A Song of Mourning
The leaves rattled as flocks of birds flew over the woods on the outskirts of Anfitrian, the Last City. For many, one last barrier between the light and the dark. For some others... their home.
Wandering notes and lavish tunes echoed through the sharp, tight natural corridors of the forest. Any nearby creatures would soon find themselves captivated by the enchanting voice that strolled through the woods, swaying with the wing and swirling in tune with the flowing leaves.
That voice, naturally, belonged to one of the blessed by the Unmade Goddess: a fairy, by the name of Twinkle. Small, charming and deceptively dangerous -- those were the most relevant traits that any layman should know about her. Many travellers often made the mistake of expecting the fae to be these wondrous, kind creatures... and that could not be further from the truth. Under that façade of whimsy, Twinkle was hiding one of the worst sins of mortal kind -- greed, and in copious amounts. Behind that open grin and those bright, orange eyes, the fairy hid a kind of narcissism and delusions of grandeur that a supposed faithful should most likely not have. Her lust for greed was arguably as strong as her drive to destroy the enemies of her goddess! One could doubt, at a glance, whether she even cherished the Unmade Goddess at all...
Twinkle had gone out for a simple walk. Or rather, a simple flutter? As a winged fairy, she had no need to touch the ground. She stopped here and there to sing to the flowers, sing with the birds, sing to the sun. Perhaps, despite her rampant greed, Twinkle cherished the world -- or rather, what was left of it -- as a treasure. However, the fairy's tribute to her treasure would soon be interrupted... by echoing wails.
"Huh? Who the heck's cryin'?" Twinkle asked, looking in the direction of the sound. Around her, a shining staff of wood and metal spun in place, before returning to her hand, a voice echoing out of the philosopher's stone placed within its brambles.
"I know not, my lady. Perhaps investigation is in order." The voice was formal, masculine and aged. Twinkle smirked, tilting her head ever so slightly from side to side as she made a "tsk tks tsk" sound.
"Don't tell me what to do, Mr. Woodsworth." Twinkle spoke to her staff, shaking her head... before she shrugged, flying in the direction of the sound regardless. "I'm gonna do that anyway, 'cause I feel like it!"
Twinkle (and Mr. Woodsworth) followed the sound to a clearing, where a figure knelt over a lake, weeping with subdued, yet intense, stinging sorrow. Her long hair, only obstructed by a long, protruding forehead horn, draped over her face and clothing as she clung to her longsword, stabbed firmly into the shallow waters. Twinkle went wide-eyed once she saw the mourner in question, recognising the sight of a single horn and an impressive sword from the books and records of the past she kept in her collection. The fairy turned to talk to her staff once again, this time in a hushed voice.
"That's gotta be Marjukka, the Paragon herself!" Twinkle held up Mr. Woodsworth to her face, as if she were talking to a person. The wondrous staff was taller than her, and comparatively huge -- in human hands, no longer than a common use fork.
"The resemblance is indeed uncanny," remarked Mr. Woodsworth. "However, if your records are correct, my lady, she is acting very out of character."
"That's what got me too! What the heck am I supposed to do now?!"
The crying suddenly stopped, as suddenly, Marjukka turned to face the source of the squabbling. She acknowledged that she wasn't alone, leaving Twinkle in an awkward spot.
However, with no intention of backing down, and a burning curiosity to find out what was up with her fellow follower of the Unmade Goddess (and update her records afterwards), Twinkle engaged with the horned paladin.
"He-Hey~! I know ya... Marjukka, ain't that right? What's gettin' ya down?" Twinkle put on her best smile, in what could pass for a genuine attempt to cheer up Marjukka. In truth, the fairy was more interested in knowledge, despite having some goodwill for such a legendary member of her faith. Marjukka spoke in between whimpers.
"...alas, you see..." The bladedancer covered her face in shame, sparing Twinkle from the sight of that unstoppable stream of tears that flowed from
her crystalline eyes. "That singing... it was you, was it not? I was... I was simply reminded of our Lady's blessings."
