Siren, her mother, had always been distant. At least, Ruby had come to understand it as distance. Her mother had always been adamant that she and Obsidian were not wholly themselves, and not wholly of their father or mother alike. That had driven her to teach she and her siblings something of their heritage, but the information was scattered and in disarray; Ruby had never been able to discern the entire story that revolved around her kin. She did, however, know their names: Andras, Lillith, Baphomet, Ishtar, Lamia, Astaroth, Locke...there were many names she knew, at least. Demons. Avery knew them too, and Avery had taught her more. Most importantly, she had learned that there was more to their kin than just blackened, russet fur. It was that more that had lured her after the shadow in the Grotto, for the shadow seemed to promise Ruby that it was something other than just black and red.

Just like that, the shadow had disappeared though. Ruby had been sure she had seen it only just ahead and yet, when she came to a stop, she could not find even a hint of its presence. She sniffed at the air cautiously, ears swiveling in their hunt for something to assure her that she had, indeed, seen something. Just when she had intended to continue on, something struck out at her.

With her own hiss of a growl, she shoved her weight aside. Even in her panic, her movements were as graceful as her blood allowed them to be; she seemed to slide across the stone as her head snapped down and her ears back. It took but a moment for her owl-yellow eyes to meet the ice-blue of a child’s - it took longer for her to register that the child had spoken at all. Ruby had been preoccupied with, at first, being startled but then, with the russet that marked her. It was crisp and pure, separated from the black of her fur just as Siren’s was. And Ruby’s own – a smudge of crisp russet upon her forehead, whereas the crimson of her throat was muddied with the black, a reminder of her father’s non-Demon heritage. Though they did not know one another, and though the child had spoken with such vehemence, Ruby could not help but stare back with curiosity and a certain kind of familiarity. She stared with a knowing.

"And if I do not, what will you do?” Ruby was blunt, and her face did not move to show anything. She simply continued to stare, though her head did tilt ever so slightly both in inquiry and an effort to see more of the child herself – more of the bloodened marking, her eyes, anything to pinpoint Ruby’s sense of familiarity. Or, she thought, was she simply longing for her dreams to make sense? To find the face that had stared back at her from the moors? She felt a pressure in her head as she bit down on her teeth, swallowing the dream back down into nothingness.