I turn away from the Ranger for a half sec to watch the commotion unfold with the king himself. I saw what was probably the Princess scurry into the Tavern through the back door a while ago, but I certainly won't be the one to give her away.

"Your Majesty. I beleive I have seen the princess." I say, stepping forwards. I hear a stifled gasp from a corner where the princess is hiding. "She came in here, but she left a while ago. She went that way." I point outside.

I turn back to the Ranger. The more I think about it, the more likely I find it that this person isn't an assassin or bounty hunter but an enemy. In fact, I even think I might vaguely remember them...

I had just finished the job, the only one I ever did in this city, and I was leaving. It was night. I was striding away from the house down the street when I heard the alarm go up in the mansion, a clamor of noise and shouting, the household discovering my target's death. Then a handful of people, three personal guards who I had seen inside the house and one other person, who was now standing before me. They had yelled at me to stop and put my hands up. I had no intention of doing so, and I darted away down the alley. They had fired and arrow after me, but I had dodged it, and it had gone through my cloak. I remember being annoyed because it was my favorite cloak.

But they won't recognize me. I already had my cloaking charm enabled, and it's one of the strongest charms every made, bought from the enchanters from the north. I paid a hefty price for it. My face would have been concealed by its magical shadows and it they saw my wings during that encounter, which I doubt because they were well hidden, their attention would have been diverted from them. All they would have seen was a figure in a dark cloak. In fact, because I enabled the cloaking charm again before getting up, in preparation for my meeting later, anybody who didn't see me before I turned it on will forget about any distinguishing features. So this person will forget about my wings later.

But for now... they're still a problem. I have somewhere I need to go, and they seem like the type to try to turn me over to the sheriff if I so much as look at them funny, whether or not they actually remember me.

[sways tail lazily]

No, Matchstick, I am not Jaybells. Good guess, but I belive Jay should write better than I do. There is a 'gigantic' hint in my POV though, but it's rather obscure.

I look as the tavern door flies open. A team of royal guards shoves through the doorway and begins yelling about some princess escaping. I cringe back slightly, pulling my hood farther over my head. I know where she is, she's a few tables away from me. Her tattered dress has glints of gold and silver in it, thread none of us would be able to afford. But I stay silent and shake my head with the rest of the tavern. If this princess, Princess Whisper it seems, escaped from her wedding, it was for a reason. In the silence that has fallen over the tavern, I hear someone outside point the guards in the wrong direction.

"Thank you," the head guard grunts and motions with a gloved hand for the others to follow. One last guard stays behind, casting a suspicious look around the tavern before finally leaving. I watch their retreating backs through the frosted window. Chatter begins again, the quiet chased away by laugher and boisterous voices. I look over at Whisper. She is sitting slumped, her posture relieved and exhausted. I wonder if she came straight from the castle. The castle. My stomach lurches and I bite down on my lip. Though my fangs are hidden, they are not gone and I wince in pain. She. She is at the castle. My mind flashes back to the last conversation we had. 

We were in the kitchen of the house we shared, morning light seeping through the windows. "You want to be a what?!" She had shouted, her voice cold and harsh.

"A potion merchant," I said, meeting her blazing golden eyes.

"You can't," she spat. "We're Oxen-Folk! We are servants and we're GOING to work in the castle. I will not have you going off to be a lowly potion seller!" 

"You can't tell me what to do," I'd growled, clutching a potion bottle in my fist. "You may be my older sister, but you're not in charge of my life! I don't want to be a servant and I never will be!" I stood, a few inches shorter than her.

"You will! I'm just trying to protect you!" She lunged for my arm, but I jerked away, popping the cork of the bottle and swallowing the potion inside. Almost immediately, I'd felt my horns fizz into invisibility, my hooves transform into feet. My tail vanished. The final breaking away. I no longer looked like her. She couldn't control me any more. My sister stumbled back, her eyes wide with fear and surprise.

"Goodbye Fable," I said quietly. Then I turned and ran, pushing open the front door and bounding out onto the streets. 

"Quill!" She screamed after me. I kept running, tripping over cobblestones and tearing around a corner. Tears leaked from my turned green eyes, but I blinked them away.

And I blink back to the present. That was the last time I'd seen her. Five years ago. The potion is in affect right now. I have to take it once a day, it hides my Oxen-Folk features. They're still there, I can touch them, feel them, swish my tail. But nobody can see them. I stare at the princess. She lives in the palace. She could tell me how to find my sister. And I could finally say I was sorry. For everything. Before I can talk myself out of it, I stand. I walk over to her table and sit across from her. She looks up, her eyes widening. "Hello," I say, keeping my voice gentle. "Are you Princess Whisper?"  

