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Incredulity overtook fear in Lidia's face. Her green eyes were wide but slowly, surely the fire that had cooled in her belly deep in the heart of Winter's grasp flared up, and all of the advice, the cautioning and warnings fled from her mind in a piping-hot flood of_rage._

Bart was a terrible influence.

"EAT ME?!" She snarled, almost rising out of her chair at the towering, impossibly powerful creature, who regarded her through the smoke and haze with a bemused expression as the little changeling continued, balling her hands into tiny fists.

"I cannae believe this! I jus' spent a whole day feelin' like I was gonna die from fear, flash-frozen, chased ye wee lil' fookin' doll through the woods, an' now I jump through all ye hoops an' ye threaten tae EAT ME?!" she shrilled, outrage coloring her voice and cheeks alike as she cast around the hut, "Ye 'aven't even so much as asked me iffin' I'd like a sip o' water or if my dyin' lover is comfortable, aren't ye fookin' fae supposed tae be all about the fookin' rules o' hospitality tae each other, am I nae fookin' faerie enough for ye?!" she barked, fangs bared in and a snarl, tears in her slitted green eyes.

Baba Yaga to her credit, did not lash out, or even interrupt the sidheborn girl as she ranted, simply drawing off her pipe and regarding her sternly, eyes growing wider and wider -- whether with outrage or amusement, it was hard to gauge on her intense features -- but when she grinned and gave a little chuckle, it sent a chill down the girl's spine.

"Fair play, child. I have been remiss in my duties as a host." she said, grinning at her with those obsidian teeth gleaming; "I get so vanishingly few."

Lidia swallowed... oh, oh no she'd done it, hadn't she? Her anger and spite had gotten the better of her, and the old bitty was going to tear her apart now right? But instead, pipe still in her teeth she stood... and her form cut an impressive posture, the alien shapes of her frame seemed all the more apparent as she loomed over the girl, her hunched back not so much sloped from age, as seeming to be a knotted, powerful ridge of muscles hidden beneath her matronly shawl and gown. Her overlong limbs moved with that impossible too-fluid motion she associated with the divine... most terrifyingly of all, with Cithara, the very Queen of Love herself moved like that -- too perfect, too detailed, like a living painting wet to the brush smeared across the palette of reality.

Baba Yaga was like that, but she lacked the Lady in White's elegant beauty, her too-fluid motions were like seeing a living sculpture animate, a great eidolon of unknowable things flowing like molten steel. Where Cithara seemed to paint herself over the world and compliment it's beauty -- Baba Yaga took the space she occupied, she was graven onto the eyes and the very air she walked through, and for that moment it was hers and hers alone. She traversed the hut in but two strides, and took up the massive cleaver that the motherly, faceless woman had used -- it was properly sized in her massive hands, and she reached to several hanging bunches of roots, fishing out a few dried sprigs and leaves, bringing them to her board and chopping them with... such terrible, impossible force that each blow of the cleaver rang the very walls, causing Lidia to jerk back. Chop, chop, chop. She diced the dried herbs down into a fine mince before artfully sliding them onto the blade in a neat sweeping motion before taking them to a heavy, black stone mortar and tipping them into it with such a negligant motion they seemed to simply dance from the blade to the bowl, casually discarding the cleaver -- casual for a being of such power, at least, for it simply buried itself in the heavy board, quivering with the force as she set to grinding.

Lidia dare not speak, her heart pounding in her chest as she watched the Witch of Winter grind and twirl the pestle through the gathered herbs, and it was somehow educational. She wasted no motion, spent no excess time on flourishes or showboating, she was the picture of practiced efficiency... and even watching her do something so mundane as grind herbs, Lidia got the impression she could copy those motions next time she mixed powders with Naima and get a finer, more even grind...

Greatmother Winter lifted her milky gaze to the hearth, where a bottle warmed itself near the stove's flickering flames, her long fingers raised and she snapped them with the sharp, sudden sound of snapping bones more than snapping digits -- and the bottle was simply there. No puff of smoke, no whirling golden aura, she simply commanded the bottle be where it should, and within the space of a blink and a terrified breath, it simply was in her hands. She unceremoniously bit down on the cork and pulled it free, pouring liberally of the steaming, red liquid within into a battered, well-worn wooden cup, into it went the herbs she'd ground and with an artful swirl of her wrist that so smooth, so fluid not so much as a drop of the beverage escaped the rim as it mixed, she crossed the room and handed it to the little changeling.

"For the chill," she said, and her voice was... very nearly kind, Lidia took the cup -- sized more for her than Baba Yaga's massive hands, and the smell of mulled wine hit her senses once more. She flushed with pleasure at the intense smell of fresh-ground spices and wine of a delightfully sweet, dry aroma. In spite of herself, she couldn't help but sip it -- and banish the chill it did, warming her from throat to belly down to her bare, sock-clad toes.

"It... it's good," Lidia said, looking up with wide eyes "Thank you," she added -- and to her surprise, Baba Yaga smiled, and it was a genuine expression of warmth on her intimidating face, for a moment she looked like a living collage of every sweet, kindhearted grandmother doting on a child that ever lived, the ur-example made flesh. Lidia felt dizzy in the wake of that kind of existential might.

"It seems manners are not beyond you, child." she chuckled and sat herself back down in the chair, taking her pipe in her hand again, blowing out a new breath of strange, greenish smoke. Lidia drank down the cup, and the ancient witch seemed intent to speak not a word until it was finished. The little changeling didn't dare disappoint her, and drained the cup in three long, satisfying gulps -- the struggles of the journey had drained her worse than she'd realized, and her body felt revitalized by the warm, tingling burn of the alcohol and herbs. Setting the cup aside, Baba Yaga inclined her head once more.

"Now, child. Tell me why you are here, have walked unbidden into my realm by ways known only to those whom already know where it is? It is a terribly long, dangerous way to die." she said, and this time it was not a threat so much as an acknowledgment of an inevitable certainty that shook the little thief, she paused... not sure where to begin.

"Sister Brenan brought me, she knew all the wee details and what-have-you, she said only ye could help Gram... could save him from..." She swallowed and a tear found its way unbidden down her cheek; "From... from me, what I am." she said, and the old witch raised an eyebrow at that.

"And what are you child?" she prompted, Lidia had an impression as she wiped the tear away that the old fae knew that already, she'd smelled it on her once, surely she knew? Nevertheless, she drew in a breath, eyes pained.

"Ah'm... a changeling, sidheborn... yer man, Black Midnight called me 'Child o' Summer'," she said, and Baba Yaga smiled again.

"He is ever perceptive. I profited well with him," she commented, and there was a fondness in her voice... the same one would have for a favorite knife, or a well-loved dog.

"Aye, he was... kind to me, I dinnae expect that," Lidia agreed, taking a deep breath and meeting the milky gaze of the ageless being anew, "Mum was a Lenansidhe... I dinnae know what that truly means, it's bits o' old stories, but it scared Brenan terribly... an' is why I drank my loverboy dry." she said, and the tears rose again, the pain was still fresh, the terror still wet on her tongue -- its taste bitter and acrid. Baba Yaga chuckled at that, and what a terrible sound it was, a dry hacking noise of guillotines and meat grinders, her black teeth letting tendrils of smoke through as she did.

"She's still at that, is she?" she asked, a rhetorical question but one the old witch seemed to take great amusement for, and she leaned forward, that too-long arm snaking out with such speed that she seemed to simply will the space between them not to be, an iron grip grasping Lidia's chin, drawing a strangled protest from her for a moment as the old fae turned her face back and forth, staring at her like one would a doll they fancied.

