Whispers Waltz Around Our Dreams . . .

You are no longer a princess, you are a queen. Words that replayed in Losa’s head like a mantra, guiding her from the violent storm of her own thoughts into a place where nothing could touch her… and she could touch no one else. It was not a sanctuary where the Arcus Irae found herself now, although perhaps things were “safer” with her locked in this numb state. She’d traded her volatile heart for a stronger one carved of cold marble. When Hurricane decided he would no longer tolerate her tantrums, her pointless heartaches and self-inflicted torture, he left Losa with no choice but to figure out a new way to survive - for she must survive, no matter how bitterly she wanted to bed down and let moss grow over her inert body. Queens had to be more than themselves. No matter that she felt like a walking corpse; Losa had to at least go on and become a symbol of hope for the remaining rainbows in Blossom Forest. Isn’t that what her mother had tried to teach her? Becoming a monarch was not about inflicting one’s will upon the universe… Losa had to abnegate her petty desires and carve out pieces of herself to make room for the future of her people. Smile for them. Lead them. Protect them.

It was time to grow up.

Funny how accepting the weight of her crown felt much like dying - only without that blessed relief. After many days gathering her sanity, Losa silently returned to the gates of Dierne Hrof. She did not reopen her aura - nor did she keep her energy completely locked away for fear of revealing her vile weakness. Instead, the Dawnfire Princess - no, Queen - discovered that she could extend the barest sterile thread outward to touch along the awareness of the other Arcus Irae and alert them to her presence. This simple strand of her soul, thin as gossamer, was a flickering candle to the blazing supernova she once exuded; time on her own had allowed Losa to refine it, to filter away any emotion she did not want to reveal, so that anyone who experienced her aura would sense it like the caress of a velvet glove… rather than the intimate, naked openness the Arcus Irae usually shared. This was how Losa’s own mother had occasionally harnessed her power once upon a time: showing enough to be polite, yet concealing the truth effortlessly. I am back, dear ones. I am sorry… for everything.

Whether or not her fellow rainbows responded, Losa crept back toward the center of Dierne Hrof, where a lake shimmered in the bed of an ancient crater. The lake itself was hours away, but it still served as the center of a wheel that inevitably drew pack members inward to enjoy its crystalline purity. Sleepy pale blue light filtered like smoke through the branches above as Losa traveled, morning having just broken over the horizon. How many lupines would be awake? Had many already started their days, eager to maintain their kingdom’s lively environment? Maybe she should go seek out Aindreas… Losa had not communicated with the white warrior at all since leaving the last pack meeting in broken tears. Mortification threatened to turn her stomach - yet the cotton-candy dancer pressed the disgusting emotion down, tipping her chin up and increasing the steady glide of her pace. It was fine if she ran into Aindreas: she was ready. She could speak to him maturely, without breaking down like a traumatized pup.

Actually, speaking of pups…

It was pure luck that Losa caught the piping squeak of a child calling for his mother in the quiet morning air. She paused, ears swiveling, expecting to hear the mother answer; when no adult responded, Losa marched toward the source of the first cry - if only to ensure that the little ones were all right. Dierne Hrof was a famously safe pack, sheltered from natural disasters as well as shady villains. Soon eyes of amethyst and sapphire lit upon a lone boy searching for his mama… a rather unique cub, if Losa did say so herself. The buds of a cervid were raised prominently on his brow, and a cape of downy white feathers fluffed from his nape. It’s Khaleesi’s boy. Losa had stopped by the owl-Blessed woman’s den shortly after she’d given birth to her litter, although the rainbow did not stay for long. “What’s wrong, boy?” She spoke just loud enough for him to hear her, lyrics smooth and calm and soothing. “You’re Ozul, right? Khaleesi’s son?”

☽Arcus Irae Princess | Sister to Zawyne | Chained to Duma | Bound to Hurricane | xathira☾