Pieces of the puzzle lay scattered at her bare toes; some were turned over with their cardboard backs facing the youthful regent as her deft fingertip entwined themselves within the ends of her dark strands. Oh this certainly presented her with a minor setback. Beneath her downy quilts the evening prior, the young woman dreamt of her mother’s demise and father’s fall from grace. What a tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive.

Russet fabric cloaking her curvesome figure as she lay reclined upon the unfeeling stone with the dampness of the air seeping in past her richly dyed fabric, the young woman remained silent as the mausoleum that her mother would slumber eternally. So much like her mother in many ways, the most obvious being appearance, and at the same time so different. Where Briallan had become attached to another and given her life for that person, Lavinia would not allow herself to follow the same path as her mother.

Mind you, Lavinia still had a deep affection for her paternal guardian, however her bond with the dashing hero had never been as strong as it had been to her mother. Furthermore, the charcoal haired lady had been a fine and faithful daughter; in spite of this, Lavinia had never felt so alone as she did now.

Shivering as she glanced down to the fire escape where her mother’s final moments were passed, words in a foreign tongue were uttered from her painted lips, which translated roughly to “And the circle turns”. So long had it been since she last laid eyes upon her father and longer still on her mother, but now never will. Perhaps that had been the most difficult part had been knowing that Briallan would never again exchange words with her daughter or that the daughter would never test wits with the blackbird queen once more.

In spite of this great sadness, not a tear had been shed from the she-devil’s eyes or stained her exquisite complexion. Think her callous if you will, but understand that a promise had been made and will be kept at all costs, even if it entails estranging herself from most of her kin. Sabra must atone to the crimes committed against her clan and should an individual attempt to protect her mother’s killer, then they must be disciplined with the hickory switch as well; even if that meant her father. Familial duty demanded retribution and there would be no stopping Lavinia.

Across the alleyway, a large raptor with feathers the hue of tar croaked from its perch upon an exhaust pipe jutting forth from the building’s craggy exterior. Glashtyn. Once upon a time, he, Glashtyn, had been a lovely boy with dark stubborn curls and eyes of an even darker hue. Oh how that boy could kiss and give Lavinia gooseflesh! And now, the sweet young man remained ensnared within an enchantment as her familiar and most loyal pet. How had this been much different than how her father treated most of the bitches he kept in his kennels? It’s a daddy daughter thing. Truly.

The predator has become the prey. Fragments of shaped cardboard cast to the streets below as the elegant creature rose to a seated position with her shapely limbs dangling over the ledge. Little red riding hood was packing some serious heat, so the big bad wolf had better run and hide in the piggy’s big brick house with her tail between her legs. Then again, what good would that do for the misfortunate Sabra? To screw with a Baslazari meant certain doom and a lot of pain.

A splendid dream of awful things that now has come to be. Lavinia cast a rune stone to the streets below to ward away the long toothed beasts that lurked below that feasted upon the wandering spirits of other worldly creatures. Make a wish, Lavinia, and take your chance. Hold your breath and jump. The puddles below are merely portals to other bodies of water. Sheets of liquid glass, melted down and oh so similar to Briallan’s mirrors and the one hanging from the chain around her delicate throat. A beacon for Sabra to follow, in a way. It masked her own aura with her mother’s and being a good student and accomplished sorceress as Lavinia was, there would be no way for the murderess to know the difference between the deception and the real thing. Just follow the breadcrumbs, sweety. Let’s make this easier on us all and just die. Then again, what was to keep her father from nibbling at the bait as well? Absolutely nothing. Perhaps her very appearance would bring tears to his eyes to notice how much she resembled her mother in appearance and pitiless demeanor. Mayhap Lavinia’s very presence would cause Zeth to lust for her dearly departed mother as she had once been and the days long past when they stalked and dueled each other so passionately. Possibly, then would her handsome father regret shackling the wild Briallan so cruelly and breaking her spirit in the manner he had.

Keep others at arm’s distance. Don’t allow them too near. That was how they collar you and tie you down before they beat you until you can stand no more. Punish the wicked and rape the pious. So her hit list had been made and no amount of tears and pleading would deter her from this.