"Oh yes, yes. Morgana's spawn through and through. Pretty things. Pretty and deadly if you taste them, Belladonna and Destroying Angel with a button nose." Lidia made a face at that, anger boiling up in her gut again, drawing another grin from the sharp-toothed old hag.

"Spirited, even in the face of oblivion. Not one to let much moss grow on you, are you child?" she observed more than asked, letting her chin free and giving her fingers a searching sniff, like a bloodhound scenting a fugitive's effects. "Ah... love, always such a sickly-sweet smell, that's it then? Love?"

"Love." Lidia answered simply, and the old witch smirked.

"Thought I smelt the stink of the Lady on you, she and I are of a piece in a way, though she dotes upon you mortal creatures far more than you deserve, coddles you." she sniffed disdainfully, "Unseemly for one of such power."

"What do ye know o' the Lady?" Lidia challenged, feeling a bit put out to have her Big Brother's wife spoken of such; Cithara was the kindest, greatest creature she had ever beheld -- nothing like this bitter, terrifying being seated across from her. Baba Yaga laughed a bit, and God's Teeth if it wasn't a proper, wicked witch's cackle that curdled the little changeling's blood.

"Where do you think she got her power over the Lord of The Wild Hunt? Who brokered that contract for Glade and Dominion?" she asked, tapping her pipe against her teeth, casting her gaze to the small collection of effects at her desk, Lidia's gaze followed her own to the various things, Mortar, Pestle, papers and pens, nib knives, vials... so many vials, jars, and bottles, filled with a myriad of things -- all beyond the understanding of the mere cutpurse's eyes. Smoked roiled around one vessel with no source nor flame, another contained what appeared to be a pickled serpent with two heads... and yet it coiled itself anew as Baba Yaga's shadow passed over it. Myriad wonders and myriad horrors alike.

"Such contracts are not penned upon common parchment with ink of ground insects and pigment," she said, and reached out her hand to take a small, crystalline vial from a place of gentle honor among many others, all filled, stoppered and sealed. In her sharp nails she grasped it, point to glass and brought it before her milky, all-seeing eyes.

"Not ink, not paper -- but blood."

In that glittering crystal vessel, gleamed liquid gold. _Ichor._The Blood of the Divine. The Blood of the Unicorn. As she had seen it shed in the final conflict upon the bloodied, blasted stones of Lachheim's desecrated cathedral. As she had seen pour from the breast of the Lady in White.

"God's Blood," she breathed, and the old witch cackled again.

"Close enough."

Lidia swallowed at that... she was no expert, but her lessons with Naima had taught her the power of having someone's blood -- let alone some_thing_ as powerful as Cithara. That glittering vial was leverage both ways, who knew how many such tokens of power this being had here. She placed it back where it had come from with a gentleness that one might a rare, delicate jewel, which seemed appropriate in spite of whatever the ancient fae might say of it's donor.

"She thinks far too highly of you, but I can say as much of your White God and the whole of his creations," she sniffed, eyes casting across her again -- the blind gaze once more seeing far more than just her flesh and bone, Lidia was sure of it, "I can see her touch upon you, it leaves a sour scent in my nose and a vile sweetness on my tongue. Bold of you to come to me, blessed as you are. For that alone I should eat you and cook your bones to ash for my garden."

"Iffin' the Lady would 'ave me I nae would be here sittin' wit' ye, o' that ye can be sure," Lidia replied with a bit of a scowl, one that Baba Yaga answered with a cruel grin.

"Oh yes, she's very busy at the moment, isn't she?" the crone sneered, tenting her overlong fingers before her; "Gone from her world to heal her champion and his ashen soul. Quite the predicament for her favored..."

"Ye keep his name out o' yer mouth." Lidia spat with sudden, unexpected venom -- startling herself as much as the ancient witch, who's eyebrows shot up with a visible mixture of irritation and surprise.

"Or what, child?" she asked, leaning in close again, filling the distance between the two of them with her massive head, a too-long tongue rolling her pipe in her teeth as she exhaled a green gust of smoke into the changeling's face, wreathing them both in it as she stared her down, "Tell me."

Lidia was unsure, it had been reflex, her Big Brother had taken blows, emotional and physical made for her, and to hear this... this_old hag_ speaking of Bart with such casual disdain filled her with a sisterly rage she'd never felt before. The space between them crackled with tension and she fell a bit slack, but her face looked up, sunken eyes defiant.

"I'll remember it."

Baba Yaga considered that a moment, her head tilting curiously as she looked her over again and laughed, that low cackle full of genuine amusement, her eyes turning up at the edges as she nodded.

"Good, good. Grudges make for good motivation. But that isn't something you lack, is it, child?" she asked, and there was approval in her tone, reaching out one claw-like nail and tapping it on her forehead, "Many who come to me are seeking solutions to their petty problems, shortcuts, tricks." she shook her head, lips twisted down in a snarl of disdain.

"Cowards, the lot of them. Unmotivated, fearful little rats scurrying away from the harshness of the world... but you..." she rolled her pipe in her teeth again, leaning closer and breathing in another dog-like sniff, clamping her forest of fangs around that brass pipe stem, "You hate it."

"Yes." Lidia said, and it was almost involuntary, dragged out of her in a croak, and Baba Yaga smiled. It was not a friendly expression, cold as the winter she ruled over.

"You hate that you must deal with me, that you cannot solve this yourself, you even now, are sitting there gnawing yourself inside out trying to find a way to beat me," she observed, and Lidia shuddered as she found the mark once more, unerringly. Those blind eyes read her like an open book, and she was once more disarmed -- both when she had entered the woods, and now here, before this ancient being. First of steel, and now of wit.

"I am... an'... an' I cannae think o' a way tae do so," Lidia admitted honestly, looking down at her feet. "I... I need tae save him, he saved me. I need him tae be whole, I need tae... tae pay back that debt," she looked up, tears in her eyes again, fangs bared as she gritted them to choke down new sobs. "I dinnae expect ye tae be all soft about a wee lass cryin' or a dyin' boy an' all, but I 'ave tae try. I cannae beat ye, I cannae out-wit or out-fight ye... so I am here wit' all I 'ave left."

She spread her arms, exposing her heart, tears streaming down her face.

"I cannae offer but what I am, what I 'ave... name ye price, an' I'll pay it, iffin' only I get tae see him smile at me in th' mornin' light again." she said in a mute tone, her voice dropping to a whisper as she gave in to the despair, to the simple utility of the exchange. It was a transaction, pay for services rendered. She was used to that. She could work with that.

"Earnest of you," Baba Yaga commented with approval, leaning back into her chair; "Rude, forthright, but honest and driven... everything your mother craves," she said, cackling to herself and drumming her nails on the arm of her chair, the rat-a-tat-tap of them like tent-spikes hitting flagstones. She drew a deep pull off the pipe, looking at her earnestly again, her face neutral, considering. Lidia felt like a bug under a looking glass, squirming and fearful. Baba Yaga leaned forward once more, and extended her hand, Lidia managed to contain a flinch as she tilted her chin up to gaze down at her again, her sight clinical. Her expression calculating.

"She did quite a bit of work on you, to make you what you are. It's a clever, wicked little machination, a truly conniving mechanism," she commented, and then with a grin that climbed up her cheeks like a snake unhinging its jaw, showing gums and teeth to an inhuman degree, she clapped her hands together.

