"No I haven't finished just yet please keep holding still or I will set it all on fire by accident and I really don't want to do that just trust me you're going to look amazing I mean I know you can't see it but you'll have to take my word for it you look like the ghost of Christmas I think well I mean I don't really know what the ghost of Christmas would look like but the more Christmas I put on you the more you will look like it!"
Of course, Remara. The solution is always ADD MORE CHRISTMAS.
This never happened. But it probably did. He’s so long-suffering.
Drawing Belial in the past has been a challenge. I haven’t given it a REAL try since I got better with my tablet. Most attempts were done using my trackpad, which was monstrously hard. I did a small funny comic with Belial, but because I can't draw the same thing over and over, it was a very lazy attempt. This is my first real attempt since then. @phoenixpyres you deserve more fanart for your fabulous character. It was an honor to be able to intertwine the mythologies of our creatures at Outcast Academy. I can't wait to read all about Belial in your trilogy.
I guess you could say this is roughly a redraw of this, as this is the “newest” art attempt prior to this.
Daddy’s Girl. Time for some redrawing and a history lesson! Back when Child was roleplaying as Remara in a little Deviantart group called Outcast Academy, she had paper, a laptop, and an art program. So any art she wanted to draw, she had to draw on paper, then scan into the computer, then use her mouse laptop touchpad to line-art and color any drawings. So some of those are WAY overdue for a redraw. I’m still hit-and-miss with poses and yes I hacked off their feet because I couldn’t deal, but still it’s got to be an improvement.
@alittlewhitlost, it’s been a while. I still remember you. I still think of you, and the good turn you did me by saying, “no.” People who read my fanfics these days and tell me how much they enjoy them probably don’t even know how much they owe you for refusing to enable the addiction that was siphoning away all my writing urges as you gently reminded me how well I was doing without needing this as a crutch.
From an old RP where Outcast Academy threw a formal dance (and somebody spiked the punch and things got really fun and out of hand for a while). Canonically Headmaster Albel probably never got a dance with Remara, but I’d like to think that before she burst into drunk little Remarbles all over the floor, she got in a dance with her adoptive “Daddy.” Is she really this small in comparison? Perhaps. Perhaps not. But one thing’s for sure, Albel sees her this small no matter what. yes I forgot she should be wearing gloves so shhh let’s assume magic is going on so she can hold his hand. Headmaster Albel is a Gargoyle, by the way, for those who do not know.
Once upon a time there was a little girl made of the purest glass. Her limbs were made up of hundreds of hand-spun glass twists that curled and cavorted about each other, interlocking with the torso to form a most exquisite whole. Her fingers and toes were tapered to delicate tips, and when they clicked together her whole body rang like windchimes. Her nose was rounded like a pretty little button, and her clear eyes took in all the world as it was.
The little glass girl looked on all the world in wonder. Spring green shoots poked up between her clear toes like a welcome, the loose earth smoothing under her tread. The horizon stretched out before her, beckoning as the sun rose up over the lip of the world and sang over her.
Such a song no one could resist! Her little feet arched her up onto her toes and she sprang forward, lifting her limbs and bending them in dance as she began her journey toward the sun.
She journeyed toward the sun for a very long time, and it rose higher in the sky as if to greet her coming. Elated, she brought her hands together in soft chiming, calling to the sun, “I am coming! Soon!”
But she found she could not travel any further toward the sun, for it had come to rest overhead. Perplexed, the little glass girl stopped in the middle of a packed, earthen road and looked around herself. The shoots were long and lean here, an elderly green that wound wild around every gnarled tree and bramble that could be found. And brambles there were, now, with wicked points, lining the road as if to keep her prisoner to her course.
She had paid such attention to the sun, she could not recall when or how she had come to be on this road. And now the sun moved away from her, and a coldness gripped her soul. Had she angered the sun? Offended it with her dance? She cried out to the sun, “Do not leave me!” and turned to fly back the way she had come.
But she could not outrace the sun. Though she ran the whole length from whence she had come, and stood her feet from where she had first opened her eyes, the sun slipped below the horizon with a quiet murmur, “Come.”
Laying herself down, she closed her eyes, hoping the sun would return once she had opened them. But it was not the sun that greeted her, but the moon, singing the same song the sun had sung.
