Desert

Wait for me.

How many times had she said it, over the years? To Cressida, tempestuous and impatient Princess of the Thicket; to Faline, gentle and trusting, nestled in the depths of the Falls. To Puck, under Oberon's watchful eye in the far-off faerie glen that used to be hers, too, and had become too small to hold her, the rough edges of her monstrous form slamming against the confines of her old self. To Rille, watching overhead, the pale face of the moon glowing against the night sky. To Loki, her firstborn son, hidden in plain sight. To Rivka, her double, stolen alongside the last soft bits of her heart. And now to Starling, her youngest, whose sky-blue eyes seemed to hold the world, so innocent - so pure. So blissfully, blessedly ignorant.

Wait for me, she'd whispered into their ears, the soft new-shed fur of their small necks. Wait for me, to their backs as they followed after a mother that was not theirs, that would never love them the way she did, the way they deserved. Wait for me, to the cosmos above, where she hoped they might be looking, thinking, too, of her. Wait for me, wait for me, wait for me, over and over and over like a prayer, as she held them away from herself, knowing her path was only made for ruin, for pain and suffering and chaos, for loneliness and death and unceasing darkness. Wait for me. Wait - and when all of this is over, I promise, I promise, I promise to return.

Wait - and do not forget, because the only thing that keeps me hanging on is the memory of you.

Titania let the memories wash over her as she swam from the Thicket's pebbled shores, headed for warmer southern waters. Let them wrap like the sea around her, shielding her from the danger she was chasing. This was for them: for all of them, here and gone, whether they knew or cared, it didn't matter anymore. As much as it was for herself, it was for them, and the peace they would share in a world born anew. In a world without the eyes of the Wolf-King always hunting them, tracking them down, dragging them back to his den of bones and blood.

A world where Rougaru was dead, by fire or flood or flash of her own four hooves. Dead and rotting, his body brought to the dirt and held there, never to rise again.

She shivered as the ruddy isle of Salem came into view, pulling the images of her loved ones close. What she planned to do would not be easy, and she couldn't promise that she wouldn't lose herself in the process, but if she ever wanted a chance at freedom - true and sweet and feather-light - she had to follow through. They would be safe; they would all be safe. She would sacrifice everything to achieve it. She'd already lost so much. What was a little bit more?

Her loved ones flashed in her mind's eye, and as Titania found purchase on the solid ground of the Desert, her eyes burned not with the salt of the ocean, but her own bitter tears. One fell down her cheek, two, three, four - and then, with a shake of her head and a decisive flick of her inkjet tail, she let them go, dropping the pain of their absence like a cloak from her narrow shoulders so that the devil in her veins could run free. Starling should be at the Peak by now, escorted by the witch of the Thicket and her companion. Safe and sound and shielded from the demon her mother would become, in the hopes of taking down the evil lurking here, waiting for its next victim. Waiting for her.

Titania strides inland, her head held high. She doesn't hide; doesn't bother to call out and announce her arrival. The wolf-king will know, and he will come, and when the time is right, he will die.

Until that final moment, she pledges, she will not leave his side.