"I will take great pleasure in breaking it, that old whore."

Lidia's jaw fell open at that, and the cackle only raised in intensity as response, Baba Yaga's mirth was a bone-chilling thing to experience, full of sharp teeth and sharper eyes staring far too deeply, she drew on that pipe hard, the sound of the weed within sizzling coming to the ear as Lidia finally found her tongue.

"It's easy as all that?!" she exclaimed, eyes wide and face wet with tears; "Ye cannae be tellin' me ye were moved by me bawlin'!"

"Not hardly, child. Tears haven't moved me in longer than your sun has burned in the sky, and you won't be the one to change that," the ancient witch shot back, exhaling that massive pull of smoke with a satisfied sigh and smack of her lips, "No... _spite_is what moved me."

"Spite," Lidia echoed blankly, and Baba Yaga grinned at her with a touch of... dare she say girlish glee.

"Spite is a powerful motivator, and while you may not lack motivation, I find myself needing more reason to turn my attention to mortal affairs, I am not some easily bored dewdrop faerie plied with milk and bread or dim-witted Wild Hunt boor that can be bought off with promises of combat and glory," she said in an uncomfortably casual way, her milky eyes gleaming with malice.

"But spite... yes, there is what I need. A chance to ruffle Morgana's filthy little feathers is something I don't get dropped in my lap, bawling it's eyes out all that often."

"Ye have a grudge with me mum?" Lidia asked dumbly, the crone looked down at her and snapped her fingers once more, sparks scattering from her flint-hard nails as there simply appeared a small handkerchief.

"Dry your eyes, child. You're an embarrassment like that," she admonished her, placing the cloth in her hands... it was not reassuring, but it was welcome, she mopped her tear-streaked face as the old witch gnawed at her pipe stem.

"Yes, Morgana and I have crossed paths many times, she and I often at-odds. I find her a distasteful little cockroach, and I care less what her reasons for disliking me are, I do not trouble myself with the opinions of whores," she said dismissively, eyeing Lidia up anew, "I will take that as reason enough for now to indulge you, child."

"Ye keep callin' her that, but I said her name was Morgan," Lidia queried, and the crone smirked.

"Morgan, Morgana, Morrigan, all names she has gone by, corruptions and stammers of your simple mortal tongues but the same nevertheless. She collects them the same way she does doting husbands and dead fools," she explained and rose from her chair again, towering over the tiny changeling. Lidia had never felt as small as she did at that moment, the shadow of her mother and the Queen of Winter both stretched over her, and she thought she might be swallowed by the darkness -- just another plaything for these great, miserable old monsters to move on a board of grudges older than she could reckon. Her gaze was hollow as she stared up at the towering frame of Baba Yaga, the end of a thousand dark tales made to scare children and caution the greedy.

She would do it. For Gram. The ancient crone looked down on her with pitiless eyes that carried not warmth nor humanity, but the hungry gleam of glacial ice, grinding down upon her. Her smile was not a pleasant one.

"Let us bring your consort indoors and see what mischief can be wrought."

~ ~ ~

"Lidia!" A voice cried as she came out the door, Martin's voice. He was on his feet before she'd even crossed the threshold, nearly running straight over top the wicker fence and gate as if they weren't there, only coming up short as his eyes widened, and Lidia felt a chill suffuse her -- and a shadow long and unnatural, fall across her from behind.

"It's ok Martin, I'm ok!" she reassured him, holding her hands out to halt his mad rush, turning her head upwards where Baba Yaga loomed over her with a face of grim disapproval... no, not disapproval, disappointment.

"Little Brenan," she said, her dry voice carrying with the crackling brittleness of fracturing ice in a deep-frozen lake. No anger, simple cold chagrin, the churchwoman stood, walking to the edge of the fence where she laid her hand on Martin's back.

"Grandmother," she said with a stroke of familiarity that tugged at the heart, the woman meeting Baba Yaga's milky gaze without fear, a steel in her spine that not even the great fae queen could bend.

"I told you to ne'er return to this place, and if you did the consequences would be dire." The old witch said, pushing Lidia aside as she strode out into her yard; the house itself seemed to shudder, shuffling it's arcane plumage as it's mistress left it's grounds, almost seeming to puff itself up a bit, like a fighting cockerel.

"I weighed the risks, you know I am headstrong." Brenan said evenly, and the crone of all things -- smiled, it was wry but genuine as the two of them faced off over the rickety fence, Baba Yaga towering over Sister Brenan, overlong arms tucked inside of her shawl as she looked the woman over. Distaste twisted her pale lips into a frown.

"The Pale God's clergy?" The crone said, reaching out a hand to pluck at her habit like... well, like a fussing Grandmother, "A waste of potential, you squander yourself." she spat -- literally, hawking a wad of phlegm to the side, as if to rid her mouth of the taste of the words.

"It is satisfying work, and it keeps me close to those I care about," Sister Brenan answered simply, shrugging her shoulders with an accepting sort of smile. Baba Yaga raised her eyebrow, leaning her massive head down at her and sniffing deeply, once, twice, then thrice -- her mouth twisting in a newly sour frown.

"Rife with the stink of blessings and love, what a miserable misuse of a life," she said and with finality set her chin, her long neck and hunched, powerful form giving her the appearance of some great, terrible own -- or vulture, leaning down to see if her meal was properly putrefied just yet. "I should have eaten you and your brother both, saved myself the trouble -- at least one of you serves well." she said and tapping her flinty nails on Brenan's forehead.

"You bring me an entertainment I rarely get, and for that your punishment will be severe, but not final," she hissed in a low dangerous voice, and the forest air grew tangibly colder, the light shrinking away from them, as if the very concept of brightness paled at her irritation, focusing only on Baba Yaga, her milky gray eyes luminous as the light seemed to reflect off naught but them.

"You are stricken from my ledger, more than unwelcome, you are to be expelled. Ne'er again shall you cross the border of this wood, nary even the shadow of its smallest falling leaf nor wind-scattered twig, upon pain of death," she growled and there was a rattle of harness and tack in the darkness. Brenan's throat caught in a gasp of shock, and Lidia saw her head tilt back jerkily, Baba Yaga's voice as cold as the void, "Death of body, and of heart."

A fresh gleam came in the sudden, all-encompassing darkness. The shining silver edge of a sidhe blade of ancient, archaic design, held firm and fast at her throat -- so firm that a line of bright blood caught the starving light like glimmering rubies. The weapon itself was blacker than black, held by a hand a shade darker than that still. Living shadow had reared up behind her, it's now-familiar white eyes glowing with no malice, but the hard-eyed stare of duty. Black Midnight stood over her, having emerged as quiet as the shadows he embodied, his cruel hook-like blade positioned at her throat as Baba Yaga leaned in close, Brenan's face pale and clearly shocked -- but her eyes were unafraid.

"You knew the price of defiance, you always did." the crone whispered like a blade leaving it's scabbard.

"I would do it again in a heartbeat, Grandmother," Brenan gasped without hesitation, fervor burning in her eyes even as that blade bit a mite deeper.

The crone stared into that defiant gaze in a long, silent moment of sheer, heart-stopping tension, Lidia found her breath coming with great difficulty, as if the sheer weight of Greatmother Winter's displeasure were pressing the very air from the clearing, leaving naught in its wake but icy void and the fullness of her displeasure.

Yet... she smiled again, and once more there was a genuine affection there, just for the scantest of moments.