And she understood. It was not the sun or the moon. It was beyond the sun and the moon.
So the little glass girl set off again, this time by the fish-silver light of the moon. Only she no longer looked to the sky to guide her. She listened for the whispersong of “Come” as she traveled.
The sun rose to take the place of the moon, and the little glass girl began to pass other creatures on the road. There were magnificent four-legged creatures with long claws and road-wide wingspans that picked their way between softer two-legged walkers draped in elaborate robes. Some of the latter bore hand-sized two legged creatures with glorious colored wings. She wondered why the tiny ones travelled in woven enclosures, and why their songs were sad.
One silver-tipped wingspan stretched too wide, and the little glass girl went tumbling into the ditch at the side of the road. She heard a horrible crack, and when she looked down at herself, she saw a little piece of herself had fallen off and lay next to her in the dirt.
Another creature--two legged like her--had fallen as well, but quickly picked itself up with no harm and went on its way.
And a terrible fear came upon her, for she knew now what could happen to her and only her among all these travellers. And so she curled up in the ditch and determined that she would not move.
After a time, the whispersong stirred in her chest. “Come,” it called.
“I can’t,” she shivered, her body chiming in fear. “I will break.”
“Come,” sang the song, and such longing colored the melody that she wept.
“I can’t! I am alone and small and I will break!”
And the song changed itself, but only slightly. “Not alone,” it promised. Such love seeped through every note as it called to her, “Come!”
Who could say no to such a plea? The little glass girl picked up the piece that had fallen off and climbed out of the ditch and set off, though her step trembled where it had not before.
It was not the only time she stumbled, fell, or was cast into the ditch by a careless traveller. Some even pushed her back as she tried to climb out, snarling, “Keep clear! The road is crowded enough as it is.”
Her body ached all over, and her hands were full of little pieces of herself. Cracks wound up her legs and arms, and there was no dance left in her. Once again, she took shelter in the ditch, and did not emerge until moonrise when the roads had cleared and she could travel in peace.
Trees began to assert themselves along the side of the road, crowding more and more thickly and interweaving their branches overhead to block out the light.The little glass girl ached and her limbs were heavy and the clinking of the pieces she held only reminded her of the times she had been knocked over, and her feet slowed to a stop in the middle of the road.
“Come,” beckoned the song.
“How far?” she asked. “How long?”
“Come,” the voice pleaded, but for once she did not move.
“I am tired,” she cried. “I am hurt. I am broken. I am alone.”
“Not alone,” the song soothed. “Come. See.” Like it had a great secret.
So the little glass girl continued, back bent and head hung low. And as she crested a small hill, she heard the sound of weeping from between the trees.
Sliding herself in between the gnarled trunks, she edged into the darkness, following the sound of weeping over bramble patches and past creeper choked branches.
Finally, she came to a stop where the weeping sounded loudest, but she could see no one. “Hello?” she called, still cradling her pieces.
The weeping muffled itself, but nothing moved. Tired from her journey, the little glass girl leaned against one of the trees.
And then part of the tree cried out, pulling away. And she saw that it was not a part of the tree at all.
There stood a little girl made entirely of wood. Her skin was a rich mahogany, ridged and creased in little circular lines. Thick flowering vines hung down around her face, framing frightened eyes. Her mouth was shut, but the weeping went on.
“Who are you?” asked the little glass girl.
“Nobody,” answered the little wooden girl. “Who are you?”
The little glass girl looked down at the pieces in her hands. “I don’t know.”
The little wooden girl stared at her, eyes squinched into suspicious little knotholes.
The little glass girl lifted her head. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying.” The wooden girl frowned at her. “I don’t ever cry.”
And yet the weeping became sobbing.
The little glass girl didn’t understand, but then, she hadn’t talked to many people. She asked, “Have you heard the song that comes from behind the sun and the moon?”
The knotholes squinched tighter. “What song? The sun doesn’t sing, and neither does the moon.”
And then the little glass girl sat down and cried along with the tears only she could hear.
"I don't know what you have to cry about!" The wooden girl stamped her foot. "You just show up out of nowhere and lean on my burns and talk about crying and songs, and all I did was answer your question!"
The little glass girl looked up and realized there was more than just ridges and creases in the wooden skin. Here and there, a large patch of charcoal stretched along her arms, over a foot, and across her chest.
