"It was a pretty dream," her sister had admitted, after she had recounted the tale to her. "But remember, it's not real."

Sonnehilde frowned. They always had to remind her of that, Altair and Chandresh. They felt it was their duty to untangle their baby sister from the fanciful quilt of colours and fantasy her subconcious wrapped her in. It never worked for long. Her dreams were more powerful than their reality. She just wondered, why couldn't they see that?

"Those small, odd-lizard things... One of them crawled on me, though! It burned me, too, see?" Sonnehilde said, holding out her forearm for Altair to examine the burn that stretched from below her wrist to thr crook of her elbow. Sonnehilde blinked, her pasty white flesh a surprise to her. Mere minutes ago it had been agony to bear, in both sight and mind. Now... Now it was as though nothing had happened to it. But something had. The awkward lizard, with wings far too big for it's miniscule body, had stumbled over her, and snorted out a steam that had send a searing pain through her arm far worse than the time she had decided that sticking her hand in a pot bubbling, boiling water was completley harmless. Completley harmless. That was what she had thought of the little winged lizard, too. Until it had snorted it's steam upon her.

Altair had glanced at Sonnehilde's arm, to make sure that the girl had not harmed herself again, but was not suprised when no blemish marred her sister's flesh. "Sonnehilde. It was a dream. Not real." She reminded her, no kindness softening her words. No doubt the young blonde girl tuned out her words. Sonnehilde tuned out most words, Altair thought, especially when she got that far-off look in her oddly coloured eyes, the light behind them growing dimmer and dimmer still as her mind brought her back to those fantastical realms that, secretly, Altair wished existed. How exciting it would be, to embark upon a fantasy adventure, in a land where dragons - which Sonnehilde would know was the proper term for those awkward lizards, had she ever sat still enough to enjoy a tome of fantasy - and danger abounded. Where one's very existance could be ended or continued, all on someone's everchanging whim. How exciting indeed. She longed for it, but it was just. a. dream. It was a world that only existed in her baby sister's troubled head, one that was oftentimes given a role on the big screen, and even more often than that had been written about in so many different ways in every book on every shelf that ever scenario now seemed so tired and used, like it was begging for a break, a permanent retirement of the old recipies, begging for someone new to throw something into that concoction.

Sonnehilde could be that someone new. In her dreams where she was always the observer, and never the heroine. She could craft the tale, from that unique perspective... Only, that would hinder their efforts. For years now, it seemed all Chandresh and herself had been doing was telling the girl that her dreams were not real. Fiction. That was what they were, what her story would be. Sharing it with the world though, that would be a problem. That would make hundreds of people know of the world, and they too, would dream of it. They would make it real. When only one dreamed, it was easy to dissuade her from the truth. But if all dreamed... That would be a far different story. Many would know it. It would become a part of them. They would become the world. The world that Sonnehilde dreamed about. The world that Altair and Chandresh both admired, and, feared.

For, even though this dream had been of beautiful fields filled with flowers so numerous and so fragrant one would think that they were to die should they take yet another breath, and small, miniscule dragons frolicking about, awaiting the command of the some unknown entity, Sonnehilde's dreams were also filled with darkness. The hero of her story always died. Blood more often than not stained the same fields that were revered, and talked about with the longing every being harbours for an untainted earth. The fields would then turn black, the second that drop of red was fed to the ground. The sky would always grow dark, the flowers would shrivel and become something sinister. There was no stopping the blood - short of waking up. If it became reality, there would be no waking up.

"It is real," Sonnehilde mumbled, coming back to reality long enough to argue the point.

"Only in your mind. Fantasy. You need to stop living in it. Embrace reality."

"Reality is frayed," Sonnehilde replied, looking into the corners of the room. "Blurred and frayed. Like it's covering something. It will break soon."

Her sister's certainity in those words sent a shiver up Altair's spine. It was at times like these that she hatefully wished the creep hadn't survived the trip out of the womb. She was a different person when her mind was gone, but her voice remained. "R... Reality is certain. It's the truth. It won't break."

