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[ The dream sinks into Hermione's subconscious, and it draws out her own pain in response. The memories flicker and twist, but what is most prominent is the scent of blood in the air, thick and heavy and dangerous.

"Dorian... Where are the birds?" That's how it starts; silence, nothing but silence, a girl and her friend walking through a forest. They walk and pause and tilt their heads, but nothing comes - there are no birds, no small squirrels, nothing that indicates life whatsoever. Hermione might not be a warrior but she is not a fool, either; she knows the signs as well as anyone and a sense of panic grips her above anything else.

The first thing she notices is the sickly, familiar smell of blood, metallic in the air, like iron on her tongue, her throat catching with it. She stumbles forward, her hands shaking even as she moves to shove Dorian behind her, heart racing too fast in her chest, her eyes flicking here and there, desperate and unsure. There's so much that she can't focus on one thing in particular, there's nothing she can do except move forward and try and follow the trail - Adela had to be alright, there was no reason, why would anyone -- she looked up.

Hanging from one of the trees is the body of a woman, swinging in the barely-there breeze. It was high, higher than she thought would be possible, but they had been gone a while and there had been time enough, to make a point, to leave this mark for Hermione to see, to make her hands shake and cover her mouth, the violent urge to throw up twisting inside of her. She could see the inside of the neck, the blood dripping down, a spoiling the simple dress her handmaiden had been wearing.

"We should go," Dorian says as he reaches for Hermione's hand. "Apparate us out of here." It doesn't work. An arrow slams into Hermione and suddenly all her magic is limited, twisting down until she feels like she's chained with it, her heart in her throat as Dorian steps forward to defend her, to protect her, even though that was her job, her duty, she was the one that was supposed to love and protect -

Everything seems to happen so fast. Dorian is on the ground, a woman crushing his hand with the heel of her boot, and Hermione is pressed with her back against a tree, defenceless and hopeless, her eyes wide and her breathing coming harder and harder because there's nothing she can do. There's no way for her to get out of this and it burns, agony fuelling her as she watches her friend scream out in agonising pain as his bones are ruined because of her.

"Marchioness Granger." There's a woman's voice, deep, trembling with barely restrained anger. "It isn't so easy to crush us when your magic is blocked, is it?"

"Leave him alone." Hermione steps forward, head held high, expression tight, pained and angry. She keeps her eyes glued on the woman, her chest heaving even as she tries to block out all the things she's feeling. "You want me? Take me. But hurt him and - and you will regret ever coming here. You've already taken Adela and she was innocent. Don't hurt someone else when you have the chance to be merciful."

"Traitors aren't innocent." Dorian pushes, and surprise his advantage, and the woman stumbles and he scrambles to get to his feet, scrambles to get up and get between this woman and Hermione, (he can't lose Hermione, that's what he told her he was thinking, later, alone in her room), his teeth are bared and his hands go for the throat and with just one push, this woman has Dorian pressed against the tree, pressed to Hermione to pin her in place, so that he can feel that arrow.

She and Dorian are pressed against each other - Dorian to her front, the tree to her back, the hurt of the arrow in her skin making her cry out even as she shifts to try and give him room to find his freedom. It doesn't work.

Then there's a sword through Dorian's gut. It goes far enough that Hermione can feel it press into her stomach, that she knows if she pushes forward it would be enough to press into her gut and kill her, too.

"Just push a little further," a voice tells Hermione, "and spare the rest of us any more of your mistakes." It's the last real thing she remembers; the last real thing that prickles in her mind and echoes in her memories. The rest is something of a blur, but details often come back over time, bringing her more pain, more agony, more hurt.

Dorian is dead. Dorian died, Dorian is gone, he stepped between a blade meant for her, a sword that was intended to cut her down, traitors aren't innocent, and she feels like she's going to be sick. Her hands move, grasping at him, covered in his blood as she shakes his body, the noise of his organs, pierced and cut with the blade, moving along it, making her shake and stare. He's breaking from the inside out but there's nothing there to feel it, nothing and no one there to feel the drop of his blood, to see the stain on her, her clothes, her skin and her face, her hands reaching up to touch his cheeks, leaving bloody wet hand prints against his pale skin.

