Date: November 4, 1999
Place: Courtyard - Delphic Citadel - Haven
Cast: Cassandra, Ranjeet, Starsong, Vanora
Scene: Ranjeet meets with the former Sibyl again, hoping for answers, though it appears she is asking the same questions.

Sitting patiently and dressed rather lavishly, Ranjeet has found himself a comfortable bower in which to await his magical muse. The evening hour has left the courtyard of the Delphic Citadel peaceful and quiet, the acolytes and teachers each off either in study or at dinner. The Foreign Minister was informed that the Oneiromancer was currently occupied, but that she would be told that he was waiting for her in the front. It is a pleasant night, balmy and sweet with the fragrance of flowers and the slightest hint of tang from the sea. It makes the waiting quite bearable, and Ranjeet finds himself readily closing his eyes, sending questing tendrils out into the aether in a hopeful exploration for elusive answers.

A susurration of sound, the careworn hem of a Delphite's robes grazing against the threshold of the tower, it is quickly enveloped in a passing breeze. Cassandra haunts the doorway for the stretch of a few moments before languidly striding out beyond. Swaddled in an air of delicately wrought silence, the Oneiromancer's hands are wound against either side of the overly large robes, tugging every so often with their merciless grasping. The steps are descended without the devotion of conscious thought, atypically owlish-wide eyes skimming out in the lengthening darkness.

Starsong steps into the courtyard through the gate of the hedge maze.

She causes ripples in the aether, just as the wind might ripple still water or loose hair. It is a fact of her nature. Ranjeet's gaze opens slowly, the world clarifying again into reality before he turns to gaze toward the opening door of the tower. There Cassandra emerges, along with others it would seem. His features are calm, passive, and they curiously touch upon the new figures emerging into the courtyard. He does, however, remain seated where he is, awaiting Cassandra to approach him first, in case she is still "occupied" as he was duly informed.

A faint breeze causes Vanora's translucent robes to ripple like filmy water, giving her an ephemeral quality in the dim light as she steps out from the Seminary. Pausing to brush a strand of dark hair from her eyes, the Atlantean priestess then turns her gaze to the sky above, searching for the sliver of moon which can just be perceived behind a skimming shred of cloud. Lips curving with a faint smile, she then wanders into the courtyard proper, her bare feet slapping quietly against the stone.

The branches of the hedge maze rustle, stir, and separate, leaving a gap just big enough for Starsong to slip through. Stretching out slender arms as she emerges, she seems to grow taller as she steps out into the open -- although the effect is quickly negated by the tiny droop that slumps her shoulders the minute her bare feet hit the hard stone of the courtyard floor. Even so, she pauses only a second to untangle a few runaway strands of hair from the branches of the hedge, and pulls away from the leafy wall into the courtyard.

A smile so faint it seems but a shadow of a smile, this tugs at the bare corners of Cassandra's mouth as she sluggishly peeks a gaze up towards the dark and patchy sky before her steps resume again. Slow and measured, hunting out the aether of the magic so like hers. This is what beckons to the halfbreed's attentions first, until Ranjeet is near enough to greet with a courteous yet sketchy bow-bob. "Imphad-i," she greets quietly, in muted tones that are nevertheless succinct. No hollow echoes of humming behind, no inner turmoils or distractions. A fleeting moment of lucidity, as it were. But the stirring within the courtyard is quick to ensnare her attentions, wildly flickering gaze darting up towards Vanora, then Starsong, respectively.

Each woman is studied in turn, a momentary concentrated stare proffered to each, as if Ranjeet were looking past the flesh to the mage within each of them. But his attention is wrested away by the woman he has come to see, and turning, he offers the Magus a crooked smile of sorts and rises up to greet her, his robe slipping from the bench to swirl about his figure elegantly as he brings his palms together and bows his head over them. "Namaste', Cassandra. You are well this evening, I hope?" Yes, it would seem that what he once looked upon with a degree of repulsion he now finds easier to the eye, and his gaze and tone reflect both respect and perhaps a degree of affection.

Vanora's head turns towards Cassandra after a few moments. Some empathic impression, perhaps, a faint disturbance on a different level than that perceived by Ranjeet. Studying the other woman with cool curiosity, she inclines her head just slightly in greeting, before her own attention is drawn to Starsong as well. A genuine smile appears, and she changes course to intercept the Sylvan healer.

