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[Cezanne Abella]

---

“What happens after?” The dark-haired child watched her father with wide, fearful pale green eyes.

“After what, Mi Vida?” The rough hand of her father stroked the girl’s hair gently as he sat next to her on a canvas cot in their tent.

The child’s voice didn’t quake with the shattering of her world, but it came softly now, nearly a whisper. “After the hurt.”

The wild-haired sailor looked up to the gypsy woman who stood in the doorway of the tent, arms folded tightly to cradle her aching soul within her bosom. The woman gave a shrug and pressed her lips together, ducking out of the tent to leave the two alone.

He turned again to look into the child’s imploring eyes. “After the hurt, Mi Vida, we take time to mend. And then we fling wide our soul’s song, and go in search of ourselves again.”

The child swallowed the dull ache in her throat and watched her father for a moment before nodding. “Could your soul’s song ever land here again?”

This time, he looked away and sighed heavily before returning his dark-eyed gaze to hers. “Your Papa loves you very much, Cezanne. Come. It is time. My ship is waiting.”

It wasn’t an answer to her question, but it was answer enough.

[Cezanne Abella]

---

The music of the universe was all around her. The song wove itself in and out of her senses for four days as she walked barefoot amidst the heady scent of leaffall and decay. Autumn’s tune fluttered with each rattling leaf and shook with the barren branches that reached desperately for the stars of moonless night. The rough-hewn rhythm clattered, sometimes frantically, through the forest and swirled in drafty upward spirals as leaves caught in the wind hit obstacles and mounted up to the sky. The music and voices left everything pure and nothing untouched.

Her soft green robes and dark loosed curls smelled of the earth. Scant birdsong punctuated waking hours, and the night was blissfully silent; the mockingbird had long retreated from the gnarled fingers of winter’s encroaching touch. Now and again the downy feet of an owl touched down lightly upon a branch, keeping nocturnal vigil over the fire and the slumbering human form below.

Here was where Cezanne’s heart found solace. Cradled to the bosom of the earth, she awoke and slept and partook of communion with the gods and goddesses who had resided here for millennia. Here, she was never alone.

Here, she would find her song.

[Cezanne Abella]

---

"It'll calm your spirit and help with the pain."

Cezanne had looked at the flask skeptically the first time the rootworker offered it. She didn't like the idea of her mind being dulled by foul substances, natural or otherwise.

"It's safe," Amdiriel assured in the familiar elvish lilt that belied very human eyes. Honest, caring eyes. "Just no more than two mouthfuls, Cezanne, lest the world be spun around on end for ye. This stuff can make ye see things better reserved for nightmares."

But those days were long past. Two mouthfuls were never enough anymore. The bones in her wrist ached and throbbed beneath the thin, taut, hateful skin that comprised the red scar that encircled the bones like a masochist's bracelet. Her heart no longer simply ached and whispered to her of her transgressions and misgivings in the dark of night. Instead it cried out and begged and raged for more, always more, like a hungry child who knew no limit, no boundary. And Cezanne had learned to give in to the desperate demands. Each time the girl with the elvish accent refilled the flask now, she did so with more trepidation in her eyes. And Cezanne began to feel the flush as her cheeks burned hotly with shame.

[Cezanne Abella]

---

Ashamed. Cezanne took a mouthful of the wretchedly bitter liquid from her flask and swallowed it without flinching as she gazed glassily into the dancing flames of her campfire.

She had never intended to use such a word to describe herself. But what rational being ever does? She'd had a taste of the things she had aspired to be. Poet. Actress. Bard. Troubadour. Certainly these, but they kept company alongside other, much uglier siblings, as if the two halves held a delicately balanced affinity for one another. Ashamed. Insecure. Damaged. Liar.

"Liar?"

Every day that you wear a mask that smiles brightly, and attempt to love with an empty and hollow heart.

"I loved once."

With or without the elixir? How do you even know it was real?

