A Court of Separation and Scars

3.

Velaria

This place was fucking hell.

Thankfully, the building she had stayed in last time she was here still stood, despite the havoc that had wrecked Lunathion recently.

She adopted the all too familiar swagger, the mask over the worry that framed her features, and walked right in the front doors, past the security. As if she owned the place.

Because she practically did.

The wolf at the front desk tried, and failed, to hide his surprise. "M–Miss Reese, you – you weren't on our books, we don't have you scheduled f–for today," he said, quickly flipping through the book in front of him for names.

"I need access to my suite, and my vault," she said coolly. "Will you take me there, or do I need to talk to my boss?"

The wolf paled. "Of course, Miss Reese, I will take you there right away," he said. "N–N–No need to call your boss."

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Y–Yes?"

"It's Mrs. Reese."

✿ ↬ - - - ↫ ✿

Nothing had changed. The curtains were still half-opened, her bedsheets left in the same imprint her body had left almost ten years ago, her blood-stained leather jacket still draped over the ottoman at the end of the bed.

It was a snapshot of her former life, forever frozen in time.

She wanted to incinerate this room in flames.

Perhaps she could ask an old friend to help.

She stepped over the various clothes thrown on the floor to get to her bookshelf, yanked on the small golden statue that sat on the shelf, and input her code into the keypad. It was the same number she used for everything: Azriel's birthday. Because Prythian didn't have an official calendar, the "date" had been meticulously translated into the Lunathion calendar. And thus, when she was here, she had a date to celebrate his birthday without him there.

The birthday she might miss if she was here for too long.

The lock beeped and the bookcase swung open to reveal her vault, filled to the brim with powerful artifacts, books of spells, and things she had collected over the years. A few of these books were borrowed (stolen) from Jesiba Roga's infamous library of Parthos. Add her to the list of people here that wanted to kill her.

She had made many enemies in her time in Crescent City.

Her vault was primarily full, save for two spaces. One, a pedestal for holding a large sword, a sword that now was held by a good friend. Two, a glass case for the real Horn. But she had given the Horn away to someone who really needed it, and now someone else entirely possessed it.

That same person now held the sword as well.

Cauldron, Bryce Quinlan would be the death of her one day.

She picked up a set of glimmering moonstones, the stones themselves framed by golden chains, and paused.

She hadn't worn these since she had killed him.

After a long moment, she looped the carefully crafted chains around her hands, feeling as the power of the siphons set in.

Her hand shot out, expelling a beam of pure white. The beam then hit the glass pane she was trying to hit, reflecting back at her. She lifted a hand at the exact right second, and caught the beam as it came back, dissolving it immediately.