Blankly, Sonnehilde continued staring into the corner of the room. She could see the edges of reality, untangling slowly as they spoke. Why! Why wouldn't they believe her!? The sooner they realized her dreams weren't really dreams, but visions of the true reality, the one that would soon break free from this veil!? "No. The threads that hold this world... are unraveling as we speak. There is no way to stop it." She adopted an almost sinister smile as she added, "We must just embrace it."

"I don't know who or what you are, but I don't care. Leave now. I want my sister, derranged and unstable as she is, back!" Altair snapped, centimeters away from striking this... this thing! ... that insisted on using her sister's face for it's own gain.

"Oh?" She, it, was amused by this outburst. "You have been here too long. Trapped within this false reality --"

"It's real, damnit!"

"-- That you can't even remember how you were before. And how your sister, is supposed to be. I suppose... there are consequences to living so long, so blissfully, in this falseness, sending all of your memories, to one entity."

"What... What do you mean? Give me a straight answer! You're talking in circles!"

"Riddles are hardly what I would call a circle, m'dear. Can you tell me... where youre beloved brother is?"
"I... He's..."

"Do you not find it odd, that in all this time you have been here, oh, for it has been a while, yes, that he has not bothered, not once, to show his face, to sound his voice, to answer your silent calls? Where.. Where do you think he might be?"
"He... He... He's um... gone o--"

"Yes. He's gone."

"No... Gone out. To... To the store! Yes, for, oh, um... food."

"You haven't desired food, nor rest, nor drink, since you've been here. Wrong answer. Try again."

She wouldn't need to try. At that moment, the room that she had known to be her world, everything, faded away. She could see the plain, boring, beige paint that needed a new coat, fade into this new world. She even saw her sister -- no, not her sister -- that, thing melt into the scenery, becoming nothing more threatening than the dew on blades in vibrant shades of green. It would make even an emerald jealous, that green.

But now was not a time to think on colour. Not a time to think on gems. Not a time to do anything but act.

Altair didn't need to see the silver hair, loosed from it's strict, binding que, or the spectacles, bent almost beyond recognition, to know who's blood it was that fed the field. Chandresh.

She screamed. It might have been his name. It might have been a pure, animalistic sound. No one would know what it was, beyond a release. A release of frustration. Of sorrow. Of anguish. She rushed to him, not hesitant in the least to touch him. His skin was already taking on a blue tinge, and his eyes, the cold, calculating eyes that could never decide if they were gray or blue, were frozen in place; set upon some sight that she could not see.

Like a child with a dead pet, she ran her fingers through his hair. He had kept it long. It had looked better on him like that, rather than in any modern style. Old things suited him. Dusty old tomes with pages so faded that the words weren't even considered english any more, photographs where time has tinted them sepia. Yes, old things always suited him. It was a shame then, that he never got the chance to become something old.

"You won't get her!" To Altair, it sounded too much like Sonnehilde's voice. But... Hadn't she only been a part... a pawn... from that other world? The peaceful one, that faded into this one. This horrible, horrible one where her only brother was dead? Where the insides of his chest cavity, were strewn about carelessly on mockingly beautiful grass? Where there was no respect, for the most noble of hearts?!

The voice that answered was cold. Altair didn't hear it so much as she felt it. She felt it's slimy, phlegm-like voice coat the very insides of her soul. "She is already mine."

"No!"

It laughed. "Yes."

"You've already taken Chandresh! He is worth more than either of us!"

Again, that cold, hollow laugh, that made Altair feel as though she was frozen, and then shattered. It made her feel dirty, like she shouldn't exist. "That's not what he would say."

"I don't care what Asenis would say! He doesn't rule over us! This is our world! He's taken our father, and now our brother. Can't he just be satisfied!?"

"He won't be satisfied. Not until all of you... you... abominations... are exterminated."

It was then that Altair saw her. Sonnehilde. She couldn't see her clearly, but there was no mistaking that uruly blonde hair, or that stance. It was the same defiant one she would use when she had wanted their father to do something; read them one more story, let them have a cookie before dinner, give them just five more minutes before bed. Sonnehilde had always gotten defensive about things like that. Like she had to fight. Fight to prove her worth.

It was good now, that she had. She needed the practice, for that was what she was doing right then. Fighting. Fighting for their worth. For what was left of them.