"It was real."

Empty. Hollow. Lost. Addict.

"Addict."

You'll have to give it up if you ever want to find your song.

"I know." Cezanne took another mouthful and swallowed without any implied promise, still watching the flames that reflected, shining brightly, in her glazed, pale green eyes.

[Adrian Bishop]

---

"But have you seen her, Brother?" He licked his chapped lips and looked around the tavern uneasily.

"I haven't, Adrian," Corvus uttered in a low voice, watching others to avoid eye contact with the shrouded figure. Instantly, both men cringed as Corvus realized his mistake and looked at Adrian apologetically. "I'm sorry, cousin. No, I haven't seen her. She wandered off into the woods a few weeks ago."

Adrian adjusted his hood to better hide his face from curious eyes. Not that he was easily recognizable anymore. "Was she wearing the pendant?"

Corvus shook his head. "I believe she took it with her, but she wasn't wearing it the last time I saw her."

Adrian's expression fell as the hooded figure swayed slightly on his feet. Corvus slid off the bar stool to his feet without hesitation. "Do ye need help, Cousin?"

Adrian brushed off the question. "Do you know which way she went, Brother? " Adrian looked back up to Corvus again with an imploring gaze. His face was desperately pale and gaunt.

"She's in the wild lands, outside Delucia, I believe." Corvus studied Adrian's expression with concern.

"Aye, thank you. I have to find her." Adrian turned without another word amidst the angry shouts and revelry of drunken patrons, then pushed his way out the door again.

Was a time when being that close to vampires would turn me into a sniveling child. Adrian didn't spare a glance back at the Bloody Feast, nor did he spare entrance to the thought that fretted at the edge of his mind and begged to consume him. Not right now. There'd be plenty of time for regret later.

[Adrian Bishop]

---

The wind tossed leaves playfully as they chased Adrian's heels. Every step carried him farther from Delucia - farther from civilization. At the side of the path, an orc crouched over a dead llama, the poor beast eviscerated. The white of its soft coat was matted and soaked with blood as the orc tore flesh from bone with his teeth. Adrian only slightly altered his gait to step around the spectacle and kept walking. The orc grumbled and hissed as Adrian passed by, but seemed to find nothing of interest in Adrian's shrouded form, as he continued his bloody meal.

He knew these hills like he knew himself. If Cezanne was still here, he knew, too, where she would be. And as he approached, he knew he was right, as a wisp of smoke from beyond the next hill twisted languidly in the dying evening breeze. He stopped at the crest overlooking the camp and watched as Cezanne, bundled and shrouded herself, stirred the embers absently with a green switch, blackened by the repeated action.

"Cezanne." Adrian nearly choked on the word, but couldn't explain why.

Cezanne looked up to him, her expression seemingly unsurprised. In truth, so bereft of emotion was her visage that he found himself watching her narrowly to decide whether she was all right.

"Adrian. Come back to finish the job?" Cezanne lifted a silver flask to her lips and drank a few mouthfuls from it, then dabbed at her mouth with her sleeve, but her pale green eyes never left him.

"Finish the job?" Adrian blinked, trying to remember.

"Last time we spoke, you were threatening my life." Cezanne finally lowered her gaze to the fire and went back to stirring the coals.

"There's so much I should tell you. But there's time for that later. Where's the pendant?" Adrians shuffled down off the bluff toward the camp.

Cezanne looked back up to him and reached into a pocket of her robe. Without speaking, she pulled out a sturdy silver chain with a large black stone dangling from it. The stone seemed to swirl with a light that almost didn't exist. She held it up for him to see.

Adrian stopped where he stood, near trembling. "Don't put it on Ceza. Not unless you have to."

Cezanne peered into the stone and looked back to Adrian. "How will I know if I have to?"

Adrian shivered with seemingly something more than cold. "You'll know."

Cezanne nodded and took another mouthful from the flask, pocketing the pendant again.