Starsong's eyes skip around the courtyard as she turns her head with a quick, birdlike tilt. Ranjeet receives a curious, polite, look, but one that holds no sign of recognition -- Cassandra a wary, concerned one that draws her angled eyebrows together in a tiny crinkled frown. The Atlantean, though, seems a more comforting sight -- she meets Vanora's gaze directly, returning a bright smile as she lifts her hand to wave.

"Yes, I am well," Cassandra replies lightly as the stare meanders back to linger on Vanora for a long moment, gaze finally dragging back to her visitor. Webbed fingers curl closer to her palms before releasing the sides of her robes, a spiderweb of wrinkles left in the wake of her touch. "But how does you find yourself on this evening? I have been... concerned," she admits vaguely, any hope of elaboration lost as she sneaks a study in of Starsong. Her lips twist in a musing, almost wistful smile, before attention is again rightfully bestowed.

Vanora ghosts across the cool stones underfoot, reaching Starsong after a few moments. "Pasiphae's blessings," she murmurs to the Sylvan, her soft voice touched by a current of warmth. "It seems ages since I saw you last."

Offering her a seat, Ranjeet replies softly, "I am at times confused... and concerned. But otherwise I am well. My thanks for your concern." He covers well the slight tingle of worry that shifts along his frame. For to have the Oneiromancer be concerned for you could be nothing more than her observation and good nature, or it could be a dire premonition and vision. Without any further elaboration, there is no way for Ranjeet to be sure which it is that she proffers him. "I have thought greatly upon the visions that I received ... I understand them in part, but not yet in full."

The look that is cast upon her by Cassandra seems lost to Starsong -- she is focused on Vanora now, skipping towards her on light bare feet. "Chookma!" she cries, voice hushed in the evening stillness, but cheerful all the same. "I know, I've been spending so much time in the Infirmary lately... how have you been?"

Vanora tilts her head to one side, smiling down at the healer. "Very well. Raijin seems to believe my studies are progressing quickly enough. I may even reach Acolyte soon, which would be a blessing. I could spend my nights in the temple rather than here."

A sigh of sympathetic happiness rushes out of Starsong, and she cries enthusiastically, "Oh, that's wonderful! It will be so much better, I'm sure!"

Inclining her head wordlessly, Cassandra shifts in to take up the seat offered in this fluctuating distraction, wings at her back drooping slightly as she moves. A shadow passing over the sun, her mood is rapidly restored as she settles in with deliberate and particular settlings of her robe and wings. "Have you?" the halfbreed asks Ranjeet, his last statement seeming to banish her distracted contemplation for the moment. She smiles, an unconscious shifting of facial muscles. "Tell me of the truths you have learned, and the mysteries that yet plague you then?" Subtle encouragement laces the words as one hand folds over the other in her lap.

Quiet laughter, like the sigh of the tide against the sands, accompanies Vanora's nod. "It will truly be wonderful to spend more time with my Order. It has been... difficult, to be separated from them like this." Her brief frown disappears with a slight shake of her head. "But what of you? What have you been up to in the Infirmary?"

Starsong's voice softens, and the sympathy deepens as she answers, "I know," looking up to meet Vanora's eyes. And then she too skips on to the next subject, answering, "Learning by taking care of people, mostly -- it's been a busy week." A frown clouds her face too for a moment, but swiftly disappears. "But it's getting better now," she adds, optimism returning.

Vanora notes the frown, of course, and inquires gently, "Did anything happen?"

"There are words, a parchment, as you said. It is important, though I am not certain why, and it is ancient... long buried." Ranjeet lowers himself down next to the half-breed, shifting to sit sideways so that he may look and speak to her directly. "It is buried ... a hidden chamber, a crypt. And when the earth rolls and buckles, it will be revealed. The chamber will be split open and revealed to the light and air once again." His head shakes then from side to side, the dark mane of his hair scattering back and forth over the blue cloak briefly. "But I do not know what it contains ... how it is important, or where is will appear. I spoke to Khalid Atar, who claims that he knew of this event -- that it was foretold that a great disturbance would come across all of the land, the whole continent. A time of great testing, but that in the end all would be renewed and balanced."

Starsong shakes her head quickly. "Oh, no! Nothing to me -- it's just... hard, sometimes," she admits, her voice lowering a little. "Seeing everyone hurting..."

Vanora nods slowly. "It may seem hard to believe, but I understand, to a certain extent. Pasiphaeans are often asked to counsel the troubled and mediate the bitterest disputes. It is not easy to see others in distress, no." She glances towards the hedge-maze and a faint smile quirks her lips. "Shall we take a turn around the Grove? I can lead us there myself."