Twinkle tilted her head, furrowing her brow in confusion. "And why's that?"
Marjukka held her breath for a moment, as she moved her hands to her chest. "Our Lady's blessings... I believed them all to be gone with her. Or perhaps, it comforted me to think that spark of life had left us mortals forever. And yet, when I heard your voice... I could not bear the regret. It is... a burden that strains my very soul..."
Twinke couldn't help but feel bad for Marjukka in that moment. As heartless as she could be, and as estranged from her people as she was, Twinkle was truly devoted to the Unmade Goddess. Perhaps not to the extent of self-sacrifice that Marjukka displayed, but in that shared link, the fairy could understand how the former paragon felt. In what was perhaps one of the few shows of empathy she ever had since returning to the land of the living, Twinkle dropped her smile and just... listened. Marjukka, on the other hand, started letting the rage seep in.
"I regret not being stronger... faster... my body failed in my task once already. But in this moment, I regret falling from the path most of all -- how can YOU still walk it?!"
Marjukka's voice crackled with rage, taking Twinkle by surprise. "Hey! What did I ever do to ya?!"
"I have heard of you... Twinkle, a trickster. A soul corrupted by greed and vanity. You look out for no one but yourself."
"Tch, ya got me there, I won't even lie..." Twinkle snapped back with dry sarcasm, fueled by a sense of wounded pride. But Marjukka's pride had far deeper wounds.
"But once I heard your singing, I realised -- our Lady longed for the light. She was in our lips, she was in our prayers... We were supposed to be the keepers of her light, and we all sought a light of our own... Yet I cannot bear to smile to the children anymore. You cling to that light, a light that left me when she fell! Why...? WHY?!"
Twinkle's initial anger faded once she understood how Marjukka felt. She wasn't the best suited to try and bring up her spirits in a genuine way, other than her singing... but for once, the fairy could at least be honest.
"I... I don't know. I live the way I wanna live. I do what I wanna do, and you know what? I wanna kill the demons as much as you do! I... I guess I've grieved our Lady too. But... my collection is my light. And I have our Lady to thank for that, ya know? If I didn't live for that light, if I wasn't true to myself... I'd be failing her."
Markujja perked up, suddenly realising the weight of Twinkle's words -- far more than the fairy hoped to achieve, herself. The paladin looked deep within herself. She spoke calmly, but the waterworks began once again, like a revitalised stream.
"I... I see now. Our Lady... She blessed us with a desire for belonging -- for purpose. That purpose is unique to us all. Perhaps... She did not consider that protecting the lights of others, defending the faith at every turn, protecting the flaws of character that lead us into reaching for our own light... That perhaps, our Lady could be my light. My purpose. And without her, I am nothing."
Twinkle looked from side to side, not quite knowing how to respond. She felt somewhat accomplished -- although she was tempted to try and use telepathy, just to see if there were any more direct means to help Markujja. At the same time, seeing how far such a legend had fallen was an experience in and of itself.
"May I... ask a favour of you?" Markujja stared deeply into Twinkle's eyes. The rage was gone from
the acolyte's own glare. Only the grief and the sorrow remained.
"What is it?" Twinkle asked, not knowing how exactly she could be helpful here.
"Could you... sing for me a little longer? It was beautiful."
There was a knot in Twinkle's chest. Normally, she'd ask for something in return. Even if just a little shiny, any trinket or valuable that would look good in her collection. But when the fairy looked at Markujja... she saw something precious. Someone far better than herself. A true loyal soldier, a protector, a friend to all good men and women. No matter how deep she fell into despair -- she was a protector of virtue. And Twinkle was ruled by her vice. Would it not be worthy of her vice to protect that fallen virtue as, perhaps, one of the greatest treasures of all?
And so... Twinkle sang. It was a soothing lullaby of sugary words and sweet nothings. Markujja could not contain herself, and wept her heart and soul into the lake below, as she longed for her Lady...
...or perhaps, Twinkle's song was just that beautiful.