"Go easy on that stuff, Cezanne. You'll lose your mind."

"That'd make two of us then, aye?" She smiled darkly. "Suppose you're just passing through? I have food if you're hungry."

"I don't need it. But thank you." Adrian looked up and off toward the east as twilight settled over the hills. "I need to be going."

Cezanne ceased stirring the coals to square her gaze up with his. "Where ye goin', Adrian? Ye can't run forever."

"I'm not running anymore, Ceza. I have some unfinished business in Umbra." His gaze lingered with hers only a moment before he averted his eyes. "If you see her, tell her--"

Cezanne shook her head and interrupted softly. "Sweetie, no..."

Adrian looked back to her, his eyes rimmed red, but no words came.

"She's gone, Adrian. There'll be no tellin' her anything. You have to be honest with yourself about that, if nothin' else."

"She bound our child to a vampire." Adrian swallowed with a shudder.

Cezanne looked at him, unsure of how to respond. She lifted the silver flask to him, a wordless offering. Adrian stared at it for a moment, then his eyes flashed to her angrily. He lifted his arm and backhanded the flask into the fire. "Go home, Cezanne, and for the Goddess' sake, stop pushing people away. You'll end up..." he trailed off softly.

He sighed heavily as Cezanne lifted her eyes back up to his. “I’ll go. It’s going to take a lot…”

Adrian nodded. “I’ve faith in ye.”

Cezanne smiled faintly but gave a resigned sigh. “You’re not coming back are you?”

“The undead have torn my heart out, Cezanne. Might as well let them have the rest. At least I’ll take a few down with me.”

“Adrian…”

“Cezanne.”

She hesitated a moment. “Give my regards to Doom.”

Adrian smiled faintly and winked. “Get back to that theatre and break a leg.”

Without further fanfare, Adrian turned and wrapped his hooded cloak about him. His lanky form disappeared quickly into the purple twilight of the wild lands as Cezanne used the switch to flip her flask out of the fire, then rose and kicked dust and ash over the embers, snuffing out their life completely.

[Cezanne Abella]

---

“You’re not coming back either, are you?”

He hadn’t said it. But the question had hung in his eyes, even as she had asked it of him. And he was right. Oh, she’d make it back to the theatre. Her dark and hazy world would claim her again, punctuated on rare occasion by the glory of sun-splashed life. But she’d never come back. Not to what she once was, not to what she should have been. She had made far too many bad decisions, and each would beg its own place to haunt her.

Covenant was a grey ghost, his ebon coat covered in a layer of dust from the trail. He was unbridled, untethered. Yet he kept pace with her as she walked the familiar trail home. Occasionally, she turned and lifted her hand to cup his chin as they walked, or stroked his muzzle.

“I hate bats too, you know.” She broke the silence as they walked. She knew the look of dread as Covenant cut his black eyes toward the darkness each time the bats of Malas approached the theatre. She knew the white crescent rimming the pupil that dilated in the direction of the malicious twitter just beyond the stable gates. It was an innate fear, something born within a creature, serving to protect him from danger. Without that fear, a creature would be caught helpless, unaware, unprotected.

Cezanne, too, had that fear. It wasn’t the bats of Malas that frightened her, but it waited at the theatre, all the same. There, the light that filtered through the haze was filthy. The fire of candlelight could only do so much to cleanse her world. But foreboding only works to protect when heeded.

She slipped the silver flask from her dress pocket and drank from it. Two mouthfuls, followed by two more, before she wiped her lips on her sleeve and capped the flask. She looked at it for a moment, sloshing the contents to gauge the amount, then mentally calculated how much longer till she was home. Just enough, if she didn’t stop to rest.

[Cezanne Abella]

---

"I'm not asking you to lie down and let life trample you, Ceza. Just let go and stop pushing everyone away. And stop struggling for control. You gotta lay it all down."

