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[Harlequin]

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“Impossible. It’s impossible!” Quinn paced slowly, methodically, back and forth across the creaky wood floor of her cabin retreat. Outside, the storms and wind held silent, electrified vigil on the horizon. The only sounds here were the whining protest of a few select floorboards, and the occasional flutter of Ansel’s black wings as the painted girl’s passes grew uncomfortably close, forcing a hop of retreat from the pied crow. Quinn didn’t seem to notice.

“Every trap. EVERY one! I remember every single trap I’ve ever set. And every one has been disarmed. But they haven’t returned.” Harlequin paused, clenching her fists at her sides as she aimed a swift kick at a ball of yarn on the floor. “WHY HAVEN’T THEY RETURNED?!”

The kick sent the ball of yarn bouncing off a window and into the fire. The thick and acrid scent of burning wool permeated the cabin. Still, she didn’t seem to notice.

Ansel fluttered uneasily, his wings finally folding and settling as Quinn resumed her steady pacing. Uncertainty creased the girl’s white, painted brow as thoughts raced through her mind. Each thought held its own weight in the chaos, but none held sway for long, except for one.

Quinn paused again, eyes widening with the realization as she looked to her pet. “Ansel…I think I've killed the king’s council!”
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Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Harlequin]

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“I am a Lycan hunter, Ansel. That is what I do. I set traps. I kill lycans.” Quinn sat perfectly straight before her vanity mirror, ebony hair tied up in a black satin ribbon as she cleansed the paint from her face with cottonballs, soaked and smelling bitterly of herbs and spirits. The pied crow sat on the wooden bedpost listening, faithfully as ever, to her rambling.

“Even with the best of intentions, it is possible to forget something. A trap. A baited pit. A poisoned item. Something. The Oracle knew this, and still she ordered me kept close. At her own peril, and that of her people.” Quinn tilted her head, looking into the mirror at the pale face of the stranger who gazed back at her. How odd, she thought, that I seem not even to know myself anymore…

“And yet, Dear Ansel, that is how nature works, is it not? Human or otherwise. When a kingdom is toppled, the spoils go to the victor. Whether or not it was intentional. As I have killed the king, I suppose the kingdom is mine. There really is nothing left for me to do but assume control and look after it as best I can.”

Harlequin loosed her hair and allowed it to fall long and straight to her waist, then took up a painted porcelain mask from the vanity and tied the black satin ribbons to secure it in place. The silent and expressionless face that gazed back from the mirror now quieted the storms raging inside her.

“They knew the truth, and the risks, before the chips ever fell. Only the strong survive.” Quinn took a soul-deep breath and rose from her stool to slide into bed.

“Long live Quinn Morgan, Queen of Stonegate.” And with that, she blew out her candle.
_________________
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
~Paul Laurence Dunbar

[Merci d'Rue]

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Merci paused a moment, as if sensing something. She stared off into the distance..

Myrddin I think we should get home.. Quin misses us.
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May destiny guide you...