She had been trying so hard, working to control the hunger and the needs. Just the look in Harley's face that day when he'd seen her had been enough and she'd gone to someone she thought could help.


Not that King Cel was the best choice but what else could she do?

Now months later, she stood on the edge of the pardlands, watching the house with a cold feeling of dread. Would they take her back? Would Harley?

His body clung to hers. There was no other word for it. Limbs tangling about her, his body limp like a marionette with it's strings cut. Rhoswynn whimpered, sinking to the ground as his weight bore her down. She could easily have held him up but she was seeking a pulse.

Could she have killed him? Did she? She had heard stories of succubus that took too much, that destroyed eather than reveling in the life they needed to survive.

Nails practically digging at his neck, seeking a pulse and whimpering once more when she found one. Weak, thready, but there.

He'd asked her to help, to come with him to talk to Jason. Rhoswynn was terrified. How did you have this talk with your parents? Would this be better or worse than her seeing Tony Blake? Could she tell Tony? Was she willing to share if he let her...

So many question and, for once, Rhos was dressed like a lady. Hair down and sweetly framing her face, make up light and in jeans and a soft fawn coloured sweater.

She'd called Harley and told him to meet her. She needed the support before they did this or she was going to chicken out. Jason had always stood by her, supported her and if he was disappointed in this, she might die.

The headache was probably the most painful thing in her entire life. Splitting, feeling like she was dying. Mewling, Rhoswyn curled up into a tight ball and whimpered. It had to end. Soon. Just like the nightmares. They'd be gone.

They had to be.

The circle had been cast. Thrice around, thrice above, thrice below. Nine upon nine to make the whole. An orb of a circle, a space outside of time.

For that was where she needed to be. Outside of time. Beyond time. Standing alone atop all of mankind, looking down upon existance. For it was a moment of existance that she sought to change. Her existance. Leela's. All of the pard. So many lives in the balance, but it was hers that she sought to save.

Naked. Her body glistening with oil, sheened with sweat. Midnight hair whipping about her face as she called up the winds. A creature of the elements, one of the night. Wind upon rain, the day turning to night.

She stood beneath the torrent, unwavering, her will set.

I call upon that which was before. I seek the assistance of the whole, of that which is fractured that mankind may be. I call upon the Great Mother, the Dead God. The spirits of the realms of Air and Darkness as are my right. My birth was theirs and so shall be my death.

Help me in this hour of my need that I might live. Help me that my life's cord may not be cut early. Help me that I may truly live.

I call you here. Now. I feed you with energy. I feed you with blood!

Hands raising, a silver dagger in one. Flashing, drawing it across her wrist, crimson caught on the wind splattering, splashing to the four corners, the four winds. A gift freely given, a blessing sought. Blood coursed from her arm, the wind coming up like a howling beast. It caught her. Whirling her around like a marionette before dropping her lifeless seeming form to the ground, darkness obliterating her mind, descending over the girl.

Curled up on the banks, the Tor of Glastonbury shrouded in fog beside her.

Staring out over the murky water, knowing that Jason would be able to find her. If he wished. Any could find her.

If they wished.

I was never wanted. They lied to me from the start. I could smell him on her tonight. And the Tears. That's all that takes her to his bed. Addiction. One for the other.

I'm nothing more than a biproduct of their addiction. Eire hates me. My Father would rather a woman that hates him... or a child that despises him, than me.

Not even Uncle Jason really wants me there. I know, as with always, one word from Gabriel and he'd be gone.

And I would be alone again. Like I am now. Like I've always been.

Now just to figure how to do it. I refuse the Abyss. I can't die of thirst. I just can't.

I'm weak like that. I can't suffer.

((The following information is considered OOC to list and catalog Rhoswyn's strengths and weaknesses if it were ever to come up))

From her father, she inherited the hands of power of royal sidhe. Two for her, each complimenting the other.

Her minor hand made her the Princess of Gwydion's Mirth. Simply enough, it is the ability to take another's lust and twist it into a sickness that will consume them unless sated. If not acted upon, it has the ability to drive a person insane. But it's effects only last from sunrise to sunrise unless renewed with a new touch of her will, phsyical touch.

Her major hand is what makes her a Princess of Love's blood, a true mingling of her father and mother in her power. With a single touch, she can call a person's heartache to their heart in the form of sickness. Depending on the strength of their past pain and the force of her will, she can cause something as minor as a skipped beat to the charring of their crushed organ.

Trained not only in politics and subterfuge, she has also been educated in the subtle arts of seduction and romance, as well as sexual training so that she might be a complete weapon, a true Unseelie and a deadly, wicked Queen.

Her weaknesses are simple. That which would hurt any sidhe affects her. Iron. Spells against the fae. Branwyn's Tears. Her goddess blood is dilute and lends little to her immortality. But her greatest weakness is that of love.

From her Mother she inherited the near fatal flaw of having a loving heart. She loves easily, deeply and with much remorse when it ends. As it oft does, as she is a goal oriented and driven woman.