The aureate threads of aether, that which is unseen by most eyes, intensify to a fiery glow erratically for a moment before the glow gradually subsides. Startlement is a lightning, briefly bright and searing, dancing over expressive features before tumbling away. Cassandra glances around the courtyard in a hasty fashion, before her attention returns to Ranjeet, her own form likewise shifting to face towards the Varati. It takes a little more effort on her part, the fabrics tugged and shifted until one leg is tucked beneath her. "He knew of the disturbance?" she asks softly, within a breath, curiosity meant almost for merely herself. A delicate clearing of her throat, before volume rises, "With the earth-rumbling, yes. It comes soon, and it would make sense that it would..." Feathers rustle in the faint trembling of her wings before calming once again. "...That it would happen after the angry ground."

"You've found your way there?" Surprise and happiness light Starsong's smile as she looks swiftly up at Vanora. "We must go, then!" And then her voice softens again, and while her smile remains, it grows more serious as she adds, "It would be nice, I think. Thank you..."

Vanora turns for a moment to glance at Cassandra and Ranjeet, perhaps hearing another faint whisper of... something. Then, with a faint shiver, she looks back to Starsong. Waiting until she can bring a smile to her lips again, she rests one slender hand on the Sylvan's shoulder as she starts towards the entrance to the maze.

Ranjeet senses: Light intensifying, and then subsiding. Sometimes it heralds the future, but in this moment -- a very brief moment, the air carries a taint of the past. Wings fluttering over the moon to shadow it for a moment in the hazy blur of Sight, Cassandra's nigh-hysterical voice a shrill accusation in the edges of the evening night and mind alike, "You ripped his wings off!" Voices roar, swelling in your senses and subsiding, before a masculine voice remarks in a barely coherent reply as the vision subsides, "There is no such thing as 'innocence,' Cassandra, save perhaps among the young and the naive...." It sounds... so familiar, so close and so far away, before the Past is lost again.

Starsong's head turns to follow Vanora's gaze over to the pair on the bench, her smile fading into a small frown of concern as she senses the Atlantean's discomfort. She holds back for a brief moment, hovering where she is, eyes remaining on Cassandra and Ranjeet.

About him, to those with the sight for it, black flames lick his frame and the aether about Ranjeet hungrily, ever hungry for visions and truth it would seem to consume all that the aether will feed him. Nodding slowly, Ranjeet rasps back softly, "Aye, he says he knew that it was coming ... thought it would be a few hundred years off. But he does not know what it bodes or who it will test ... he claims his mother never told him that. I do not think he knows anything of the parchment." Then, for a moment, Ranjeet takes in a sharp breath, his gaze flickering uncertainly, his body bracing, as if for an impact. He holds completely still, not even breathing, though there is nothing obviously wrong with him. No illness or pain, no seizure or distress of the physical sort.

Something draws Cassandra's gaze up without forethought or consciousness, eyes that look without seeing roaming towards Starsong, tracing her movements. Haunted is the expression, but specters are cast away with a few rapid blinks of her colorless lashes. Losing distraction, the intensity flares up in a blatant stare at the Sylvan, the abrupt smile seeming foreign on her wan features in that lengthy moment. Attention sliding towards Vanora and resting there for a moment as she murmurs a reply to her companion, hoarsely wry, "Time is a burdenous thing to estimate when your existence is eternal." The remark snaps her attention back with a lashing abruptness, and then follows up quickly with an earnest whisper, "I mean no disrespect."

Vanora murmurs, her gaze now on Cassandra again, "Come, Starsong. We should go."

Cassandra senses: In turn, the aether roils and fluxes, pushing back at you. There is sea and sand, white wings and hot tears that refuse to fall, but push so hard as to make the eyes sting and the throat bite. Lies. All lies. A terrible bitterness rising up, choking the unseen figure, the white wings blurred. Ahhhh, Ushas! How could you tear me thus?! It is a mental cry of anguish, and for a moment you see the figure of a Varati, kneeling down upon the ground, weeping without restraint or control, about him the blood of countless lives, rivers of pain, and hovering above it all a pair of black wings.

Bright green eyes meet dark and pale ones in turn, as the Sylvan girl's watchful expression shades through deepening concern and towards regret as her gaze flickers back towards Ranjeet. A quick wince of apology and sympathy is all she can give the two on the bench, though, before Vanora's quiet words bring her back to reality. "Yes, we should," she agrees softly. Moving closer to the Atlantean girl, she turns to head into the maze of trees once more.