"No, no, Dorian, please, don't - don't do this, please, please-"

It comes out as a desperate sob, the shaken hand moving to grip at the metal hilt. She did this. This is her fault, she had pushed the blame, she had broken her vow, even months later people still hated her, and with the rising pillar of Caer Scima back she knew that the guilt would leave her broken and hating herself. He's gone, he's gone, and Hermione wails, shifting with bloody hands to nudge him back, the woman not tearing the blade out to let his body drop, pushing it deeper instead. It's a desperate, lost noise, her body shaking as the woman laughs, seeing the horror and the pain on her face, the knowledge that Hermione was suffering as much as she had deserved from the moment she had proven herself to be a traitor of her word, to have worked with the Courts, to hold a Shard and rise against them.

Hermione knows she could push forward, she could end it. She would come back shardless, with nothing but her name and her magic, nothing of her own, and it would be so easy. After everything she had done it would be easy, letting her be free of all the pain - but Dorian had died for her, she had her friends, she had been fighting so hard, she had been pushing to make the world better, to make everything brighter, and the gasping noise that falls from her mouth is a low, angry sound, a growl, deep in her throat. It doesn't sound proper, real, she's too human for that, but something comes over her.

She draws the blade out, ignoring the sick sound of flesh against steel, dropping it to one side. When she steps forward it's not a simple movement; partway through it turns into a leap, Hermione's body shifting. She is not simply a woman, she hasn't been for almost a year, and the urge to bite, fight, to punish this person for taking an innocent life, for the blood on her hands and the pressure of it touching her - it overtakes her, twisting her body. The magic she uses to become a lioness, to take her sigil, feels removed from the pressure of the magic of her own world, a Monarch given prize that doesn't take as much power as it might have if she had been an at Hogwarts.

The woman screams as the lioness overcomes her - Hermione isn't a woman any longer. She's a beast, a creature. The figure, the assassin, the murderer, turns to try and run, to twist out of the way and lurch to escape but that does nothing more than ignite the instincts that have become a part of Hermione over the last year. A lioness hunts her prey, chases them, and a figure moving to escape does nothing more than prickle at those powerful, intense feelings, a low, curling growl resounding through the forest.

The lioness doesn't remember that Dorian is immortal. A crazed mind doesn't remember that her friend will be back. All she can see is death, agony and pain, instinct telling her to grab, bite, tear, rip apart, punish, destroy this creature for daring to touch him, for daring to even consider, let alone perform, such a horrific act on someone that she adores, that she loves, someone that is hers, her family.

Wings spread, Hermione soars, her claws hitting the woman's shoulder, pulling her back, sinking in to the skin and giving the lioness enough leverage to turn her head, sinking large fangs into the spot along her neck, biting down and tilting her head, twisting at the throat under her. It's not so much a rip as it is a pull, her mouth wrinkling as her teeth sink deeper, deeper, tongue enjoying the taste of the blood in the way only a predator could. She's nothing more than a beast of instinct, wanting to take down her prey, the idea of her pride being threatened making her rage.

Blood drips from her jowls, the flesh clinging to her fangs, to the skin, the twitch of her whiskers, crunching around bone and pressing deeper. Her giant paw moves, scratching at the flesh, digging, making sure that the woman is dead, that the pull of spine, of skin, of muscle and pure flesh had been enough to remove her life. Lions suffocate and her jaw had clutched around the neck, pulling, making sure there was no room for air, no room for anything other than death.

The lioness swallows.

It feels good, like the kill has lifted some of the weight from her heart. It's pure pleasure, the knowledge of a successful hunt, and to a mind burning with instinct and pain, all rationality gone and humanity pushed to one side in a fit of rage and agony, it feels like bliss. No more threat to her pride, no more threat to the people she loves, gone, gone, simply gone, destroyed and ripped apart as punishment for choosing to dare attack someone else that the lioness has chosen to protect. It's the first time she has ever taken any pleasure in hurting anyone, her lion-mind accepting it and enjoying it, almost purring from the pure excitement and joy of having taken down the creature that tried to escape her punishing call.

Slowly, she turns, face covered in human blood and goes back to Dorian's body. It takes a few minutes for her to calm her panting breathing, her nose nudging his face, decorating it with a print of the shape of her snout, but then she flops, dropping at his side, paw on his shoulder. There's soft snuffling noises from the nose of the lion, his blood under her stomach, on the fur of her hind, staining her like she has rolled in it for her own pleasure.

She turns back like that but, when she does, not even the blood on her face and lips can stop her sobs.

(In the background, a figure watches, and he revels in her suffering.) ]

[Once the dream ends, Caster bolts upright.