Sonnehilde scowled. The field behind her errupted into flames. Altair didn't see, but felt, whatever it was yawn. It wasn't impressed. Neither was she. These parlour tricks had been under all of their command since their diaper days.

Sonnehilde smiled, amused by the thing's dismissal of her tricks. Altair felt it's confusion at that smile, unnerved as well by the cold way the diminishing light cast shadows over her sister; giving the impression that they were all one. Wait! Altair's mind screamed at her, pulling her from her confusion in much the unwanted way a bucket of iced water splashed over the unsuspecting rouses them from sleep. That was the answer! They couldn't kill this thing! Not now, not now! She wanted to shout it to Sonnehilde, to tell the girl to stop, to forget whatever plans she and that sinister smile shared. But, her voice had dissapeared. Muted, she shouted the words. Sonnehilde took no notice. Altair felt the laughter of the thing rumble through the very core of the world. Sonnehilde felt it as well, Altair could tell, and she only felt a quiet despair at not being able to share the truth. To save them all.

Quiet tears slipped down Altair's cheeks. She needed no physical restraints to hold her where she was, to prevent her from running to her sister, to try and stop what was to come.

It was as if a switch had been flipped. The flames, merely an illusion before now took on life; gaining strength from the air to devour the field, the towns that surrounded it, the entire world. The thing laughed. Sonnehilde merely blinked at, ignoring its' glee at having its world, their world, itself destroyed. Altair couldn't watch. She turned away, blinking tears from her eyes and trying in vain to ignore the intense heat of the flames, despising the creature all the more. This was what it had wanted! She had figured that out, and it had known. It had stolen her voice, so that she could not warn them, so that its plan would not be aborted, before it had begun.

There was no going back now.

The flames were black. Sinister. Evil. It was hard to imagine that her sister, the sweet, silly, youngest of the three, could conjure that kind of fire. Hellfire. Fire that would burn and burn and burn, no matter what, until an entire world was destroyed.

What had Sonnehilde been thinking!? Altair asked herself, a bit belated, as now the flames were circling in on them. She would never get the answer, would she?

The laugh of the thing never ceased, growing shriller and more excited with every second that the blazes inched towards them, intent on snuffing out their mortal existances forever, and erradicating their immortal souls. It sickened Altair, and she could feel, more than she could see, that it sickened Sonnehilde as well.

"Tarith," Sonnehilde's voice was calm, collected. As though the blaze were not there, and that it had never been there. The laughing stopped abruptly, Sonnehilde knew it was looking at her. "Tarith," She repeated, just as calm.

The voice that answered was definitley that of the thing, but it sounded younger, almost sweet, almost bearable. "How... Who told you of that name?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she repeated herself yet again. "Tarith."

The flames were slowing now, much to Altair's amazement. Hellfire... never ceased. So, why then... Why was it slowing now? Unless... She almost shrieked with glee. An illusion! It had merely been a set of illusions, all cleverly stacked up against each other.

The thing twitched. Both of them felt it. It twictched and wiggled and shook the world; what it believed was left of it, causing things to die and then be reborn, causing storms to pass and torture in no more than a second, causing winds to wreak havoc, only to be replaced by a spring rain in the next instant. Neither of the girls payed the awkward nature any mind. Their attention was placed elsewhere; on a shadow that was slowly taking on solidity, but no definite shape. In one minute it had gone from the form of a hare, to a tree, to a bird, to a man, to a fly, to a horse, to an ostrich, to a woman, to a kitten, to a shapeless mass of wires, to a miniature castle and then, back to a shadow once again.

"Tarith," Sonnehilde said, staring at it. Altair stared too. Tarith was... this thing? The thing? The blonde bent down next to the shadow, who had settled on the form of a winged rabbit -- Which Altair found quite comical from her comfortable distance. Sonnehilde smiled at the rabbit, thing, and the illusions of the fire, the heat, the carnage were all gone, replaced by the field and their dead brother. Altair frowned. The one thing she had wished was an illusion, a trick, was reality.

Sonnehilde ignored the corpse and the other girl. She directed her attention to the winged rabbit. "Tarith, why?"

The winged rabbit, now known to them as Tarith, kicked its' paw in the dust and flapped one of it's wings in an imitation of a human shrug.