And the song whispered to the heart of the little glass girl with a tender sadness, telling of the little wooden girl's pain and how to soothe it.
And the little glass girl sprang to her feet, forgetting her own troubles for a moment. "Stay right there! I know what you need!" She set her pieces down in a pile and leaped off between the trees, a touch of hope in her tread for the first time in days.
Shortly, she returned to the spot where she had left the wooden girl, who now sat by the pile of pieces, watching over them. The little glass girl knelt and held out chipped hands full of soft green moss. “See, if you put this on your burns it will grow and cover them until they heal.”
Cautiously, the wooden girl poked at the moss. “How do you know this is what will help?” she asked. “Have you ever met a wooden girl?” She straightened. “Is there another wooden girl?”
“No,” answered the little glass girl. “I have never seen someone like you, they are all small and soft or large with scales.”
“Oh,” said the wooden girl sadly.
“But I have never seen someone like me either,” said the little glass girl, and she began to press the moss against charcoaled skin, bandaging the wounds tenderly.
“What are you doing out here?” asked the little glass girl.
The little wooden girl eyed her new bandaging for a while before answering, “Looking for a treasure.”
“What treasure?”
“Something special.”
“Where is it?”
“Don’t know. They took it.”
“Who took it?”
“They did.” The little wooden girl pointed at her bandages. “They did this.”
“But why?” The little glass girl asked.
“I guess they only needed one.”
“One what?”
The little wooden girl stood up, brushing herself off.
“Are you a treasure too?” the little glass girl exclaimed.
The little wooden girl looked down for a long time before saying, “I want to go. It’s not safe to stay still. Come with me. Tell me about the song.”
And so the little glass girl told her about the song that had been there since she first opened her eyes, standing on a grassy hill. She told her how it pressed her onward, even when she was tired and hurting and didn’t want to move. She told her of how the song had led her to the little wooden girl, and the strange weeping with no source.
The little wooden girl was silent in all this, carrying the glass shards in her arms as she led them through the woods, listening to the story.
“You just woke up like this?” she asked at the end. “Ready to walk off and follow this music?”
“Yes,” replied the little glass girl, peering at her friend. “Is that strange?”
“Others think so. Don’t tell anyone what you told me. They will hunt you.”
“Why?” The little glass girl asked.
“Because they can’t hear the music or… anything else. And they want to find the ones that can and keep them locked away.”
“Like a treasure?” the little glass girl asked.
“Yes. Like a treasure.”
The little glass girl thought for a while. “Am I a treasure?”
“I think so,” said the little wooden girl.
“Are you a treasure too? Is that why they hurt you?”
The little wooden girl was very quiet for a long time as she picked her way between the trees. The little glass girl tried very hard to swallow all her questions so she didn’t scare her friend’s answer away.
“I see what they can’t,” she finally responded. “But so did my sister, so they got rid of me.”
And now that the little glass girl was watching, she realized the wooden girl was walking strangely. It wasn’t just the limp from her burns, either. Sometimes she would lift her leg a little higher than necessary to step over a stump. Sometimes she would walk right into a fallen log before climbing over it.
“Are you seeing those things right now?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“At the same time as the real things?”
“They are all real things.” The little wooden girl sounded irritated. “As real as the music is to you.”
The little glass girl went quiet at that. The little wooden girl lifted her head, glancing back at her. “What’s your name?” she asked in a softer voice. “I didn’t ask.”
“What is a name?” asked the little glass girl.
“It’s what you call someone else,” the little wooden girl said. “My name is Neda. It’s the word I saw written in the ground where I woke up.”
The little glass girl thought to herself. She didn’t see any words in the ground, and she hadn’t heard the music say anything but “come” when she first woke.
And then the music whispered, tickling her ear with delight and sadness threaded through the tones. “Not yet.”
“I don’t have a name yet,” she answered. “But I think I will soon, and I think the music will tell me. What about your sister?” asked the little glass girl. “Who took her? What is her name? Does she look like you?”
Neda started to answer but fell silent very suddenly. She clutched her skirt full of glass pieces with one hand and with the other she reached back to put a finger over the little glass girl’s mouth for silence. She grabbed the little glass girl’s arm and began to run.