Tonight is turning out to be very interesting indeed.  The assassin's gaze fell on me for just a minute, but they were preocupied with their young companion.  I believe I've seen her before, selling matches on a street corner.  I suppose even assassins aren't heartless.  Someone yelled something about a cat spirit.  What that was supposed to mean, I have no idea.

Suddenly, the tavern door is thrown open and a slew of knights march in.  Apparently, Princess Whisper has run away from her wedding.  Good for her, I think with a chuckle.  But the knights searching the tavern are a bit too close for comfort.  I should get going.  On my way out, I notice the Matchstick Girl nodding off, the Assassin having left.  I'm struck by how young and frail she looks, although it's true that I'm probably not much older than her. "Hey," I mutter.  She looks up sleepily, tilting her head in a silent question. "I shouldn't intrude, but I couldn't help but notice... if you ever need a place to stay, here you are." I hand her the rusted spare key to my apartment. "5 Etoile Street.  It's not much, but it's something at least."

With that, I leave the lights and sounds of the tavern behind me.  The sky is a deep, beautiful shade of midnight blue and a warm summery breeze chases me down the street.  There's a strange electricity in the air, one I haven't felt in a very long time.  It means that Fate is once again guiding her bow over the strings of her fiddle.

---

I'm not Hex! 

Could you be pangolin???  I saw their post about their project on the Matchstick Girls' Strike and immediately thought of you.  If not, I will feel very silly.

There it is once more! That feeling. Like the world changed. Like I was no longer myself. Like... I was paused in time. Shaking my head, I try to clear it from shadows.

Things are happening fast. A princess, a merchant, the small girl and a, or should I say The Assasin who came back, remains here after those guards left. A new hooded person has entered with the insectioid Assassin. A vague scan informs me of his neutrality... for now. It is curious. My magic should be able to pierce any masks, of that I am completely confident. Yet, I have not foreseen anything that has just happened, nor am I sure what will happen next. The changes ocurr swiftly and sharply, leaving my mind at a loss. The laws making up this world differ much from others of its kind. Flicking my ear in reflection, I make a mental note to report the anomaly to Pierre. He should know something about this. 

The tavern has calmed down now, since all guards have left. The princess who eluded detection is speaking to the merchant. He is not who he seems, my instinct says, but I feel there is no great hurry to find out. The Assassin is staring at the newcomer carefully. She has activated a type of cloaking spell. It scatters darkness into the air, seen but no one by me. Intresting how all magic, no matter in which world, eventually can be traced to X parts darkness, Y parts light. The differing percentage creates new branches of magic, unique to the user. But it is no worry to me. All magic is the same to my point of view, whose soul and body is the very root of dark and light.

I rip myself away from wandering thoughts, foucusing back on my primary objective. The Clockmaker has not spoken since he was cut off by the guards. "What were you saying?" 

He looks at me. "This is your brother's belonging?"

"Yes." I nod. "Can you fix it?"

The Clockmaker cocks his head. "Yes... But you have no brother."

"I-!" I jump out of my chair, oblivious of everyone turning in our direction.

"You-h-"

Wait. 

I calm my nerves as best I can, looking over the Clockmaker's face. Steady does it. "... Yes, healer. How do you see that?" My hand snakes behind my back.

He raises his white-haired head to look me me in the eyes. Only then I notice. Deep, black eyes. Not the type to belong in a sand healer's skull. "I watch. And deduce. You say you are a deity, though you did not specify what kind. And this-" He sets down Twix's indicator. "Has no trace of any type of magic on it, I learned the signs from the clocks of faries. You have no brother. At least, not in the blood. Am I right?"

I narrow my eyes, channeling magic into the hand behind my back. I know that it must look as if it is frothing with pure darkness. "Yes. Right once more, healer."

The Clockmaker smiles mischieviously. "Good. And your non-related brother is dead."

"You!" I nearly lose it at that, head buzzing. "He- he is not! He is still there! I can bring him back!" 

"Not in the body, or even the soul." The accursed Clockmaker does not flinch in the face of my outburst, a distinct change from the terror minutes before. "You should know it is better to leave the parters alone, or your brother must have been a idiot to sacrifice his future for yours, with you wasting it like this." 

"I! He-" I flick my tail, pushing down my fur which has started to morph into shadows. "Don't talk about Twix like that! He did more than you'll ever know!"

"Oh, no. I know." The Clockmaker reclines into his chair. He is not the frail old man I set sights on days earlier. "I know all about you, and everything about this world. Much more than you'll ever know, Keeper of Light and Darkness." 

"..." I rise to my full height. "You are not who you are."

"Nor are you." He testily answers. "We can talk. I can show you more."

The offer is tempting, but my course is taken with everyone in this tavern staring at us. "No. I know who you are."

"Then let it stay that way, Eclipse." I shiver at my birth name. "Everyone sees. No one forgets."