A gasping breath is taken as Ranjeet's eyes refocus on the pale figure before him, a quick shake of his head proffered before he shifts to remove the blue cloak from his shoulders. It is suddenly more weight and heat than he cares to wear. "None is taken," he replies, a tightness to his voice that bespeaks of a sharp bitterness directed somewhere other than the half-breed before him.

Vanora follows the Sylvan after a long moment, her gaze transfixed by Cassandra, it would appear. But eventually, she fades into the shadows of the maze.

A marble statue, the pale creature remains still so long, gaze obscured conveniently by shadow and lash. Finally, Cassandra's head shifts in a stiff, sparing nod to Ranjeet's words, dipping into the silent waters again. Sound is as inevitable as air, and eventually her voice surges up to audible tones again. "We seek answers to the future, but the ghosts that are memories insist on having their folly tonight. It is far too fine a night to seek seclusion when warmth bodes mischief of all kinds." The rolling hum-intonation of words is broken by her fluid shrug, lashes tilting up so that she might casually observe the departure of fellow Delphites. Barely on the disappearance of their retreating heels, she queries in a voice barely above a whisper, "How are you torn, Imphad-i?"

He starts abruptly at her question, drawing back fractionally for a moment. But of course, it would seem logical that which rests upon their upper most thoughts and emotions is being picked up by the aether and passed between them, like a breeze will carry the wafting scent of a flower across the length of a garden to reach an unsuspecting nose. "I..." and perhaps for the first and last time Cassandra sees this Varati stripped of his protective layers and vulnerable. The weight of knowledge, of the God of Truth, sitting heavily upon his shoulders, offering him no comfort, only whipping him harder in a pointless pursuit. "I... I cannot tell you," he confesses softly, his eyes dropping to the stone of the bench between them. "I have sworn an oath and cannot break it." One hand drops to the stone, fingering it lightly as he takes a long and deep breath, his gaze rising up again to present control, though emotion brims along the edges of the shield. He lifts his hand, reaching it out to Cassandra, palm up. "Help me... help us learn the truth."

The hand is studied, contemplated, until even the slightest details of its angle and the way his fingers are positioned seem glaringly significant things. But there's something Cassandra finally elects to blurt out before following along to the seasonal shifting of subjects, "I hope that you come back together someday, Ranjeet." There's a raw sincerity to those words, weightless and unhindered by underlying notions that could carry within the tone or expression. That said, the halfbreed presses her fingers together and settles her hand in his. A hearty squeeze is given -- well, as much as the little seer-bird can muster up -- before she promises solemnly, "I will do what I can to find the truth. Slowly, it seems to want to be discovered, as we try to find it."

Nodding slowly, Ranjeet's dark soulful gaze lifts again to rest upon Cassandra's cool gentle one. "Thank you," he murmurs, the words imbuing a depth of gratitude and appreciation... for her concern for him, her willingness to help, and her sensitivity not to press him further when he has already revealed to her too much. Taking a breath, he squeezes her hand gently in return so as to not injure the delicate digits within his tanned, strong palm. "I want to know the woman... the women," he murmurs softly. "The one who followed me the first time, oh so long ago, and the one who is to bear the child. I do not know if they are one and the same, or even if the first is involved or just another seeker like myself, our paths crossing in the aether. The pregnant woman is crucial though. Key. It is just a question if she is real or merely a metaphor for the birth of something new. Renewal after the pain of the earth giving birth to this hidden scroll, perhaps?"

Time could be measured by the slow and even breaths that are gathered and exhaled, before the idle air of thoughtfulness is finally shed. Cassandra murmurs thickly, voice almost scratchy, "These are questions that I do not have the answers for, for the most part. But we will find out what we can, mm?" She pauses sharply, angling her head towards some unseen sight within the darkened sky. "Oh," a simple murmur, white lashes narrow until they nearly smother her gaze. "Yes, I remember. I remember that the Magus with the swollen baby came and wished to see the future of her blood to be born." The halfbreed gives a small shake to her head to clear her derailing thoughts. "I... told her that they would be looking for the baby that would make the elements angry, and while it was not her babe, she should keep it safe. I... think there will be a birth. But is that the true mother?" The answer to the question is unable to be produced, pale eyes blinking owlishly up at him.