The little glass girl was very frightened, but not for the same reasons as Neda. They were going very, very fast and there were many branches and roots and she could barely stay on the tips of her toes as they tore through the forest.
Behind, she began to hear noises. The sounds of the soft creatures that walked on two legs making loud noises to each other. Were they the ones hunting treasures? But she could ask nothing now.
As they ran, Neda never allowed the little glass girl to fall behind. If there was a root too high, she would lift the glass girl first before leaping over. If there was a fallen log, she would pull her friend down--but carefully--to crawl beneath. She always stayed in front of the little glass girl, taking the force of any branch in their path on herself with no consequences. And the little glass girl was filled with wonder that Neda did not break so easily, and wished that she, too, were made of wood.
The forest came to an end and Neda stopped so fast that the little glass girl cracked against her, a long split lacing down her chest, and she thought she might burst from the pain.
“Where is the path?” Neda cried.
It was not just the forest, the ground itself fell away quite sharply just ahead of Neda. There was more forest, but it was very far below and the height made the little glass girl quake more than the pain. She would be ten thousand pieces by the time they got to safety!
“What now?” she cried out.
“The path is there,” came a whisper. In her panic she had nearly forgotten the song that guided her.
“I can’t see it,” she said, despairing.
“No, but she can,” the song responded. “Tell her to look to the right.”
And then she understood. It was a path only Neda could see. She grabbed Neda’s hand, exclaiming, “The path is still there! To your right, Neda!”
The voices from behind were very close. Neda hardly looked, she just squeezed the little glass girl’s hand and leaped with her to the right.
And the world around them dissolved into a fury of letters.
The little glass girl squeezed her eyes shut as the letters blew past, whispering and shrieking and moaning all around her. Neda had a fast hold on her hand and drew her, blind, onward.
The shrieking of the letters gave way to another kind of shrieking, and the little glass girl opened her eyes to see a large red box bearing down on her. It came to a stop so fast that its back end turned toward the front and she could see one of the soft creatures inside, staring out at her.
Neda dragged her over ground harder than any packed road she had walked into a crowd thicker than any she had seen. But this crowd parted for them, some pointing and some screaming.
All around were huge square trees with glass on the sides and the sky hung low and brown.
It seemed like they would never stop running. Neda turned and pulled the little glass girl into a perfectly circular cave with no jagged edges that sloped down into the ground. Boxes with soft people inside rolled back and forth so fast that they made an angry-sounding wind in the cave.
Before she could ask anything, Neda darted in front of one of the boxes, as if chasing something. Once again, the angry letters swirled around her, clawing and dragging her back as she struggled to follow.
And then the trees around them were wood again, and the ground soft earth. The boxes had vanished, and the only people the little glass girl could see were up at the top of a sheer cliff nearby, very far up. They looked down and saw the little glass girl and Neda, but they were quite far away.
“We need to keep going!” Neda hissed, pushing the little glass girl along. “We have to hide, they can still find us.”
“Where were we, and how did we get down without breaking?” The little glass girl asked, bewildered.
“I told you I see things. I also go places. I can’t make the doors, but I walk through them when the path takes me to one.”
“What path?”
The one I’m following--can you stop talking? They’ll hear!”
“They can’t hear us, they’re all the way up there.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than a large shadow passed over them. The shadow was accompanied by a deep, mournful voice, quite different from the music.
“Run!” it wailed as fire poured from the sky. “Run, I can’t stop!”
Neda fled into the forest, scattering the little glass pieces everywhere as she dropped her grip on her skirt. She didn’t look behind and she didn’t take her friend’s hand as she vanished into the darkness.
The little glass girl cried out, calling to her friend as she struggled on. The floor, walls, and ceiling of the forest around her blazed as another wave of flame washed down from the sky.
But a curious thing began to happen to the little glass girl. The hotter it became, the easier it was for her to move. Stumbling became walking. Walking became running. Running ran her legs together and she began to flow like water over the ground, overtaking the flames and speeding just ahead of them in search of Neda.
The little glass girl marveled at her own speed as she travelled over roots and around great trunks just ahead of the inferno. She had never been able to move so fast and freely before. She could not see Neda, but followed her fearful screams.
Finally she came upon Neda where the trees formed too tightly to pass. Neda had curled herself up at the roots, hands over her face, trembling. Her mouth was closed but the screams continued as the weeping swept overhead.