Servants don't have dreams. No one in the Moon Cell did- A series of Reality Marble that could only be entered by the soul? It's a state close enough to dreaming that even when one slept, dreams would never come. The only exception was Hakuno, and those weren't truly dreams, but memories of a world she was no longer a part of.

So the idea of having dreams... Well, that's something she's already not used to. But that dream in particular... That dream was her Master's memory, wasn't it? Was it only a dream? Maybe it was just Tamamo assuming the worst? ... No, she knows better than that.

She takes spiritual form, and flies through the walls, not bothering with the doors or caring where she goes through. She rematerializes the instant she makes it through the walls of Hermione's room, landing to approach near her bed- If it really was just a dream, then surely she can just return back to her own room without her Master being aware. And if it was more- If it really was a memory, or if it maybe was a sign, a premonition of something terrible, she had to be with her Master. Comfort her, protect her, be with her.

So, quietly, trying not to wake her up if she is still asleep, Caster kneels by Hermione's bed to check on her.]

[ Hermione is curled up in bed, but it's obvious that she's miserable, pressed into the pillows with a duvet over her as if it might protect her from the world.

Still, she's soundless, keeping to herself and biting back the urge, even in her sleep, to appear as though she's weak or suffering, as if it might draw attention to her somehow. She loses herself in the memories instead, having them replay in front of her like dreams, reminding her of her failures and her mistakes before she comes close to waking up - which happens slowly, more like breaching the surface of water than it is snapping to wakefulness.

What brings her out of it properly is the feeling of something familiar, a warmth at her side; it reminds her of the times she had slept near Diarmuid and he had sung her to sleep, careful and gentle and sweet to be around. It's that tenderness that makes her turn her body, lifting a hand to wipe at her eyes - they're damp from the midnight tears, but she does her best not to let them show.

It's only when her eyes land on Tamamo that she remembers what their connection means and she breathes out a sharp little noise, reaching out a little before her hand drops and she sits up. She remembers the other dream, of course, the one that wasn't her own, and there's a long, drawn-out pause before Hermione squeezes her eyes shut and just... Breathes.

Then she's holding out her hand, shifting over to make room in the bed. ]

Come on, Tamamo.

Ah... Already inviting me to bed? Oh, no, Tamamo's heart isn't ready...

[All she can do is try to keep things lighthearted. Make a joke. Pretend neither of them had seen what they just saw. The state Hermione is in is enough to prove that it was a shared connection, after all.

Even so, even when she says it, her voice sounds a little strained. She's forcing herself to try to be cheerful, and obediently lying down next to Hermione, taking her hand.]

... Are you all right now?

[That's the most she can bring herself to say, honestly, and she can tell it's a stupid question. Neither of them are okay. Not after that.]

Don't get too excited. I'm too tired for anything right now.

[ It's easy enough to joke back, even with pink cheeks, pretending as though this is normal and not at all borne of desperation and pain. They're Servant and Master and both of them have suffered memories that have burned their hearts, and Hermione doesn't have it in her to protest the closeness or the teasing, not right now.

The hand in her own draws her away from that darkness, though, and Hermione blinks for a moment, considering. The echo of the screams are still there, preying on her mind, and she leans forward to press her forehead against her Partner's knuckle, breathing out a soft noise, too afraid to speak until she's gathered her thoughts. ]

No. But I will be.

[ That's how it always goes. She suffers, she hurts, but she pulls herself back together because nothing else is acceptable. ]

What about you? I know it wasn't just me that remembered things tonight.

Ah, what a terrible pity...

[Even so, she can only fondly smile at Hermione. Her Master- Someone who cares about her enough, that even after that kind of pain, she's still concerned about Caster's... It's still hard for her to believe someone could care for her that much.

(Someone besides Hakuno, anyway.)]

I'm all right. It is a story of a thousand years ago now, after all.

[A thousand years of dwelling on her pain, centuries haunting that boulder... She doesn't like to dwell on the past, on old memories. She's done enough of that, after she died. She just wants to focus on the good things, and it will hurt less. And honestly, to receive as much happiness as she had until then, she was truly blessed.

She slides closer to Hermione, taking her free arm to hold her close. That will help comfort her, right?]

It could have been a million years ago. That doesn't mean it stops hurting.