Cezanne sat wrapped in a blue velvet cloak before the fire. Her curls, still damp from bathing, hung in soft, dark waves as they spilled over her shoulders. She did not answer immediately, but seemed to gnaw at the kernel of advice that Corvus had given her. She lifted her hand from the velvet folds, uncapped the silver flask and drank from it.

"Let go of what, Corvus? Do I have anything left to hold onto?" She capped the flask again.

"'Course you do. That flask, for one."

Cezanne looked down at the flask and back up to the fire. "I water it down now till there's hardly anything left that you'd find objectionable."

Corvus looked at the flask dubiously. "Then why bother with it at all, Ceza?"

"It's something to hold onto."

Corvus sighed and sank down onto a stool across the table from her. He raked his fingers through his long black hair, still tangled by winter's breath, and rested his elbow on the table, his brow cradled against his palm. His dark eyes closed, and he shook his head slowly.

Cezanne finally tore her green-eyed gaze from the fire and watched Corvus, her expression softening. "Corv, you'd think I was dying. You worry too much. This is something I've got under control. I'm not a child, you know." She smiled warmly.

"You've gotta let it all go. Everything that keeps you returning that flask to your lips. That cursed doll, Valentein, the handsaw..." He paused, his voice nearly breaking, and he looked down to the mangled red scar around her wrist. He continued, more softly-spoken as he trailed off. "The handsaw..."

"That's what the elixir is for, Corvus. These things take time to heal."

She was circling the subject again, and it was making him dizzy. "Comes a time, Ceza, you gotta recognize your strengths and your weaknesses. Sometimes they look a lot alike."

"I'm fine, Corvus. You gotta trust me to know--"

"Lay it down, Ceza."

"--what's right."

"What's right?" Corvus leveled his gaze intently upon her.

Cezanne paused, but did not answer. She looked back into the fire, the flames dancing in her glazed, pale green eyes.

"Lay it down, Ceza." He rose and held out his hand for the flask. "Sword and shield."

[Cezanne Abella]

---

Darkness broke with a shudder.

Pale eyes wide in the night searched the room to find the source of movement. Without warning, the world shook again. But it wasn’t the world. Something was the matter. What’s the matter? What’s….the matter? Cezanne threw the bed linens aside, but wasn’t sure if she was hot or cold.

Her stomach was sour and ached with nameless need. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Cezanne still felt absorbed in sleep, and her mind could not let go of…..what? What was the dream? Her head was spinning. Her hands trembled as she pushed off to stand, and she stumbled forward before she caught herself again.

“Cezanne?”

Corvus’ voice was muffled, but not muffled enough. His bed – his room – was downstairs. She didn’t answer, and the door to her chamber flew open. An empty chair sat in the hallway just outside the door. Corvus’ hair was tangled, his demeanour sallow and sleepless.

“I’m fine, Corv. Just shaking off sleep. ”

“Just shaking...” He raked fingers through his hair absently, watching her hands.

“Why were you in the hall?”

He glanced back toward the chair, then again to Cezanne.

“I’m fine, Corv…”

“Your sleep was restless. I was just keeping an eye….well, an ear--”

Cezanne’s expression darkened. “I told you I don’t even have any more. I haven’t had a sip.”

Corvus watched her hands trembling and lifted a white cloth to blot the perspiration that beaded on her brow. “I can see that.”

“Go to bed, Corv.”

He stood for a moment watching her, wrapping the cloth idly around the palm of his hand before turning to retreat into the darkness of the hall.

“BED!” She shouted after him as he disappeared. “Not chair.”

The door slammed behind him, followed shortly by the fainter slam of his own chamber door.

Cezanne brushed her hair back and sniffled, resting her hands on the dressing table and leaning in to examine her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were sunken, rimmed in red. With a shaky sigh, she pulled out a drawer and extracted a small glass flask. Without hesitation, she uncorked it and drank three mouthfuls directly from the decanter.