"Shut up!" I lash out, pure darkness surging at Him.

The world flashes. When my vison returns, I am still standing. He is still sitting. The Assassin is watching closely, as is the small girl. Nothing has changed. Time itself has resetted.

This is the one power I dare not compete with.

"Usless tricks!" I curse at the smiling Clockmaker. "That's all you old gods are capable of!"

"What is going on here?" A new voice interrupts my anger. "Are you both starting a shouting match? And calm down, you furry thing. Don't brawl with magic here." The Assassin approaches to set a hand on my shoulder.

~~~~~~~~

Sloppy writing, sorry. I just had to do it... is Clockmaker still active? It might have been just a bit too over the top...

And what do you think, Scuttles/Assassin? Maybe? 

Furry thing. I want to retort to the Assassin with something, anything, but a wave of vertigo grips me. The world dances for another second as rules change once more. I half close my eyes to block out the sickness bursting into my mind, gripping a chair in an attempt to steady myself.

This... this isn't good. I feel the balance in my soul tipping ever so slightly. It has never done so in centuries.

"Hey, you ok?" The Barmaid, intrested in all the commotion, tries to catch my attention.

Biting my lip, I shake my head. My fur... it's losing shape once more, releasing dark mist into the air, a natural response of my soul to regain balance of light and dark. Escaping shadows make the room cold and damp, like darkness concentrate always does. Not that I can help it. But it will start to corrupt all entities here if my leakage continues, no matter what their background is. 

I cannot risk spreading any roots of shadow here.

"Get me a lamp." I mutter, sinking back down into my chair. "Light it."

The barmaid complies. I know not for sure who shoved it into my hands, my vison is faltering fast, beginning to be overcome by fog. There is enough light for my eyes to orient me though, with the smell of melting wax to guide my nose. "It isn't enough." I feel a icy wave crash over my chest as inbalance continues. "Add some oil. Make it brighter."

A trickling sound. The dancing flame jumps higher, the only thing still in focus for me. "Brighter, for goodness sake! I will pay you." My mouth begins to chatter. "Just a bit more." Some dark liquid begins dripping down the length of my tail.

Not here... not like this. If my body in this world collapses, Twix's soul fragment might be forever lost to the everspace void. The Clockmaker set aside, no one will survive a corruption in this dimension.

And a unplanned corruption means a tedious cleanup through Every. Single. Mapped. Corner. Of the everspace. With Jeniffer breathing down my neck probably. It only serves to make the idea even less apalling.

I hate cleanups.

One thing I also hate... unexplained deteriorations of my soul.

The flame finally is bright and happy. "Enough." I manage. Gathering up any remaning energy that has yet to be sapped away by inbalance, I shove my head halfway into the lamp to start hungrily devouring the flame's light, regardless of everyone else's judging glances. Embarrassment is always one of the last things on my list. 

Ever so slowly, scales tip back as the flame diminishes. My body returns to solid form, dark shadows dissapating. Finally, I sigh in satisfaction, pulling my head back. The Clockmaker is watching me over his plate of food.

I glare back. "Can you stop that?"

"Ah, apologies." He averts his eyes partly. "Not the best gear to mesh with this world's rules, it seems."

"Shut up." I decide against pushing him further. "Can you fix this, after everything, my dear comrade?"

A pause. "Yes. With payment. I'm not here to do repairs, after all." He grins at my pale face. "Nor are you."

I watch this exchange with interest. I know when things are out of my league, but I'm interested in what's going on here. It might work in my favor to tag along with these two and offer my services. It might also work in my favor not to call this spirit a 'furry thing.' I've seen drawings of spirits like these and they are greatly honored and worshipped down south in Fluffles' homeland.

I need to get to the tavern.walking,walking,running,vioces in my head.running throgh the pages,ink splattering down like a flood.Names first:Mia Luna Tearmoon,Moonwatcher,September Morning-

Green and black,yellow red....

Bell.

I am now standing outside the tavern as planned.I need to stop doing that,I think mornfuly,its going to get me killed,or worce.Never the less,i walk inside.

ok,this is odd now,two entitys in the same room,tsk tsk!we will have to do somthing about that.

I lean against the door,twirling moonlight through my fingers.this will be fun. 

Guessing time!

Clockmaker, might you be Poinsettia? (wondering)

Lamplighter, Perhaps Darkvine?

Matchstick, maybe Echo Hallowswift?

Merchant, are you Writing_in_the_dark? Or Zealatom?

Finally, the child. I have no leads on this, but I'm casting for NiteSkiies? It's a loooooong shot, but perhaps...

I also realize that connect-the-dots guessing has a huge hole, that a name might miss the corresponding alias to fix on someone else. How intresting.