[ Some aches never go away, and Hermione knows that. Guilt gnaws at her heart, making her stomach twist with pain as she tries to contain herself, to hold her own emotions at bay. She had let her best friend die and, in return, she had taken a life. It brought her tally higher and higher and for someone like her, someone who struggled to hurt anyone, be it by word or deed, save in intense moments of anger... It was almost too much for her to handle.

It's easier, than, to move and shift to lean against Caster, to bask in her warmth and the feeling of being safe, of being protected. They had said, after all, that they would take care of each other. No one was going to hurt them when they were together - or when they were apart, their minds and power linked through a bond that she doesn't think anyone else on the fleet could understand.

Carefully, Hermione offers an open arm, shifting closer, allowing Caster the choice to cuddle into her or just have the loose hold the two of them share. ]

[She's still herself, and when given the opportunity (and many times, even when she isn't) she will always go for the closer cuddling option, getting in as snug as she can.

And, well. It's a shitty night, and neither of them are going to be sleeping, it seems, so Caster just does one small trick- Her tail glows, giving off a very faint, warm sunlight. It's not too bright, but at least, the light of the sun is always comforting, she thinks. And it's not like Hermione doesn't know about her status as a goddess, so there's no point in hiding it.]

You're right. It doesn't, but... There are good things, too. My mortal life was, until the end, full of happiness and love. You, too, had a friend you cared for and who cared for you to that extent.

[ The delight Hermione feels when Tamamo's tail glows is obvious, and she moves a little so she can get a better look, her expression calming into something far sweeter than the despair she had fallen into before. Anyone showing their powers to her was incredible and she revelled in it, especially when she knew that the other woman must be doing it to make things a little easier for the both of them, to cast a little brightness to the otherwise cold and rather dark room.

It's easy to wrap herself around Tamamo then, to lean close and feel soft and warm and content, to close her eyes and bask for a handful of moments, to let the sadness slip away and something replace it. She wants to feel calm, she wants to feel happy, and she has to do her best not to trip over and fall into her own hurt again, especially when Caster is right here beside her. ]

We loved each other, even if we were a little messy sometimes. [ Huffing a noise, she shakes her head, leaning forward. ] I just... Forgot that he would come back. He was immortal, he was never dead for long, and I... Just forgot.

It is an easy thing to forget. The sight of those you love dying... It is never an easy thing. No one can keep a calm head during those times.

[The sight of Twice slowly disappearing as he leaves will haunt her, no matter how much he was twisted from the Master she once knew.

Her glowing tail looks almost as though it isn't even a tail anymore, but simply a tail-shaped spot of sun. Though it's dim enough to look at without even needing to shield your eyes.]

That you lost your head over it so much rather speaks volumes to the love you hold for him, does it not?

I can't keep a calm head through a lot of things.

[ Hermione remembers so much anger and frustration during the months upon months she spent in the Drabwurld, and it's not easier in hindsight. Knowing how she could have made better choices, stronger choices, made the decision to walk the right path... It's horrible to think about.

The point is, she supposes, that there wasn't a right path at the time. There's what she knew and what she didn't know, and she had to go with what she thought was the best way.

Closing her eyes, she leans against Caster gently. ]

He was my best friend. I loved him, I really did, more than he really knew what to do with.

Then don't. Keeping a calm head is overrated.

[She holds Hermione close, running a hand through her hair.]

Besides, he's immortal, right? As long as you feel that love for him, there is the chance your paths will cross again. You'll return there one day.

It's important to try and be rational! Sometimes logical thinking can save lives, you know.

[ It had done when she and Harry and Ron had been running around England, trying to figure things out, before Ron had run away. Still, the gentle hand in her hair is soothing, and she relaxes as she tilts into the touch. ]

We might not be from the same worlds. If we are, though... I'll find him. I'll do whatever I can to see him again.

Sometimes! And sometimes they are saved through the power of love that ignores reason.

[The weakest Servant and the weakest Master... It is only through their love that they survived to win in the end, defying all reason. Or so she believes, anyway.]

Even if you aren't, I'm sure you will. Either to return to that world, or to cross worlds again to see his... There are many ways, after all!

Love is a magic that's far, far stronger than any other in the world. People just don't recognise that sometimes.

[ Hermione makes a small noise of agreement, leaning forward and holding Caster closer, gentle and uncertain with her touches. ]

I want to return to that world. It's my home.

[She leans into the touch, but otherwise seems a bit hesitant. Like... Well, like she is totally unused to being touched gently. She doesn't know what to do with herself, being on this side of it.]