"A waste, truly." she said with finality and turned her gaze away from her... and like the light returned, Black Midnight nowhere to be seen, gone as quickly as any errant shadow.

"You there, churchman. You stink of the Lady's blessing, but I know a dutiful hound when I see one. Come, tend to your man," she ordered, jabbing her fingers at Martin -- who to his credit came to attention warily and with gusto -- and there was another flinty snap of her fingers, the grinding crisp crack of them echoing power. Gram simply was gone from the cart's bed, and Lidia's wide-eyed gaze cast about, before whirling in place -- finding that the whole of the hut's insides had rearranged around a long table, upon which Gram's swaddled form rested.

"With all due respect -- you don't need my help, Ma'am, of that I can see plain as day," Martin said despite his pale countenance, and Baba Yaga turned an appraising eyebrow upon him, a smile that lacked anything resembling warmth creeping up her face.

"That is correct, perceptive lad -- however, your friend is frail and fragile and I will not waste my time coddling her nor her beau be he alive or dead at the end of this, that will fall to _you,"_she declared, her command absolute. Martin looked to Brenan, fists clenching and unflinching at his sides, and the sister simply nodded to him, stepping away from the fence and gate.

"I am cast out, Lidia is yours to care for. I suspected at much, it is why I brought you along dear man. You are stalwart, you will do fine," she reassured him and the crone snorted a distasteful laugh at that.

"How thoughtful, now come along. I am beginning to grow tired of company, and my temper sours with every passing moment," she said, casting a malevolent gaze upon Brenan, Colette and Sabine.

"You will remain here, unseen, unheard and unwanted. When we are finished, you will depart. Never shadow my wood again, and do not so much as speak in these boughs until I return," she said and there was a cold finality to it, it was not a threat: it was a simple fact.

"Or you shall exist only to feel the fullness of that regret."

With that, she turned and Brenan nodded, looking at the pair with a smile before turning without a word back to the other two sisters, whom had busied themselves with blankets and a fresh campfire. Brenan had known this was a possibility. Brenan always knew.

Inside the door banged closed again like the tolling of a bell, startling Martin as he took in the too-large cabin and its interior with wide eyes, his scarred face a mask of emotion warring between terror and wonder -- but he remained steadfast. No matter what he saw, there was no fear in his stride, no quaking in his spine. Stalwart indeed.

"Let's have a look at you," Baba Yaga crooned in a dark tone, reaching down to unceremoniously rip the swaddling cloth and blankets open, baring Gram's clammy body to the air from the waist up, he had grown no worse it seemed, and Baba Yaga drew her hands across his body in an almost... doting fashion, delicate and gentle. She leaned down and breathed in a deep breath, sniffing at him and meeting Lidia's eyes again, an eyebrow raised.

"Children of two houses, both, an auspicious coupling."

Gram shuddered on the table, and his chest rose once and then seemed to go nearly totally still -- his breath shallow and unsteady now so close was he to Lidia, he began to tremor and seize.

"GRAM!" Lidia cried and pushed herself away, backpedaling as far as she could into the furthest wall of the hut's interior -- or rather she tried. Baba Yaga gave an animalistic hiss of displeasure and bodily halted her -- lashing out with her too long fingers and too long arms, and seizing Lidia by the skull. The little changeling gave a cry, and Martin did as well as the crone dragged her back to Gram's quaking form.

"Quiet, both of you." she snapped with authority that drove the very warmth from the air, causing their breath to mist as she sneered at them; "Children, all of you. Petty, frightened children. Stand there. Say nothing!" she barked, and jerkily pushed Lidia by her head to Gram's side, where she bit her lip around a whimper, reaching out to stroke his tangled hair away from his face. She wanted to apologize, to beg him forgiveness, to say how much this hurt her as he began to sweat and shake... and she felt the familiar thrum growing in her belly. Baba Yaga watched with milky eyes that saw far beyond what they should.

"Aha," she said after a moment, and her hand darted out between the two of them, grasping something ephemeral and invisible -- yet solid enough Lidia's wide eyes saw those long, knobby fingers grip it firm, "A cruel working... admirably cruel, perhaps I will remember this one." she said and seemed to jerk something back -- and Lidia felt that thrumming become an agonizing _tug_like something pulled back out of her throat, dragging a cry of pain and alarm with it.

"What are you _doing_to her!?" Martin snarled and advanced on the table, fists balled and scarred face set -- there was no fear on his face now as he seemed ready to set upon the powerful face with bare knuckles, faith and little else. The ancient fae visibly rolled her eyes and snapped her fingers at him, a grinding slate-on-slate shriek of her ebony nails casting sparks and Martin simply halted with a cry, his joints locking up. The man looked about furiously, attempting to struggle free as Baba Yaga took her free hand, curling her fingers into a crude facsimile of a figure, she walked it along the air -- and Martin's frozen form followed along, step by step until he found a chair, where she gave a final, brisk motion, shoving him bodily down into the seat.

"Be still." she hissed, turning back with her hand still grasped about that invisible_thing,_ Lidia choking and gagging, Gram spasming upon the table, "I have made my bargain, none will be _permanently_harmed here -- but I can say nothing for how comfortable the proceedings will be for them," she said with a cruel, low cackle as she came back with a small jar, thumping it down on the table next to Gram's quaking frame. Unstoppering it, she reached in and drew forth... smoke? Lidia's pain-wracked gaze stared in disbelief as she grasped in her hand a roiling, wispy cloud of smoke the way one would a handful of fine sand, and with a casual motion she brought it before her lips and blew -- blew it out into the faces of all three mortals in a billowing, noxious plume that lead to all three hacking, coughing and spitting, even Gram's comatose form. Clogging the eyes and obscuring the vision, there was a bark in a guttural tongue not meant for the ears of men, and a fresh snap of grinding slate nails.

The smoke receded, billowing away back into it's jar... and yet not all returned. It clung about certain things, Baba Yaga herself swirled with the fume, like a thin layer of clouds writhing about her in a veil, and a little swirling mote each lay above all three mortals' hearts... and between Gram and Lidia, swirled and writhed a sinuous, wriggling contrail, connecting them lips to lips. Lidia's swirling mote of smoke was larger than Gram's, which was a pitiful little puff no bigger than the wisps from a cooling pipe.

"There, for those of you without eyes to see," Baba Yaga said, setting about her work as she kept her grip on that trail between the lovers two. "Charnel smoke from the pyre of a martyred saint, clings to the spirit, the soul, the very essence of a being -- made clear for even you dullard apes."

"I... I really am... drinkin' him like that..." Lidia gasped, and the smokey contrail puffed and swirled around her lips as she spoke.

"Like the mulled wine earlier, sup by sup, sip by sip. A truly wicked working, tying you two together until the consumption is done," She grinned giving her misty handhold a tug, and causing Lidia to double over in pain, gasping her lower belly as if her moonflow cramps had begun a thousand fold, "The subtle weaving, making you long to be close to him, sickening you with weakness and woe the further you dwell apart. A clever, cruel device to destroy a man," she said with clear admiration in her tone.

"Monstrous," Martin spat, still struggling against the working that held him bound, Baba Yaga nodded.

"Of course, it was made by a monster."

She set to work as Lidia recovered, drawing down tools and devices, throwing the curtain of the kut wide as she brought out various supplies, setting them nearby, bottles, jars, and a heavy, grusome pair of scissors with a gleaming, well-honed edge.

"W...what are ye tae do?" she gasped, wiping her mouth... she'd vomited a little, to which the crone wrinkled her nose in distaste but did not cease her work.