Gazing back at her in confusion, Ranjeet slowly untangles with web of her words. "Magus ... what Magus?" In truth, Ranjeet had always believed that the woman in his visions was no more than a metaphor for something else -- a birth of nature, or hope, or magic. Anything but a true birth. He considers Cassandra quietly, the black flames of his aura licking about his figure, tentative even in their hunger ... for so far each touch upon the aether has offered a more personal vision than a prophetic one.

A breeze stirs and ripples hair across her face, until the thin strands seem austere veins smothering the expression. "It was just a woman with child -- inconsequential as far as this matter goes," Cassandra admits flatly, voice rippling without the swelling of emotion. "Sometimes women with children ask about the futures of their children, for they worry of the future. I sensed... fear, paranoia, threads that were faint but were tainted by the Wrong." Her other hand finally lifts to sift through the slightly tangled locks, feathering them out of her face with jagged motions of her fingers. "I remember thinking that people were afraid of childbirth, and went hunting... seeking out women that had their children inside. The 'Magus' has already given birth, but the timing of the Wrong was so much more uncertain then." The former Sibyl's voice ends in a perishing whisper, stamped out by another stirring of wind.

There is a quiet nod from Ranjeet, the stirring of the air brushing his dark locks back from his face, strong features studying the Magus who sits before him. His hand remains on hers as he closes his eyes slowly, the dark flames licking about him more fervently, reaching out to lick out against Cassandra's hand where he touches her.

There is a lull of stoic silence, before speech lifts to audible levels once again. "It must haunt you, I imagine. From time to time," Cassandra whispers, carrying on the winds with a soft hiss. Despite the nature of the voice, there is but thoughtfulness behind. "You bear questions that you wish... nay, you are starved for the answers. But for each answer that is sparingly given, the questions multiply." If anything, the muted green of eyes are alive with an empathy, a detached knowing. "The answers eventually come in the events that unfold, but that is too late. Did your visions haunt you again tonight, Imphadi?" In him, there is that seemingly immutable flame that has become an ember of memory within herself... even when sparked to life, only a shadow of former spirit. The passion to change the future, the... thought that... a difference can still be made. The halfbreed swallows audibly, and only the beginning of her words is forced, the rest rolling with ease, "Only one question at a time... what is most important to you tonight?"

His voice comes to her low and rough, as if hardly used. His mind stretches out, becoming one with the fire of his spirit, burning the aether, rising up in tongues of flame, drifting through smoke to sear out the answers he seeks. "Aye... visions come often to taunt me with hints. And when the Truth is known, it does not offer a sweet balm to the burning questions, but salt, to fuel my needs and make the questions sting and bite. There is no respite in the truth, only the need to know more." Ranjeet's head dips, the dark mane of his hair swirling forward to cover his features. There is a soft release of breath. "It is an endless cycle that makes me only want more and never satisfies. How long before it drives you mad?" He asks her because it is clear to him that this woman walks that fine line between reality and perception, swaying from one side to the other and back again.

Lashes draw up in mild startlement to the question, and Cassandra's head dips a little, attempting to catch the Varati's gaze from behind the curtain of hair. "The wanting is only a distraction, a hunger. It is occupying, and it is frustrating, and at times, may even seem maddening. But this is not the maddening, Imphadi," she remarks thickly, softly, tumbling over the words as if she speaks in a foreign tongue. "It is the resignation, the breaking. Letting your wanting drive you in a direction that would lead to your undoing in the world that you know, and telling yourself that you will never have the answers in time. Once you have come undone and told yourself that it was for naught, the 'maddening' is that there is no more reason to try to balance between reality and your world of Sight. At times, you become entirely wrapped up in the nuances, and forget the glaring world. I would not call it madness so much as... rapture. Preoccupation. Am I mad because I have drawn so far away from the mundane to care about most things? To pay attention?" Her free hand poises on the corner of her cheek, fingers curling in towards her palm.

Dark eyes lift, burning into Cassandra's as the black tendrils draw back from her slowly, his hold on the aether releasing and dissipating like so much smoke. "Aye ... you are right. It's a delicate balance." His hand draws back from hers, his gaze shifting quietly before Ranjeet rises up from his seat. "I have been monopolizing your time .... and there is much to be done before the wrong comes."

Wings curl in towards her narrow shoulders, akin to a wounded bird almost, widening eyes blinking up towards the withdrawing man. "Yes, I imagine you have much to do," Cassandra remarks quietly, lashes closing around her eyes in a narrowed study. "Imphadi," clips her words, before she dips in a sketchy bow. Giving a rough tug to reign in the hem of her robes, she jerkily moves away and begins a stiff retreat back towards the citadel.

