This is a pretty dark introspection piece, where my expreienced solar exalted character sees her friend who has been brainwashed/mindbuggered. Not a happy one, but for Brynne, few of them are. Poor Brynne.

Here and now, we will never be again; for I have found, all that glitters in this world is sure to fade… away… again…It was wrong.

Somewhere, it had all gone wrong. The world had tipped, and they were all going to spill into the sky: women half-dressed and screeching false happiness, Men in masks that didn’t conceal cruel smiles, skeletons dancing like string puppets. The mad cacophony surged around them, and it was all wrong. She wanted to scream, to tip back her head and cry out the anguish choking her, an island of knowledge in a sea of blissful ignorance. Didn’t they see? Didn’t they know that the world had stopped? That nothing would ever be right again? They were all dancing with the Black Death, and only she could see him for what he was; they were all dead, but death had not yet arrived to collect.

It was over.

Before now she had been able to deny it. Still, she clung to the hope, like a drowning man, that for once Jube’s pride had not prevailed; that he was not broken, merely bent. But in her heart she despaired, and it was her heart which held sway now. She told herself to be strong, that there was much she could still do tonight, but it was all she could do to move towards the door. It was so much worse than she had imagined. She never should have come. The sight of him, eyes dead, arms maimed, face untouched… she had a new nightmare, now, one she wasn’t certain she could live with. Broken… lost. Images rose to torment her as she struggled through the crowd, faster and faster as one conjured another. He had been so happy in the village. The wheat had fallen to his scythe, the trees had fallen to his blade, but his heart was cleansed. Innocence isn’t something you’re born with, she wanted to scream, staring into the empty eyes of a young woman. It can be reclaimed. And lost again, with all the pain of its first passing.

She almost doubled over, let the crowd trample her. Only Typhoon’s arm over her shoulders reminded her, kept her moving. There would be time. She would mourn when there was something to mourn. When they knew… when they knew… fresh tears sprung up as she pictured his arms, so much worse than any scar received in battle. His cold eyes, lithe body twisted into a parody of its comfortable grace, predator-like. Why? Her heart wailed in a child’s voice. She counted days, like a mantra. A week. Three days. Only that long. What cruel, terrible joke was this? Why… why him? She would gladly hand herself over, this moment, if it meant that Jube and the others could be whole again. They were all so spirit-sore, wounded by the life they had only half-chosen… especially, especially him.

A sense of calm descended, and she realized that her heart had broken. Like a tale, there was only one thing that could ever mend it; his smile, whole again and free of the taint of this place. A mist, cool and soft, settled behind her eyes. The roar of the crowd, so raw a moment before, faded as the faces grew distant. One truth hang before her, undeniable, her only chance. She would hope. She would cling to the small chance that there was still something left to be healed. Because it was all she could do. Without that hope, she would simply stop, and that would doom them all. Even when all hope was lost, she would cling to its ashes. Until she could finish what she must do; see that Ukyo was taken care of, see that the Lover paid for what she had done, see that she could never break another beautiful thing. Then… then perhaps she would follow the lover into the abyss, and spare any future incarnations this pain, even if only in half-remembered dreams.