"You have consumed him, but it has happened slow, by inches, and it is not total til the whole of him is in your gullet. It sits there in your belly, waiting for the last of him to be swallowed," she said, snapping her fingers once more and then pointing casually to her side -- the great spinning wheel from before slid and ground across the creaking wooden floor to halt beside the table as she looked at what she had arranged with a nod, before turning back to the two of them.

"I will simply pluck it back out of you, like forcing a stubborn babe to burp."

Lidia's eyes widened as she drew that tendril of fume up further, taunt and tight between them. She took up the great, grisly shears and with an artful, precise motion -- snipped the coil of spirit with a puff of smoke and a tiny flash of sparks.

Gram immediately fell slack, his mote of swirling smoke growing still and starting to fade away as his end of the thread began to retract into his lips -- but Baba Yaga's hands were swift, and she caught it as well, giving it a firm tug she unstoppered another wide mouthed jar -- and drew from within it, a large, leathery egg. The light cast against it, and she could see some tiny form inside shift and move through it, with a jab of her nail, she punctured the soft shell, and seemed to... stuff the other end into it. Gram's chest immediately rose as he breathed in, and the unknown creature in the alien egg spasmed and writhed instead.

"W...what is that?" Lidia asked, and her stomach felt sick in a way that had nothing to do with the cramping tug of the energies.

"Not for you to know, it is born to die, and it will die in your lover's stead for the time being."

Lidia's face grew stark and expressionless, eyes wide with horror, and Martin snarled under his breath.

"Blasphemy."

"What do you know of blasphemy, ape?" the crone asked in a mild voice, "There are many things in this world that are fated to die, unknown and unloved. This is but one of billions, it will not be missed."

Lidia wanted to protest, but she bit her lip... she'd agreed to do whatever it took, she'd killed before, many times -- and not all monsters. She'd slain men before, as a wee lass in defense of her life and maidenhood... she swallowed, and reached over, gently laying her hand on Martin's as he wrestled against the binding sorcery in his chair.

"Shh... dinnae worry Martin... this is my doin', I'll answer for it when th' time comes," she murmured to him, leaning heavily on the table, turning away from him. She did not want to see whatever lurked in his eyes, but his voice was ragged when he answered.

"... I'll trust you, Bloodhound. For the Captain."

"What heartwarming camaraderie, if misplaced," Baba Yaga sneered in a deadpan tone, "Mortals of this sphere are spirited if nothing else... I find it makes for such fascinating sacrifices," she said as she sat before her spinning wheel, taking that end of the thread from Lidia's lips and winding it about the bobbin, "You burn out so very brightly."

The wheel caught Lidia's eye at last, it was... both simple and majestic, at a glance it appeared to be naught but a typical wheel for turning wool and fiber to thread, wrought out of dark oak so deeply-stained as to gleam like ebony... but on closer inspection, she saw delicate scrollwork, tracery of silver and gold that wrapped along it in runes and pictographs too small for the naked eye to discern. Baba Yaga took that gossamer thread of fume and twisted and tied it to the flyhooks, and set her foot to the pedal before she paused and met Lidia's eyes.

"This will _hurt_child,"

Lidia had enough time to stammer a half-formed response before she drove her foot down and with a powerful wrench of her overlarge hand, threw the wheel to spinning. The sensation was immediate, and it was _agony._Like knotted rope covered in shards of glass and burning pitch, ripped up from her guts from womb to lips, she _screamed._Screamed like a dying thing, nails dug into the table and her body arched as her mouth was forced wide as Baba Yaga's hands twisted and worked, the long-nailed fingers dexterously weaving and twisting the smokey thread of spirit into a tight, binding loop, and out the end onto the reels spun a glittering, golden thread.

Out, out, out it spun and out poured her cries of agony -- and along with them, came memories -- memories of each kiss, touch, taste and tawdry embrace she had shared with Gram, and her eyes snapped open even through the blinding mask of pain. They were her memories of each time she'd nipped and supped a bit of him, each time her mouth had touched his flesh and come away with a little bit more of his soul. Tears flowed, tears that had naught to do with the gut-wrenching anguish the process caused her, and she cried out anew as at last the spool seemed to fill and something bottomed out in her guts, bringing her to her knees -- a writhing remnant of the smokey trail dancing between her panting lips and the wheel.

"Aid her, hound," Baba Yaga instructed, snapping her fingers in another grinding shale shriek, freeing him from his bindings -- from which he immediately leapt, catching Lidia as she teetered and nearly fell, "She must be the one that finishes the process, do not let her pass out."

"Hey, Hey Bloodhound... c'mon, look at me," Martin cooed, pulling her to her feet, supporting her with his strong, lean body. She always felt so small around these doughty men of God, and for once it was wholly welcome, she buried her face in his chest and sobbed heavily as Baba Yaga took the glimmering golden thread from the wheel and set about weaving it through her fingers.

"It... Oh god... It showed me er'ry time I took a wee little bite out o' him... I saw all o' em, one after another..." she wailed to him, digging her fingers into his surcoat; "I ate_him! I ate him like a bloody _monster, Martin!"

"A pretty monster, made for pretty murder, that much is true," Baba Yaga agreed as she made a sort of cat's cradle in her fingers of the glimmering golden yarn, with a motion of inhuman fluidity -- even above the mind-rending impossibility with which she moved -- she caught the little leathery egg in her hands, and ensconced it in the threaded cradle, pulling the yarn tight and snug around it -- forming a dangling oblong talisman no larger than a child's fist, crisscrossed artfully in glittering golden macrame that ended in two long, woven threads. An amulet.

"Stand her up, Hound, your pack-leader won't survive if she cannot," Baba Yaga instructed, and Lidia wavered to her feet as she watched the witch lay the gentle twitching egg upon Gram's chest, and tie it's ends in a complex, impossible to follow knot behind his head.

"W..what do I do?" Lidia asked, the wispy trail of spirit still awkwardly dangling from her lips like a slack tongue, Baba Yaga simply raised an eyebrow at her incredulously.

"Have you read no fairy tales, child? Kiss him."

Lidia stared a moment, at the crone and then at Gram... and then she leaned down and devoured his mouth with her own in sheer desperation, oh how she longed for such a thing in better circumstances, as they had been but a few scant hours before in the warm sunlight of their bed, hands, mouths and bodies chaste but forever entwined. Her mouth and tongue wove with his, and the two lengths of fume and spirit intertwined once more, and he breathed deep, his body arching up violently, his arms tensing, powerful and strong once more, the color washing back into him as she kissed him, kissed him with every fiber of want, love, and need she could muster, kissed as if she could force the very life back into him with their shared breath... which in a way, she had.

The egg twitched and throbbed, the unknown, unloved creature within thrashing and twisting in its unborn slumber... and then it slowly stilled, faintly pulsing in slow time with Gram's heart... and gradually hardening -- turning a solid, ivory white hue in sharp compliment to the golden thread that suspended and bound it.

Gram's eyes opened.

"GRAM!" Lidia crowed, her lips finding his again -- and his hers, his hand coming up and tangling powerfully in her red mane, pulling her to him tightly for a long, ardent moment before coming away with two paired little gasps. He looked up at her with those pale eyes and she laughed, smiling down at him, stroking his face, now again full of color and healthy warmth.

"... What happened?" He asked plainly, searching her eyes as his own struggled to focus, clearly dazed and disoriented from his brush with death, "I recall feeling lightheaded after our sparring match on the sands... then falling, falling for a long time through deep darkness... and then just..." he trailed off, furrowing his brow, "... Nothing."

