem is you listen to orcs," Haydn stated flatly.

"The other half is that I'm too ugly to eat," Cezanne smirked.

"My daughter had better be in one piece," Haydn warned.

"She is upstairs. Would you like a doll for her?" Cezanne smiled. Haydn rejected the offer and headed to the stairs to find her daughter. As she took the steps, Cezanne called after her, "Be well, Haydn. I do not hate you. You were simply an obstacle."

Haydn growled in anger as she continued her path up the stairs. "I won't waste the energy to hate you. You belong with the lich."