“Help them,” pleaded the song.
And the little glass girl turned about to face the flames, stretching herself wide and screaming, “Stop!”
The flames did not stop, but the little glass girl had stretched herself wide between the blaze and her friend. The fire vanished into her embrace and did not pass.
The little glass girl stood there, holding all the fire to herself until the licking flames, the cries of her friend, and even the weeping from above began to slow down all together. Looking up, she saw the source of the warning and the flames.
Through the barren, blackened branches was a clear view to one of the great, winged creatures of four legs. Its neck stretched magnificently as it swung its head back and forth. Its mouth, she saw, was the source of the great fire. Huge white wings brushed the tree tops as it attacked.
With the song in her ear, the little glass girl darted up the trunk of the tree, flowing straight to the top where she leaped onto the wing of the creature as it passed.
Now she could see that on the back of the great white beast was one of the soft people. Metal vines with terrible spikes hugged the creature’s body from mouth to stomach and dug past the scales, spilling red. The soft person on its back tugged at the vines and the creature took in a breath.
“I can’t stop,” the sad voice wept. “Please, run.”
Something hotter than fire lit the little glass girl from orange to white. As the wing rose up, she poured down it to the soft person and grabbed their hands, shouting, “Stop this!”
The whole beast reared as the person yanked their hands back with a scream, but the little glass girl did not let go. And the creature turned upward and began to climb to the sky.
Cloth and rope and even the seat the person used turned black. The soft person screamed, and the little glass girl realized she was touching the person the same way fire had touched Neda.
Horrified, she released the person’s hands, and they fell backwards. Ropes holding the person in place snapped, blackened from her touch, and the person tumbled away and disappeared into the upper branches of the forest far down.
Very far down.
The great beast climbed higher in the air and the little glass girl felt heat leaving her. She was suddenly quite aware of how high she was.
“Please, they’re gone, no higher!” she shouted over the wind, her words beginning to sound sluggish.
The creature’s wings snapped out and it turned sharply from up to sideways, and the little glass girl plummeted from its back.
She could hardly move at all now, the intricate twists that made up her body had all meshed together from the head and frozen from its leaving. She could not even cry out as the forest rushed toward her.
For a moment, everything moved slower, and she heart the joyful sad whisper of the song. “Remara,” it sang, pouring the name through her being. “You are Remara, my gift of warmth and song.”
And the little glass girl, Remara, hit the ground and broke apart.
………………………..
“But that is not all?” Such wide eyes she has, leaning over me. “That can’t be the end so tell me that is not the end!”
“That is not the end. Patience. I am coming to it.”
………………………..
Neda had seen, through fingers barely splayed, the heat-filled stranger stand and block the flames. She had watched the stranger flow straight up the side of a tree ablaze and board the wing of the dragon poised to end her life. Unable to move for fear, she watched the dragon’s ascent and the descent of the little glass girl. She had never heard a more horrible sound than the ground-rending crack of her friend breaking to pieces.
And yet she could not move.
The fires closed in, embers and ash filling the air. Even with the dragon gone, it was too late.
Wingbeats filled the air. “Today we both die,” Neda said softly.
Long claws closed around her and she was tucked against a thickly scaled hide and lifted free of the inferno.
The dragon did not fly long before folding its wings and diving below the tree line. They were not far ahead of the smoke, but now the dragon turned aside, holding Neda in one foreclaw, and limped on three legs in this new direction.
Neda shook, but it was not spitting fire at her anymore. In fact, it was carrying her away from the blaze. Clutching herself into a ball, she managed to squeak, “My friend is back there.”
A slitted red eye slid around to stare at her, and she tried to be even smaller.
“Please.” There was no voice to this request, only the forming of her lips around the word.
The chest she was held to heaved a sigh that blasted a nearby tree to cinders. The dragon flinched, ducking its head and hurrying past the tree. It set Neda down and turned around. “What am I looking for?”
Neda scrambled to find her voice. “Glass, she is made of glass and all broken to pieces. Please find her!”
“Stay ahead of the fire,” the dragon warned. “I will find you.” With that, it slithered back toward the smoke smothered part of the forest.