"You were in between worlds, Black Dog," Baba Yaga said to him coldly, causing Gram to jerk and look over at her with wild eyes and a clenched fist, getting a toothy, cruel grin from her as she set about cleaning up the tools and jars of her trade... she seemed to take an almost ritualistic pleasure in returning each jar, vial, and piece of esoterica to its proper place. Order prevailed, even here.

"What manner of monster is she?" he hissed to Lidia, who bit her lip as another truly _witchy_cackle rang out from the ancient crone, turning on him as she leaned down to the pair.

"You are in Baba Yaga's hut, Black Dog, and I am she," the fae witch hissed with a malicious glee, tapping the now-hardened amulet laying firmly over his heart, "You owe your life to me... or you would," she began, before turning her gaze to Lidia, "Had your lover not shouldered that burden herself."

Gram's gaze was alarmed as he sat up slowly, Baba Yaga leaning away and shuffling towards her kitchen, hands busy with cups, herbs, and kettle. Martin moved to their side, grasping his Captain's shoulder fondly, Gram's smile genuine as he saw him.

"Good to see you hale again, Captain," the scar-faced man said with a smile just as true, and Gram squeezed the back of his neck fondly, looking between Lidia and the church soldier, "I kept her safe, just like you ordered."

"Good man," Gram rasped, wiping his brow and shaking out his tangled hair as he looked around, lifting the amulet around his neck to gaze at it.

"I judge that much has occurred while I was indisposed?" he said, and Lidia laughed weakly, tears rolling down her cheeks as she pushed close to him again, laying her head on his shoulder.

"It's a long story, loverboy... c'mon, I'll get ye dressed an' caught up."

~ ~ ~

Baba Yaga's hut bustled with her efforts and magic as Lidia and Martin related the long and short of the events to Gram, the whole of the time the little changeling in constant contact with the tall Darrowmite -- her hands loathe to be absent his flesh or form for long, going as far as to help him dress himself as he hobbled to his feet in naught but his smallclothes, Baba Yaga seeming nonplussed by the man's nudity. Lidia was enthralled by it anew, the fear that she might never feel his warmth, his touch had driven it's claws into her mind, and every brush of his skin against hers banished that fear further and deeper to the darkness of her thoughts.

"A harrowing ordeal, yet I am unsurprised," Gram said as he settled the simple white hunter's doublet around his shoulders, Lidia's nimble fingers setting to the laces gently -- she always left the neck open a bit, she liked the little curve of his collarbone and throat, her favorite place to nestle her face, "My faith in you was never in doubt, and once again you have proven stalwart and courageous, my little Redcap," he said, cupping her face gently, causing her to flush deeply with a heady mix of pleasure and embarrassment, drawing a rare smile from him in turn.

"My doughty companion as well," He continued, looking up to Martin, who sat at one end of the table nearest the door, the scar-faced man clearly haggard by the intensity of the ordeal and the alien environs, Gram extended his hand, "Ever are you carrying weight beyond your station, my friend," he said, and Martin clasped the hand in a brotherly grip, his disfigured face spread in a smile that robbed the gruesome scarring of it's ugliness.

"A small thing, all I did was follow your lady into the den of a terrifying old fae woman and stare a half-dozen impossible things full in the face," the scar-faced man said in a mild tone, turning his gaze to Baba Yaga where she stirred a pot over the hearth of her great stove, "No offense intended, Ma'am."

"I take little offense from dust motes in my eye, but I'll accept the sentiments all the same," she sniffed, pouring out three hot mugs of something with a sharp scent of herbs and juniper, thumping them down in front of the three mortals as she loomed over them, Gram as well turned his gaze to her.

"I would express my thanks to you as well, dust mote that I may be, I have promises to keep and being loved to death by my dearest would have made those oaths quite difficult to maintain," he offered to the ancient crone, who gave a hideous, fang-mouthed grin in response.

"Then you will not mind my price when the time comes," she said in an equally mild tone, dishing each of them out a mug; "Drink, it will warm you and calm the nerves -- never let it be said that Baba Yaga is an uncouth host," she insisted, Lidia taking her cup and leaning back from the scent with wide eyes.

"S-sharp!" she hissed, and Gram boldly took the first sip, his eyebrows shooting up before he tipped the rest of the mug down his throat in a long, eager gulp -- pulling away with a satisfied smack of his lips.

"It's good," he said simply, wiping a bit of it from his mustaches to the old witch's seeming satisfaction as the other two followed his example slowly. The taste that hit Lidia's tongue was equal parts tart, bitter and sweet. Like tart raspberries off the bush, bitter tea and the earthy flavor of dried juniper berries. It tingled on it's way down and spread warmth from her belly out to her fingers and toes... magic of a sort, or simply good cookery it was hard to say.

"Fortifying," Martin observed with an impressed expression, Lidia nodded as the crone laid her palms upon the table.

"Courtesy dictates as much, let us be to business -- I grow tired of company, and with all hale and whole I will be rid of you quick as I may, lest my patience wear thin and I become unpleasant," the ancient crone said, laying her too-large hands flat upon the table.

"Aye... I nae want tae stay much longer, beggin' ye pardon," Lidia agreed, Baba Yaga raising her brows at that dubiously.

"Then talk less," she prompted, and turned her gaze to Gram; "The amulet and the unloved thing within are are but a temporary solution, I could have permanently rendered the young man immune to your seelie ways -- but I gathered you wanted him to remain mortal and whole, so by needs I wrought a temporary solution," she explained, reaching out and tapping the now-hardened egg in it's woven binding against Gram's heart. "Child of Summer you are, so by that did I bind it. One season, the end of the summer heat into Autumn's cool kiss is all you have, as the unloved thing takes your pain and suffering, so shall the egg slowly blacken and tarnish, when it is wholly consumed," she drew her finger away, and already visible at it's base was a faint spiderweb of black, veiny discoloration. "The creature will die, and so shall you."

"We're... tradin' this thing's life fer Gram?" Lidia asked in a small voice, Baba Yaga's face was deadpan as she nodded.

"It is the way of nature. A life for a life, pain for pain. It was born to die."

Lidia paled at that, unable to reckon with it, eyes distant, pupils flicking across the middle distance as she attempted to simply... square such a thing. A created creature, made merely to be a sacrifice. Was that right? Had she done the right thing? Gram's quiet baritone roused her from her thoughts, and saved her from her worries.

"Lidia seems able to touch me, kiss me even, so I am to assume I am whole and hale in all circumstances?" the cavalier asked, putting his arm around Lidia absently, she was grateful for that. Baba Yaga raised an eyebrow but carried on, Lidia felt the crone's eyes boring through her, seeing far too deep again.

"Yes, you and your lover may resume whatever amount of necking you desire in the time allotted, you need not fear her Seelie bite behind her kisses," she said with some degree of dryness, leaning forwards pointedly, milky eyes gleaming, "Which brings me to my price."

"Ye said ye would do this as a means tae spoke me mother's wheel, what do ye mean 'price'?" Lidia protested, and Baba Yaga grinned at her with those black, flinty teeth, not a shred of humanity in that smile.

"That was what preserved you life, and spurred me to act, but I demand a trade for this expenditure of power -- for the life you have taken, I will have another," she hissed, and her grin crawled up her cheeks again with inhuman width that caused Gram to unconsciously grip her tighter.

"Your firstborn."