Then that is all you need to say. I, Tamamo-no-Mae, will do all in my considerable power to return you there.

[ Breathing in, sharply, Hermione hesitates before she leans forward and wraps her arms around Tamamo. ]

Thank you. I - I know it might never be possible, but... It means so much to me that you would even try.

[Oh. Okay. That's happening. Tamamo's face turns beet-red, and she has to fight to keep her voice normal.]

Y- You shouldn't sound so defeated! After all, if I were to return to my nine-tailed form, something so trivial as crossing worlds, I could do before breakfast!

[... Of course, if she did return to her nine-tailed form, she would no longer be a Servant, just a spirit. A monstrous one or a divine one, she isn't sure, but... To grant a wish like that, wouldn't it be worth it? She would certainly be of use.]

[ Hermione, of course, is oblivious to her Servant's embarrassment and just lays there, trying to ignore her own nightmares and bask, instead, in the comfort of closeness. ]

Then we'll see what happens for us in the future, then? We're a good team, we could do almost anything.

[ Though if they managed to make it to the Drabwurld she's not sure if Caster would survive properly without a shard - unless their bond remained, in which case Gilgamesh would probably be quite upset. ]

You're absolutely right. Not many Masters are lucky enough to contract with a goddess, after all, so between the two of us, there's nothing we can't accomplish!

[She nods to herself, determination building.

... But, she wonders, if Hermione does go back there, what about her? Will Caster follow her? Give up her status as a servant, and just be Tamamo again? Try one more time for a life free from being betrayed? Or...

Or maybe she would return to the Moon Cell. Even though it means the end, to spend those last few precious seconds with Hakuno again... Even those few seconds would make the extinguishing of her soul worth it in the end.

But now isn't the time to think about that. Now she has to comfort Hermione. Her own circumstances are less important.]

That sounds about right to me.

[ At least Caster is determined, and it makes Hermione soften a little, closing her eyes and breathing out. It's still hard to wrap her mind around everything that's happened and everything that's going on, but she's trying. She really is, trying to keep her head up and her excitement alive within the fleet, but it's hard.

It gets harder every day.

Strangely enough, having a Servant makes her feel a little better and she tilts her head, smiling softly and trying to stamp down her emotions. ]

Did - you could come, too, if you wanted. The Drabwurld isn't perfect, but... You might like it.

[Could she? Could she really accept a world like that? It isn't as though she has strong feelings about her home, and to escape the Moon Cell for good could only be a plus. It would be a life far beyond any she thought she could have.

... But, Hakuno. And even besides Hakuno, was she even capable of settling on a different world? She already suffered so much as a result of going against divine providence. Would a goddess of Earth trying to settle on a different world not cause even more problems?

She can't think about that just yet. In the first place, she has to figure out her own feelings, and that will take some time. So, in the meantime... Evade the topic in the only way Caster can.]

You want to take me home? Ah, is this a proposal? I knew you'd come around eventually!

[.... yeah.]

[ Hermione's not really sure if it would even work, if she's being honest. It's not as though she can just ask the Atroma to let Caster come back with her if she wants, but their bond might be enough to overcome whatever they do anyway. The problem is that she might not ever have a shard, so she would be stuck in the Drabwurld, but - maybe Hermione could give up her own for Caster, so that Tamamo could go back if she wanted. She must have her old Master waiting for her, and a world she might want to return to.

A shard is a shard; maybe it would work.

That's all dependent upon Tamamo wanting to join her, of course, which isn't something that has to happen.

Fight off her flush, Hermione shakes her head, closing her eyes and breathing out. ]

It's definitely not a proposal. I've had enough of those for a lifetime, I'm afraid.

Ehh, how cruel, to toy with a maiden's heart in such a way...

[Even this close and cuddling, she's still capable of putting on a great show, practically radiating disappointment.

... Whether it's feigned to keep the mood light, or genuine, is something of a mystery. Maybe both? Or maybe better not to question it.]

Well, then! I'll just have to up my appeal! Tamamo will charm the daylights out of you, so just wait!

I'm not toying with anything!

[ Hermione shakes her head, fighting off her laugh as she pretends to huff, all dramatics despite the weight on her shoulders. ]

When you have a man proposing to you practically every month and then calling you queen despite saying no it might be a little tricky for you, too.

cw: blood, death... gore...

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