Neda was more than happy to take to her feet and flee along the black-scorched path that unfolded ahead of her. Guilt twisted inside. In her terror, she had dropped all pieces of her friend, entrusted to her, so not even those were left. She hoped the dragon could retrieve her.
“She is made differently,” Neda said to herself. “She may not be dead. Please do not be dead.”
Without the dragon feeding the forest fire, she outdistanced it quickly. By the time wings beat overhead she had left it quite a ways behind.
“Down here!” she cried, and the claws scooped her from the ground again. She could see the other claws closed tight, but she could not tell what they held.
The dragon dropped, thrusting Neda onto its back. She clung to the saddle she found there. The dragon groaned for the weight pressed on metal spikes that held it in place, but it placed something from closed claws between its teeth and slithered on its belly like a snake.
Neda held onto the saddle and tried to be very still, keeping one eye on the path as it followed alongside.
The sun had long gone down by the time the dragon slid to a stop, its sides heaving and sparks and smoke pouring from its mouth. Neda had been inspecting the workings of the cruel saddle, and now sprang off the side and began pressing the mechanisms and working the knots.
It slid to the ground with a crash, and Neda called with some trembling, “I’m coming to your head, don’t burn me.”
The smoke and sparks cut off and the sides quivered as the dragon held its breath. Neda darted to the front and began pulling at the bridle. It was fixed around the dragon’s eyes and mouth, sunk through the scales, and Neda’s heart went out to the dragon. It had been captured and hurt, too.
She worked to loose the spiked bridle, stepping away every few moments so the dragon could take a breath.
Softly, she asked, “What is your name?”
“Na’Jezna,” the dragon wheezed. The inside of her mouth glowed like the sun. Neda was anxious to see how her friend fared, but first the bridle had to come off.
It took even longer to pull the bridle off, its spikes and fasteners were dug deep into Na’Jezna’s face and had to be pulled free with great care. Every so often, they would pause to put more distance between themselves and the great forest fire, fearful of being found again.
Finally, the metal bridle came free. Red laced the dragon’s scales and she released what she held in her mouth to run her thick, fringed tongue over her wounds.
Neda rushed to the lumps of glass Na’Jezna dropped. Only three pieces. Three tiny pieces. Neda held her despair inside and reached out a hand to gather them, but stopped. A great heat exuded from each piece. The very edges were orange and oozing, but the center showed itself hard and clear.
Neda thought of the strange orange creature that stood in front of her, swallowing dragonfire and how it climbed the trees to stop the attack, and how her friend had fallen from the sky after.
Had dragonfire changed her friend?
And more importantly, could it repair her?
“Could you make these pieces hotter?” Neda pointed to them, looking up at the dragon.
Na’Jezna retorted, “Only a fool strikes flint in a forest, or did you not see?”
Neda cringed, and Na’Jezna huffed, scooping the pieces back into her mouth and sealing her lips. Her cheeks puffed and streams of fire licked out of the gashes in her face. Neda scrambled back, watching. Hopeful.
When Na’Jezna lowered her head and opened her mouth, three small globs of orange tumbled out. All three raced off in different directions, leaving scorched earth and tiny flash fires in their wake. Neda bolted to her feet.
“No, stop! Come back!” she shouted after them.
………………………..
“I know this part!” she beams with her whole face. “I told me about it when I met me last week! One turned around to see who called, and the others kept running.”
“Yes.” The eager smile warms and hurts me. “One stayed to hear Neda.”
………………………..
“Who are you?” asked the tiny orange glob. It was no taller than Neda’s ankle, yet it already had the appearance of the stranger who swallowed flames for her. So, flames had changed her fragile friend.
“I am Neda.” She approached slowly. Tiny blazes zipped out from the molten orange blob, eating up leaves and twigs around her before dying out in the dirt. “Your friend.”
“Friend?” It tilted a head to the side. “I do not know any friend.”
And Neda was at a loss. Was she mistaken? But there was no other glass creature that she knew of.
And the dragon, seeing Neda’s confusion and distress, asked, “What do you know, child?”
The little orange blob perked up, a smile spreading across what Neda took to be a face. “I know I opened my eyes and there was a song and I danced.”
And the blob reformed itself, and there in the dirt was a miniature replica of the little glass girl. Neda had never seen her without cracks and missing pieces, and yet there she stood in the embers of the forest debris, dancing among the ashes.