Lidia's mouth fell open, and Gram's teeth showed behind his lips, Martin of all people, burst out at her with open, unabashed vitriol, the scar-faced man unafraid.

"Monstrous! You would deny them such happiness? Unholy!" he spat, and Baba Yaga turned on him anew, her presence like a brick wall, bringing the man up short, gasping and pale as she bore down upon him with her full attention. To be the single, focal point of an immortal's presence was a crushing thing, and he seemed to wither beneath it as she leaned over the table towards him with a creak of wood and a crackle of joints.

"You begin to try my patience, ape," she hissed in a low tone full of grinding teeth and rusty blades, Martin to his infinite credit, did not back down even as he quailed and shook, his bright eyes no less so as he was soon nose-to-nose with the massive, powerful sidhe.

"I speak truth without fear, I know the destination of my soul," he said in a trembling voice, raising his chin to her even as he did, "Do you?"

The Queen of Winter stared at him with open malice for a moment, but those obsidian fangs ground to and fro beneath her irritation, and for a moment it seemed as if the sheer weight of her gaze would crush the breath from the man, breath that fogged from blue lips beneath that frigid attention... but after a spell, those thin lips twisted across her teeth in a saw-edged smirk.

"Bold, unafraid, there are so few men like you in these worlds of mortals now," she said, and there was a note of respect in her tone of voice, and yet she raised her hand, "For your bravery, this will merely hurt."

Her fingers snapped once, the grinding shriek of glass on slate and her abode's door banged open behind him, Martin had but a moment to cast about before with a grunt of pain and surprise, an invisible ram of force caught him and blasted his frame backwards and out the now open portal, Lidia gave a wordless cry, looking after him as he hit the loamy, frigid soil outside with crushing force, bouncing once, twice and nearly a third time before he hit the fence in a daze. The door banged shut again and Lidia turned a snarling face on the Witch of the Wood -- who rolled her eyes.

"Please, I tell no lies. He is in pain, but he'll live with but bruises to remember it by. I admire his spirit -- but his cheek is untoward," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand, "As I said. Your firstborn child. You are both children of two houses, of both man and fair folk alike -- there is a power in the scion of such a union," she said, eyes gleaming with avarice, "I will have it, I will brook no argument. You will give the child unto me willingly when they are born -- or I will take it," her tone was dire as she lowered her voice, leaning in close.

"Do not deny me, I will not be gentle."

Lidia looked to Gram with horror and hopelessness in her eyes, her hand curling over her belly -- her fae-born lineage had cause all of this, and even now cursed her future offspring. To Gram's credit, he held her close, turning his pale gaze to the crone in furious defiance. Not the first immortal he had spat in the teeth of.

"I will not allow you to harm my family, unborn children and all. I would rather die here, than feed a babe of my loins to your Unseelie hungers," he declared, reaching up to grasp the amulet as if he were to rip it free from his neck -- ready to cast it back into her teeth -- and Baba Yaga glared down at him.

"Do not be small-minded, you petty fool," She responded in a snarl, slapping his hand as if he were a too-curious child, the tall Darrowmite gave a yelp and jerked it back away from the amulet, "I have no intent of wasting such a scion as something as mundane as a_meal,"_ she snapped, and her words cracked like a whip, Gram flinching back from them even more than he had the blow, Lidia as well cowed beneath her ire.

"Three times will I come for the child, three times will it dwell here in my manse, and three times will it be returned. It will serve me, and in turn be served by the doing. Of this I shall not be denied."

"W-wait," Lidia stammered out, eyes wide, her cat-like pupils dilated to terrified slits of sheer shock, "... are ye sayin' ye want tae be my babe's fairy godmother?"

Baba Yaga grinned once more, and it was ugly in it's cunning cruelty.

"I would take from Morgana, both her child, and her legacy. I will take the hatchling from her nest, and make of it's potential my own. That is my price."

Lidia looked to Gram, her eyes were hopeless and her face a mask of quiet outrage. At the situation, for being what it was, and at herself for once again blindly trusting in the deceitful and wicked just because they seemed to care. She'd trusted people like that before, how'd that turned out? Gram's face was level, stoic and stern -- but she recognized the icy fury of him being truly, genuinely angry. The way the muscles in his jaw bunched near his mouth, the too-steady set of his eyes. She knew his face, his heart.

"We accept," Gram stated, taking the breath from Lidia's lungs as she switched her wide-eyed stare from the ancient crone to her beloved. His hand sought hers, squeezing tight as his gaze did not waver from Baba Yaga's own imperious stare, "I promised her a hearth, home, and family, and I will not be made a liar by happenstance or fae delusion," he said and sternly added, his tone oddly respectful in it's defiance, "A child must understand there are monsters in the world if they are to oppose them, and I can think of no better teacher."

Baba Yaga smiled at that.

"A pragmatist. How novel."

"I'm a God-fearing man, Greatmother. He tasks us such."

She made an annoyed sound of assent as she looked at them both, pointedly casting her gaze towards Lidia as if daring -- inviting her -- to object, interfere, speak for herself. Should she? Gram had rescued her, saved her from an impossible choice -- Lidia may be a foolish girl in love, but even she understood he had taken the burden from her on purpose. Her heart broke, and her teeth bit into her lower lip as she pulled him close.

"Gram, nae... ye cannae let her bully ye..."

"I very well can, can't I?" Gram answered her mildly, "I am but a man, a man of no small strength but there is nothing supernatural about me but my choice of company, I cannot resist her and I will not allow this to shake me," he shook his head and as if Baba Yaga were not within earshot, he lowered his voice to a far more intimate register, "I made you a promise, and I will see it through no matter what." he explained with a little shrug.

"I will defy her by holding her to the exact letter of her agreement, the first condition being that terms and times will be set when there is a child to be had." He added in a louder tone, turning his gaze back to Baba Yaga -- who raised her eyebrow with a canny sort of respect.

"A pragmatist and a thinker, my, my, an interesting development. Accepted, you can expect my visitation on the first moon after conception has occurred," she said and with a slow smile she added; "I may know before you do."

"At least do us the courtesy of waiting until the morning."

A dry cackle was all he got in response.

"Well-bargained and done, I like this one. He understands his place," the crone purred in a grating tone of approval that turned Lidia's blood cold. The ancient witch's lips worked in a slow smile as she looked Gram over, her eyebrows high.

"... Furthermore I will not bind you, no... far the better to let your own stiff neck be the burden to bear," she said and leaned forward towards Gram, "I need not writ this in blood or esoterica, do I?" she queried him knowingly; "Your nature will not allow you to leave a debt unpaid, the knot untied, the clasp undone, yes... yes your mind itself will be fine enough a binding indeed."

Gram's mustaches bristled, but his gaze merely shifted slightly away. He needed not words to acknowledge her scoring a square hit upon the truth of his self, Lidia felt bitter anger surge up in her guts, yet again she'd brought another good man into the dark uncertainties of her world -- and that world preyed upon them gladly. Baba Yaga's grin did not fade as she drew herself back to her chair at long last, taking her pipe up from where it had rest for all of the fracas and wonder, casually repacking its bowl, the image of mundanity -- a weary grandmother retiring to her chair and pipe -- yet for the sheer scale and presence of her.

"Are you still here?" she asked irritably, her nails shrieked slate on stone once more and her pipe lit, "You have a pressing few months to which to exact your plans, and the minutes pass as you stand here gawking."