"You're a world-spirit, aren't you, Tarith?"

Altair's eyes widened at that. World-Spirits were the cores of each and every world. They were the ones who were charged with creating plagues, then curing them. They were the ones who told the trees to make a forest, when and where. They were the ones who ultimatley decided where a town could be formed, and where it could not. World-Spirits were also the ones who took the souls of mortals when they were felled, and brought them to other worlds for their trials. Any world could have any number of World-Spirits, at any time. There was no way to determine how many there might be, or might have been.

"Yes." Tarith's voice was far different from that of the thing, but there was no doubt that they were the same.

"Do you hate this world?"

"No."

"Why then... Why then did you want to destroy it?"

"Because I am bound to it."

Sonnehilde blinked. Never had she heard of a World-Spirit who disliked their attatchment to their world. "And that... troubles you?"

The rabbit looked away, it's warm brown eyes shadowed by it's ears. "Yes. I was not created by this world to protect it. Many a millenia ago, the man who sired your father--"

"Asenis!?"

"Yes. Him. I was mortal once, unlike true World-Spirits. But, as I had been saying, Asenis decided that, I was no longer going to stand by his side. No one dared challenge him as he stripped me of my dignity, my rank, and my honour, and imprisoned me here.

"As you know, true World-Spirits are not made from the souls of mortals. Definitley not humans, or those who use a human shape to communicate with the other worlds. Yet I was still sent here, forced to decide when and where whom or what should die, forced to watch as the world that I slowly grew to love, that I slowly became, I was forced to watch it be destroyed.

"It was beautiful here. It was much like this field, back then. I haven't seen any flowers bloom, haven't felt them give their thanks to the sun when she shines or drink deeply when the sky cries, I haven't felt that in ages. My world is dead. It is the humans' fault, that it is so dead."

"But, why did you try to destroy it, if you were so upset that it was dead?" Altair asked, and though she heard no sound come from her mouth she knew that both Sonnehilde and Tarith had heard it.

"Because it hurts," Tarith replied. "Because, if I end you, end your father's mongrel legacy, then I will be freed."

"Asenis is dead, though," Sonnehilde said, recalling the grave their father had never spoken of, and the writing that they had been forbidden from reading, but were not scolded when they all had. "You're free now."

A sad smile washed over the winged rabbit's face. "Only his body. That is only his body. No one dared to destroy his soul, his contracts are still binding. And I am still bound here. Until you three, two now, are dead."

With a flick of her wrist, the grass around Sonnehilde grew far taller than any of the buildings any of them had ever seen, and weaved themselves together. Within a span of minutes, it had taken on the shape of a woven sword, and then slowly, very slowly, it became deadly. A true sword, with a blade made from the strongest metal, sharpened on the sharpest stones. Sonnehilde took the sword, and it reformed itself to fit her hand and height instantly. "Say you do kill us," Sonnehilde said, dipping the point of the sword into the soil, and resting her arm on it's hilt. "Say you do, and then you're free. Where do you go then? You've already been here so long, I don't think you could leave. You are this world now. You've said it yourself. So then, even ifyou kill us, this world's pain will still be your own." She dug the sword deeper into the ground, and Tarith gasped, clutching his chest as she emphasized her point. "No, Tarith. I don't think you'd be able to settle at all once you're free." She now rammed the sword into the ground, until even its' hilt was buried. Tarith screamed, his little paws bloodied from a wound they couldn't see. His screeches grew louder and louder steadilly, until there was silence, and neither the winged rabbit, the thing, or the sword existed anymore.

Sonnehilde brushed her hair from her eyes, and examined Chandresh. He... was definitley dead. Killing Tarith had done nothing to bring him back, and nothing would heal her sister's voice. She dropped Chandresh's hand, it fell limply to the ground, and she smiled at Altair. "Next time I'm stuck in an alternate reality with you, you'd better make sure you don't dismiss it as 'a pretty dream'."

Altair laughed silently, shaking her head. When had her little sister grown up so much? When had she become so mature? She asked herself those questions, seconds later deciding that she didn't need, or want, to know the answers. Not now, not ever. They would just have to let things happen, the way they were meant to happen.