It's in her wanderings looking for survivors that she nearly trips over........
She forgot.
The halo chimes in through one of her Pieces - taught her snuff films, very smart, worth the time it spent to speak to her - and all of those hers she acts through have her same values, or at least parts of them. This child was worth her weight in existence. Too bad even She didn't remember the name. Ah well, the girl is worthy of being saved. Normally her magic could repair this, but this world has siphoned it from her fingertips, oh dear, how to fix this...
- Ah, she knows.
Featherine does not kneel. Simply steps in through the piles of shredded Shadows and spilled blood to be looming over the almost-corpse, and the hand not holding her Halberd points down. Dantalion, was it? She knows how her powers work - break into the most horrible pieces, repair it in whatever way she desires. The name for the spell is different here, she doesn't know it, but it doesn't matter. A hole through the world leaks up from her shadow, kept contained only by a never-ending mobius loop of pages, and Featherine's ageless mind slams on the command Fix It.
Dantalion obeys. The pages wrap around the child's body, peel off writ ink and bloodstains, memories of wounds she never received, and left behind is Nothing. Exhausting, something too easy now tires immensely, perhaps she's getting old.
H A H A H A
When Cagliostro is healed enough to actually wake up, she looks up to a swirling torrent of glowing pages and a pleased (if a bit condescending) smile. "Congratulations on living, Child of Man. Take it as a gift, so you may go and celebrate your victory."
B - Cags p l s
She forgot.
The halo chimes in through one of her Pieces - taught her snuff films, very smart, worth the time it spent to speak to her - and all of those hers she acts through have her same values, or at least parts of them. This child was worth her weight in existence. Too bad even She didn't remember the name. Ah well, the girl is worthy of being saved. Normally her magic could repair this, but this world has siphoned it from her fingertips, oh dear, how to fix this...
- Ah, she knows.
Featherine does not kneel. Simply steps in through the piles of shredded Shadows and spilled blood to be looming over the almost-corpse, and the hand not holding her Halberd points down. Dantalion, was it? She knows how her powers work - break into the most horrible pieces, repair it in whatever way she desires. The name for the spell is different here, she doesn't know it, but it doesn't matter. A hole through the world leaks up from her shadow, kept contained only by a never-ending mobius loop of pages, and Featherine's ageless mind slams on the command Fix It.
Dantalion obeys. The pages wrap around the child's body, peel off writ ink and bloodstains, memories of wounds she never received, and left behind is Nothing. Exhausting, something too easy now tires immensely, perhaps she's getting old.
H A H A H A
When Cagliostro is healed enough to actually wake up, she looks up to a swirling torrent of glowing pages and a pleased (if a bit condescending) smile. "Congratulations on living, Child of Man. Take it as a gift, so you may go and celebrate your victory."