[Inkoven]

Goldlight is burning.

Library, school and church alike, burned without reverence.
Homes razed by armies both invading and defensive alike.
Countless civilians slaughtered for their leaders' sins, captured for crimes they hadn't committed. 
Speaking of prisoners..Where's Elowliche?

. . .

"Indras..I hate..books.." the Supreme murmured to herself, just herself. Each identity she had assumed clung to her. Like parasites. All of them.
Her singular eye burning as it traced the same line for the umpteenth time.
Miserable. Your father is dead. There is no point.
Dull. You're going to die anyways. You're weak.
Captivity had been more pleasant than this. Return to the earth, Fern Elowliche.

"You can't neglect your studies."
 You're getting rusty. Ophelia was, admittedly, growing sick of her complaints.
You kill mindlessly. How is this harder? Some magi would kill for the opportunities she groaned about.
 

"Just think of what you can accomplish with [REDACTED]!
But um..please don't push yourself..maybe take a break?"
Optimism nagged at her weary mind, slipping through the cracks of her impassivity. 
It doesn't matter what you accomplish. He's still gone.
She was right, it wasn't pointless by any means. 
He's never coming back.
Aisenliche would be happy knowing she's finally making progress, too.
It's not like he can love you. Not like he could. Why bother? 

"..I'd rather..accomplish a..night..of rest.."  the Outlaw resumed her complaining, 
despite the masked woman's protests, and the sunny woman's encouragement. It's not like she'd be getting to relax anyways.

"That's not an option, unless you're keen on some company."
Her mind wasn't exactly hospitable as things stood.
It never had been, but in recent years dreaming became less unpleasant and more outright dangerous.

"Um well..! Yeah! Try one more page, and just think about-"

"Be quiet, Mirasol."

". . ."
"...Eep..."

"..Please..both of you..can it..for once..I need..to focus.."
She considered briefly, taking sedatives as she had in Goldlight. You should've finished off that bottle of Magibane, or used it differently.

One more page, and she'd rest her eyes for a little while. 
Just holding that tome made her feel sick.
Reality parts way, bearing its despicable truths for you.
How will this knowledge be used?

[Inkoven]

 ".....?"

---

It was the still dark when she'd arrived home,
reeling from a most fateful attempt on her life,
 that the Supreme Elowliche had tried her luck-

peered unto her fate-
with a few cards.

Of course, she was no mystic, no practitioner of the art.

The witch herself could not explain what drew her to the deck, yet draw she did.

Audere Est Facere.

Death.

Apt, she thought, given her body was all which seemed to endure. Her spirit, slain by an opportunistic lover. Her heart, broken by her father whom she loved more than anything having died. The woman's very Ego, her sense of self, killed by a Prideful kitsune in a show of betrayal and jealousy. 

. . .

Still, the order left her bewildered. Should not her fate be that of "justice," followed by a hanging and death?

Of course, the symbolism would evade her..Though fate would yield to no man's understanding, swaying to the whims of none. 

---

The Hanged man.
Enlightenment, despite what one may presume at first. 
There was naught to do but continue her studies, though it seemed comparably impossible. 
Each turn of page came with a doubt. She questioned what was ascertained, deciding already the knowledge would be of no use. She would die before it could be applied. There were no voices to bicker over what should and should not be done. The mask of Ophelia had melted, Mirasol wilting not unlike a flower from the Infernal Flames of her assailant. 
Peaceful. Lonely.  
Audere Est Facere.
 . . .
To her surprise, she'd managed to apply her knowledge from sessions of study prior, achieving [REDACTED] at last.
Information was collected, compiled and added to [REDACTED]'s book.
Progress was made at a snail's pace, but made all the same.

---

Judgement.
Aisenliche was gone, redemption scorned, most allies turned traitor or dead. 
There was plenty the serial-killer, the witch, was owed.
Death, in the eyes of most.
Yet, her priority was not in pleasing the masses.
Instead, she intended to carry out the sentencing of Sunsets over Moonlight,
to heed her father's words for the event of his passing,
and obey the Demon's order- one necessary to spite her own foes.
Live.
Survival was one thing, but to truly live, she'd need to figure out a way to become whole again. 
To dispel the the doubt which constricted, and forge a path of her own.
Audere Est Facere.
. . .

"..this..looks useful.."

[Inkoven]

Five Decades of Surviving
. . .
Fifty is kind of a big number..

If I ate fifty cakes, I'd probably die.
Ten years ago I sought freedom
If I lost fifty limbs, I'd be in a limb-debt. 
Twenty years ago I painted in Viritas
If I gained fifty limbs, I'd be in a limb-surplus.
Thirty years ago my heart was broken for the first time
I think I'd rather eat the limbs than cake.
Forty years ago I took a life
Desserts have always grossed me out.

Is that what maturing is?
Taking the risk on something new, rather than enduring what is familiarly terrible?


Can that really be applied to cannibalism and sweets?
How much time do I have left?
He had less than thirty. 
  Will I get any cards?