“And I know my name!” the tiny glass girl sang. “The music said to me, ‘Remara,’ isn’t it lovely?”
………………………..
“And then--”
“And then Na’Jezna took both of you to a short-time safety place and then another and you all stayed together and you told Remara the story of the little glass girl with all the parts she’d told you and your parts and she told you parts you were missing and even though she didn’t remember the whole thing she remembered little pieces and then after a long time you found another Me and got her to stay long enough to find out she had different pieces of the memory and you told her the whole story too I know because I told me so!”
She is so full of joy. “Yes. And did you tell yourself what you said when I asked…”
“Asked me if we would join together and you would try to find all the pieces and we said it wasn’t time yet because the music is making a much longer, secret song.”
Nod. “And then one rolled away and I could not even tell which one it was.”
………………………..
And Neda cried, “It is not fair! First my sister and now my friend. Why do you take everything good from me?” And she kicked at the ground where lay the path only she could see.
“But Neda I am not gone I am here,” said Remara, confused.
“You are but you’re not. And I may never see you as you were again, and I’ll never find my sister, and I’ll always be hunted, and why am I always alone?” she wailed.
Remara looked at her with such a glowingsoft face, Neda could hardly stand it. After several minutes, she spoke.
“Neda the music is singing to me such a melody I wish you could hear it but it’s okay because you see the music and follow it just like I do you were right how we are both treasures and the hunters want to lock us up but the music says we are a gift and one day you will find your sister and I will come back together and there will be a great and terrible beauty that will shine everywhere but it is not for a long time my friend.”
Remara crept as close as she dared without harming Neda, her eyes still meltingsoft. “Sometimes the music told me wait even when I was all hurting and cracked but good things happened because I met you and Na’Jezna and now I don’t break and the music is singing can you wait?”
………………………..
“And then you said you would but you asked me to please tell myself that you needed to see me sometimes because it is so hard to be running all the time with no friendly faces and Na’Jezna was ruffled that she wasn’t a ‘friendly face’ too and that’s how she became a friendly face even though she stopped following when she found a safe cave and she told you to come visit as often as you could and she would watch for you on flights and you and I went on until the path and the music went separate ways and I said goodbye and you said you would keep telling the story whenever you found me so that soon all the pieces would know their story in whole instead of in parts.”
Sighing creaks through my body. “Sounds like you already knew most of the last part.”
She has not once stopped beaming, even in the painful parts of the story. “Yes but I like hearing it again and I like hearing you say it.”
“So have you found your sister yet?” she asks, waving back and forth like a candle flame, impatient.
“No. The path has never led me to her.” The answer is bitter to taste.
“But it led you to me again didn’t it just like in the story oh Neda even though I had not met you before now it is so good to know that I actually knew you all along and have had such a good friend without even knowing you were there for me!”
She loops in on herself, loosing glimmer-bright ribbons of molten glass outward in joyful expression before pulling them back to herself. She must not lose too much heat now.
She draws near and holds out a tendril, forming it to match the shape of my hand. I mirror her gesture, keeping careful distance between our palms.
“I am sorry you were not led near your sister yet but I am happy you have been led near me.”
The bitterness softens some as a smile curls my lips. “I am happy for this too. It makes the travel lighter.”
And she laughs like a thousand crystals clinking together. “Because I glow oh you are so funny!”
I did not mean it so, but it is also true and I do not correct her.
She stops, bending over to inspect me. “You are tired your eyes are closing but not all the way.”
I can’t help a laugh. “I try and tell this to you as a story before you go to sleep, but you never seem to sleep and I am always tired by the end of it.”
“Does the Path tell you there is time to rest?” she asks, anxious.
“The Path never tells me anything.” I glance at it, the surface placid and the colors warm. Its end is coiled at my feet. “But there does not seem to be immediate danger.”
“Then stay and sleep Neda I will keep watch you need your rest.”
She is right. I am tired, exhausted beyond sleep. But sleep will do me some good. I lie down, pressing my face to the earth, breathing in its smells. My vines sink into the ground, seeking water and nourishment as my eyelids drift closed. Rest comes to me on the wings of a song tonight. The song the little glass girl hears, even scattered to the corners of the world as she is, she gives me. And with this song, I am delivered to sleep.
