Although Woe had a unfortunate tendency to see things in terms of stark rationality, things were rarely so straight forward when it came to his mother. Communications with Sintra had often operated a space between gaslit affection, and terrifying discipline. She navigated the space between those extremes with all the grace one could expect one to travel a winding and at times contradictory path. The path was ever as a lattice where one could move backward, up, down, and anywhere else within a moment. It was never a straight line or fork in the road. Even indivdual threads and strands were only for her children to leave, she merely walked the path they built. And in that she was able to evade guilt, and do her evil blamelessly.
How was she to be blamed, when the blood rarely stained her own fingers?
Steven made his way back to the cottage in the Dreamscapes, that old neglected derelict forest deep in his sleeping mind's memories. Only he wasn't alone this time. Egil was there with him, the corvid bird perched upon his shoulder, and lending his illusion-breaking eyes to Steven's own vision.
"Mother, I'm home."
"I have questions."
"And a present."
Apples crept up out of the collar of Steven's coat to peer out and see if the mistress of the web would make an appearance.
"I thought you'd never return." Her voice carried across the webs, both fresh and cobwebs, as a breeze that produced a strung sound against the lattice of her children's works. She herself did not appear physically in the dream. There was no need for her to be there. She would string him along on his way, and show him what she wanted him to see. His feeble diri's ability to see through illusions wouldn't avail him here. Sintra knew of Egil, and would not be fooled into showing false images that concealed anything of import.
Steven knew she wouldn't be fooled by Egil's presence. He was only there to take away that option. And he wanted to see things clearly. Having company along the way was merely a bonus.
"What have you brought me?"
Steven drew in a sharp breath, and then showed the dream-like replica of Famula's Tear.
A gasp drew backward from the webbing of the cottage. As if the draft had suddenly reversed in surprise. "Oh my, not this?"
He could feel the eight-fold limbs crawling in his direction ever so slightlyl at its revelation. But he knew she wouldn't be fooled into thinking he'd actually hand over the Tear. She was merely intrigued, and wondering how she could bend the useage of the Tear toward her own ends. And Steven in his way, had no actual purpose in showing it to her. As ever, he was a fool for attention from Mother. Negative, positive, anything. Too often ihe'd been the ignored offspring, whereas Labrae was the favored one.
Now he held her attention, for perhaps the first time in his life, perhaps more than anytime he'd cursed her name in the depths of a Webspinner safehouse.
"No, no tthis. You will never have this, and never will it be used for your purposes."
Pattering of spidery leg-endings echoed throughout the cottage, as the small spiderlings that obeyed Sintra's every command, even in Dreamscapes converged on his position. However, there was little they could truly do to assail Steven. They were feeble in strength, and he had nothing to fear from their venom.
"Hmph. A mere trinket." Sintra muttered, and then he could feel her draw apart from the cottage. "I was only curious why you sought to show and tell."
Steven nodded and then paced the tear into his pocket, and as soon as that, he felt her presence draw deeper into the Cottage. He would have to venture further to get any farther with her. So that was what he did.
As he walked down to the wine-cellar, which had a small rickety staircase of dry wooden steps, he could hear her voice teasing him along. "My poor wayward children," She lamented with some sarcasm. "Always endeavoring to surprise Mother with their cleverness."
Steven reached the bottom landing of the wine cellar, and ventured into the rows of bottles, jugs, and casks that held the vintages of years past. "Labrae could just about manage it, but you were ever so predictable in your approaches."
Her voice mocked Steven, as Apples crawled back beneath the cover of his coat collar. "Why then, were you not aware of my nature until it was revealed in Etzos? You've never so much as acknowledged me until then. Is it possible you didn't know I was your child, until I was right under your nose?"
The skittering legs retreated further into the depths of the cottage. And Steven had to sigh. Now he was standing in front of a webbed passage, into a part of the cottage he'd not explored yet. Enticed by what truths he might find therein, yet apprehensive of his mother's stronger presence, he wasn't sure whether he'd have the nerve to go through.
Something about her, always drew him inward. He thought it must've been the mystery, the vague promise of reward, affection, and acceptance. Things he rationally knew he could never have from her, but still held out hope that she might treat him to the illusion of such. It was an intoxication and a temptation to Woe, and forever threatened to drag him backward into degeneracy.
Yet beyond that, was the mystery she presented here, of the passage, the dusty cob-web filled and spider evacuated passages. He made his way through them, for what must've been breaks, though time had a way of sundering itself in the Dreamscapes. Even in the more grounded realities, reflecting some manner of truth.
He followed the passage, and thought he heard something. 'Won't let it get to him... won't.... allow... raise him.' Other snatches of conversation, half imagined through the chaotic dream-like atmosphere filtered into his ears, but he honed in on that one. Yet it was tantanlizingly out of his reach, even his hearing, which was sharper than most mortals.
Nevertheless, he followed the voice, even as it grew more distinct. Was he going the wrong direction? It felt like he was taking steps in the direction the voice came, but the further he went the more distant the sound.
Eventually he found himself in a pale dark room, illuminated only by a ray of moonlight through the dilapidated floorboards. He saw a mirror there, and inside, was the standing form of Lacrima. He reached out, and touched the image of his patient and former love, and through it was shown to him a portend of something to come. He saw bottles of explosives tucked under the foundation of Almund. A swift exodus of his family, and a flight to Gunvorton, separating himself from those he was responsible for, so as to investigate a vague mystery regarding Shania, the Mer, and the Pirate attacks.
"See now, my son. Everything you touch, everything you embrace, withers and turns." He could feel her sneering lips on the air as her words found his ears, "You are not a giver of healing. You are an arachnid, a hunter, trapper, backstabber..."
Steven shook his head violently, turning away from the images in the mirror, whatever they meant.
Then he awoke, back in the Bones. The rattling laughter of Sintra echoed in his ears, as he awoke.
Nearby, on the nightstand, near where his hand was resting, a bright nightlight shone. Someone had left the lantern on apparently. Stranger still, a stone appeared to be rested beneath his tongue, which when spat out into his hand, looked like a glowing stone. After a cursory examination of the gem, he concluded it was some sort of emean well. Again. He really needed to get to the bottom of what was happening to him.