"That's just it..." Lidia said, grasping Gram's hand with a renewed smile, drawing strength from his presence -- she may have dragged him into the darkness with her, but they stood in that shadow together, "... I dinnae know HOW tae stop this, the only guess I 'ave is tae find me mum an'... I dinnae know after that," the little changeling stated with a shrug, looking at her with pleading eyes, "I dinnae 'ave anythin' else tae offer, but please -- ye know me mother, ye said it, help me tae... survive her, tae walk me own path... I dinnae know what else tae do but ask, as desperately as I can," she said, leaving Gram's side she walked up to the massive, imposing old crone, eyes full of fear and wonder.

"Please, Greatmother... I dinnae know what tae do, but I 'ave the will tae do what must be done."

Baba Yaga stared at her hard with that request, the little sidheborn girl felt very small beneath that gaze -- the hag's human-like, almost common visage kept softening the enormity of her until her attention was turned upon you. Gone then, was the facade of some twisted old woman, some ugly old nan like every family had -- in it's place was simply the impossibly vast breadth of the creature that was Baba Yaga, in her eyes there was the cosmos, in her presence the weight of eternity. Lidia felt her insides shudder and quiver, never had Cithara turned her presence upon her as such -- nay, only once had she felt this atavistic, all-consuming terror of being small: before The Empty Queen.

"You would dare ask more?" the witch said in a level, quiet tone, "I do not serve at the beckoning of mortals, nor do I particularly have a fondness nor attachment for you jumped-up apes, you test my patience already, have been dismissed already knowing all of this and yet have the temerity to yet ask for more?"

Her words were not full of the bombastic anger or almost joyous wickedness to which she'd used to intimidate and bully them before, it was a simple, icy tone of absolute finality. Lidia found herself shaking in place, and swallowed heavily -- even Gram was pale and still beneath Baba Yaga's frigid demand, and few more doughty souls could she readily think of. She once again, wished Bart was here, or Naima, they were so much better at dealing with these... things, they had power. Certainty. Certainty... she swallowed and wiped her eyes.

"Ye want me firstborn, but all we've done is buy time, time tae do what? Make a pretty tomb for Gram an' all? Iffin' he dies I can swear tae ye ain't nobody else finding their way tae my heart let alone me bedchamber," she argued in a small voice, the air once again seeming heavy and cold, hard to breathe in let alone speak. She carried on, moving forward a small step.

"It's in ye best interest tae help, ye want somethin' from me, an' iffin' Gram dies, or I die, ye dinnae get it, an' tae be perfectly honest right about now I dinnae feel all that confident in defyin' somethin' as powerful as tae be an equal to ye," the little half-breed said -- and icy flame lit in Baba Yaga's eyes.

do not equate that parasite with me, child.

Lidia actually reeled from that, her guts twisted, and only by a genuine effort did she retain full control of her bladder as the_being_ that was Baba Yaga spoke to her directly, her ire so pure that it was not formed with lips nor words but spake directly to the soul, the way the Queen had. Forced the words into her mind's eye by wrenching it open with clammy, icy fingers, violently imposing understanding on her mentally, physically, conceptually. She_knew_ Baba Yaga's anger in that moment, knew it like Bart spoke of Knowing an immortal. She would never, ever forget the feeling of Greatmother Winter's displeasure.

"Th-then it should nae be difficult tae help me, ye? Iffin' yer mad at me imagine how angry yer gonna be when some wee fairy parasite gobbles me up an' all yer efforts here are for naught," she ventured, Gram's hand touching her shoulder as the ancient hag's teeth clenched dangerously on the stem of her pipe -- actual _sparks_spitting and flying as she ground those razor-edged obsidian fangs on the brassy stem.

"You are too bold by half, child... but you are brave... and also canny," she said, staring at her with narrowed eyes, "Yes, canny... mn..." she trailed off, tapping her pipe stem on her teeth as she cast her gaze and thoughts elsewhere for a long moment, leaving Lidia to look up hopefully to Gram, who's own features were pale and distressed... he too, would never forget this. Yet another shared trauma. Baba Yaga's gaze traveled over her again, those milky eyes once again not seeming stopped by clothing, flesh or the veil of reality, and she grinned.

"Why... I do believe I can do something, come here, child," she began, turning in her seat and pushing her sleeves up, setting her pipe in her teeth. Lidia surprised herself in that she readily obeyed -- her feet moving before she had willed them to do so almost, alarm on her features as she came to stand before the great fae, looking up at her towering frame, her massive head regarding her as she looked at her too deep and too long once more.

"Your mother's working on you was a clever little thing, a perfect way to bring you home, even now it tasks you, doubtlessly this was what drew you first off to wish to find her in the beginning -- and the trauma of killing your first love would doubtlessly send you to the only place with answers: Her," she explained, Lidia's wide eyes flickering back and forth before suddenly, brutally -- the ancient crone seized her by the throat and face, her cry stifled as she held her firmly, thumb levering her mouth open by main force.

"This will hurt," was all she said, and her fingers plunged into Lidia's mouth, down her throat, impossibly long and grasping. Gram gave a cry but steadied himself with but a glare from the crone as she seemed to fish around inside of Lidia's gut with those too-long fingers, tears of pain and horror rolling down the little changeling's pale cheeks from bulging, terrified eyes as the crone's teeth set and her fingers grasped something.

"Ah, there you are..." she crooned and pulled her hand back, the remaining smokey haze in the air seemed enough that the hazy, wisp-like contrails of spiritual energy was still faintly visible as Baba Yaga yanked from her lips yet another winding serpentine coil of that primordial energy. She gagged and spasmed as pain unimaginable lashed through her, that... piece of her, grasped and writhing in Baba Yaga's vice-like fingers.

"Your mother's working is an immutable part of you, designed quite wickedly to kill and compel... and right here, is the thread of that working on your very spirit she would use to rob you of will and purpose," she said, tapping some part of the smoke with a nail as if it were a physical, tangible thing... and to her, it was. Lidia gagged and her eyes rolled back as the sheer overwhelming agony robbed her of control of her body, going limp partly in the crone's grasp and her body seizing as the Queen of Winter quite calmly grasped her by the soul.

"I will simply do away with that part," she said, and with a twist of her fingers, she seemed to weave and wind the smoke as one would a ribbon or stubborn yarn -- and she tied it off in a hazy, barely-visible knot of smoke and fume, and then quite bluntly, she leaned down, and bit off the excess with her black, obsidian teeth.

Lidia screamed. The pain was unlike anything she had ever experienced, even calling it pain wasn't correct, it was a deep, pervading sense of trauma that her body and mind had no ability to process, she shook and convulsed, a faint damp spot spreading across her trousers as she lost control of her body briefly as blackness and sensationless existential agony washed over her in the moment that Baba Yaga bit a piece of her soul off, as surely as once would the end of a pastry. With that done, and chewing idly, she released the changeling girl, who promptly fell listless and semi-conscious to the floor, gasping for air with lungs that could not breathe and purchase with limbs that could not stand as Gram ran to her side, darkness welled up before her eyes and mind alike as Baba Yaga's black, grinning teeth dominated her fading vision.

"Worry not about finding your mother, she will find you herself once you are within the Black Forest, and she will find herself with a perfect puppet -- now, without strings to pull. Only joints and timber to unmake."

Lidia's eyes struggled to focus on anything else but that grinning maw as her eyes failed her and darkness rushed up to meet her. One last rasping, vindictive coo of the bitter, ancient crone meeting her ears as the blackness took her.

"Well-bargained and done, child..."