There is a moment of pause, of uncertainty, before the Varati pursues the Magus, his hand brushing over the delicate feathers of her stunted wings lightly. "Magus ... Cassandra. Please, I did not mean to give offense." He knows not exactly what is wrong, but he does not need to be a clairvoyant to feel the hurt and withdrawal. "If I have ... upset you, please accept my humble apologies." A Varati apologizing to a half-breed? Aye, but Ranjeet has come to see past her form, Cassandra's spirit beckoning to him more and more with each meeting. She is his muse now ... a position no other can fill for him.

The Delphic robes ripple and lurch as Cassandra pauses, as though urging her further, and then recoiling with a whispering sigh of fabric as their demands go unheeded. Hands lift from her sides, fingers folding against her waist until the color leaves her knuckles. Head bowing forward a touch, she murmurs in effortful calm, "It is, ah, harder to tell myself that this is only a blessed release from the mundane when I say it and the person I am saying to is quick to depart." A flicker of a shrug stirs the narrow edge of her shoulders, fingers unwinding and then renewing their clasping. Lapsing into an uncertain silence, nary a gaze strays upward over a shoulder.

His hands shifts, reaching up to her shoulder and gently turning Cassandra back to him. He holds her lightly, dark eyes gazing steadily down into her pale eyes, the warmth of his palms upon her upper arms palpable through her robes. "This mundane world... yes, it is easy to lose oneself in the world of visions and aether. To see things not of this realm. And, like you, I find myself driven, searching the aether more often than my eyes often search my own surroundings." Gently, his fingers rub against her. "That is perhaps why I felt compelled to leave ... for the truth of your words, like all Truths I learn, is painful to hear." His head tilts, dipping closer as he rasps softly, "I am sorry ... for my cowardice. If you have need of me ... of an anchor, call on me."

There was granite laced within her utterance, but there is not so much mettle to gather that her face is likewise protected when she is turned. Delicate and mournful, the night lends an almost haunted look to the broken expression as it tips up towards Ranjeet. "You fret over something that, if I possess any power to change circumstance, I would never, ever let happen to you," Cassandra insists quietly, lashes dipping over the saddened eyes. "It is... all right. I will sleep and drown and tomorrow, where I have come from or where I will go will not matter again." A touch to his arm his tentative, imploring, "You were right to go. Go, Ranjeet, and try to enjoy a dreamless night for once. To remind yourself of all that you let go of each time you submit to the world behind your eyelids."

His hand lifts, cupping her cheek gently before his fingers trace over her brow, as if with his touch he could banish the dreams that trouble her waking and sleeping moments. "Tomorrow I will come again and remind you of where you come from and where you are going. It matters." His hand turns, the backs of his fingers trailing down her cheek for a moment as he offers her a wan smile. "Why do I suspect I shall dream of you tonight?"

Laughter trembles the flow of her voice, a soft and wavering sound that is given life by breath. "Of me? You are not allowed to have nightmares," the former Sibyl gently chides, lifting her hand from his arm to lightly pat at his fingers. The leaping flame of woe within her regard has begun to perish, it would seem, as the eyes lift again to meet levelly. "We... we did not accomplish much for the Wrong tonight, did we? The air seemed... seems... haunted, does it not?" Questions that require too much energy, emotion, to try and seek out elusive answers for. A slight squeeze is given to the hand before her touch withdraws. "Fair dreams, Ranjeet. If you come tomorrow, we shall try again."

"Sweet dreams, Cassandra, I will see you tomorrow and we shall try again. The aether chooses to share between the two of us today ... hopefully tomorrow will bring clearer visions to us both." Stepping back those intimate hands draw away, having proffered touches of affection and comfort. "Perhaps you will keep me grounded and I shall bring you back, yes?" But he waits not for a reply, for he doubts that she will agree with him. Dipping his head in respect over kissing palms, Ranjeet turns to leave, his cloak rippling out behind him in his wake.

And there are no calls of last-minute protest to argue at the retreating heels of the departing Varati, either. Lingering as a specter of the night, Cassandra remains in utter stillness until the sight of his aether is more of a memory's glow from looking upon the same thing so long. "Perhaps," she finally admits to the thick night air, though doubt's blade twists through that simple word. She waits a moment for these unseemly ghosts to reply, finally unrooting herself and retreating to the haven of the looming tower.

FIN  

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