End Note: If I were to incorporate Remara into the world I’m constructing (with agonizing slowness) for my novel, I believe this would be her origin story. I wrote this story throughout 2016, writing a few paragraphs at a time and mailing them to a friend of mine. There are still many questions I need to answer and this is far from complete, but this is the concept. @alittlewhitlost @phoenixpyres
I sat up straight, my legs dangling over the edge of my bed. I needed to go see Remus. Now. I checked the clock on my bedside table. It was nine o’clock. We wouldn’t be having lessons today, so I’m assuming that everyone is asleep. Perfect.
I hopped of my bed, trying to be as silent as possible. I checked my night gown pocket to see if my wand was still there. It was. Many would say it’s odd to sleep with your wand but you never what could happen, so I’m always prepared, just in case I need to defend myself. I slipped on my shoes and sneaked out of the girls’ dormitory. I’d heard a small yawn but I chose to ignore it. I crept down the stairs and found myself in the common room. But I had company.
“Where are you going?” It was Lily, Lily Evans. Lily was a great person, I’ve been told. Just sometimes, she was a bit annoying. Like today. I turned around to face her. She was standing right behind me, breathing on my hair. It sucked being shorter than everyone around you.
“No where Lily. You can go back to sleep now.” I said. Then I took her shoulders, turned her towards our dorm door and lightly pushed her. But she turned around again.
“You’re not going to the boys’ dorm, are you?” She asked, sounding a bit panicky.
“Of course not.” I said as sweetly as I could. Then I turned around and walked towards the boys dormitory and up the stairs.
On my way up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory, I heard scuttling behind me.
“I thought you weren’t going there.” Said Lily sternly.
“Lily, I have something important to do. Really important. Now, if you don’t mind…”
“You can go up but I’ll wait outside. Right here.” She said and sat down halfway up the stairs
I huffed in annoyance and then slammed the door to the dorm open. A bit harder than necessary.
Remus
I saw her coming towards me. Her shoulder length black hair was being blown in the wind, onto her fair face. Her pink lips parted into a smile and then she ran towards me. I hugged her, which felt like hugging a little dwarf, because I was much taller than her. She buried her face into my neck and I kissed her forehead. She looked back up at me and then laughed. A barky sort of laugh… Wait a minute, why is Ara morphing into Sirius…
“Moony, stop drooling!” said Sirius. His face was just a few inches above mine. I felt someone pull my blanket off of me and then I heard James laugh because stealing someone’s blanket is absolutely hilarious.
“Prongs, Padfoot, I’m sleepy. Leave me alone.” I said, doing my best sleepy voice.
“You weren’t sleeping. You were grinning. At the ceiling of your four poster.” James said.
“Yeah, we saw you.” Squeaked Peter from across the room.
“You’re making things up. Of course I was – “
“You were thinking of Ara.” Sirius yelled, even though he was right beside me.
“Merlin Paddy, do you want me to go deaf?”
I then began to sit up on my bed when I saw Sirius and James look at each other then at me. And then they started smirking, which was a bad sign.
“Did you tell her anything?” I demanded.
They looked at each other again. James and Sirius should just get married, they already depend on each other for everything. ”’Course not. Why would we?” said James.
“Good. Now let me sleep.” I closed my eyes and curled up into a ball on my bed. But then my bed made a funny noise. Well, I guess a bed would make a funny noise if two sixteen year old lads jumped on it.
“Remus… Remus… Hold me tighter.” Said Sirius from next to me, in a high-pitched, what meant to be girly voice.
“I’ll never let you go, Ara. I’ll love you till I die.” Said James, mocking my voice, reaching out for Sirius. I was sandwiched between them and to add to the insult, Peter had to begin laughing.
“Come on, today is the last day of sixth year. Just let me enjoy it.” I pleaded. They actually listened and rolled out of bed. But then they grabbed my ankles and began pulling me.
“HAVE YOU TWO LOST IT?” I yelled. Then I realised that the others were asleep. “Have you two lost it?” I whispered.
“No.” They said in unison, with a grin.
“But Moony, we have to get you ready for your big day.” Said Sirius, with mock concern in his voice.
I groaned. Today was going to be a long day.
if you are interested, just type remara in the search and you should find this chapter and the others that i will post
