After Dark.

[Raveness]

In the wee early morning of dawn, just before the light, the quietness of the teahouse is interrupted by a woman's scream. Lavender bolts upright in her bed, clutching her chest with her hand, her entire body soaked with sweat. She closes her mouth, realizing the scream came from her and it was only a dream.. Only a dream, she tries to tell her badly shaking body, but something makes her throw the bed covers back and stand on her two wobbly legs. Her heart is pounding in her chest, threatening to erupt from her ribs at any second, she thinks, but still she presses on. Wet hair matted to her skull, the woman stumbles out of her bedroom door and down the hall towards Cambree's room. It is here, that she pauses, and gazes at her hands, expecting them to be covered in blood, but in the paleness of the very faint moonlight she can see that they are not.

With balled fists Lavender begins to pound on Cambree's door, not a quiet knock, but one to wake the dead.. or maybe the whole teahouse. She stand there, trembling like a leaf, pale, wide eyed and crazed, as she awaits the answer from within struggling to catch her breath.

[Cinnabar]

Perhaps to Lavender's surprise - though perhaps not - it is not Cambree who answers that furious pounding on the door, but a grey-eyed young man whose silver-white hair stands up in sleep-tousled tufts; barefoot, wearing a rumpled linen shirt and loose drawstring britches, clearly having been woken by the hammering of fists mere moments before. Wary, watchful, and highly suspicious in those first instants.

After a moment, though, there's a frown and a confused blink for the distraught young lady as Cinnabar recognises her, stepping back a pace and opening the door wider.

"Miss Parrish? Uh. Come in." Space allowed for her to enter as he turns from the door, speaking to someone inside the dark chamber. "It's Lavender."

The dagger held in one hand is kept out of sight behind his back for now, at least until he has a chance to return it to the swordbelt slung over the back of a chair nearby.

Can't be too careful.

[Raveness]

From the moment that the door swung open, Lavender had been anticipating her cousin. Her green eyes, wide still with fear, gaze at the man standing there and almost shrieks again. Her mouth opens to do so, but before her breath gives birth to it, her sleepy brain kicks in to gear and she realizes that its only the governor.

Moving inside, she throws her arms first around the governor, in a hug, but before he can react she has pulled back and heads quickly into the darkness toward where Cambree is now sitting up, almost just as startled. Lavender leaps onto the bed and throws her arms around her, like a frightened young child, clinging to her for dear life, her frame still trembling.

In hushed tones she begins to talk, quickly and in their native language, tears spilling down her cheeks and onto Cambree's chemise. The only words that Cambree might be able to interpret are: dream, white witch, and curse.

In the quiet of the dark, Lavender pulls back from Cambree, her ghostly pale cheeks wet with tears and in the stillness of the room she whispers...

Moihes.

And suddenly the air takes on a heaviness that almost crushes.

[Wendy]

The blue room is an assortment of shapes, as dawn has yet to whisper her call for morning light. There are silhouettes of the standstill furnishings and then there are those of the figures that move.

She isn't at all ready for the impact or the cling of arms that hold tight against her neck, "Lavender?" Unsettled, though more awake now, struggling to soothe with her hands when her mind does not yet register this visit, Cambree gazes to where Cinnabar stands. She can hardly make sense of his features while the light is lacking; however, she is looking to him like he'd have a clue.

"Slow down," her voice is a scrape against her throat, "Slow down." Morning, slow down. Heartbeat, slow down.

Lavender may realize that Cambree hasn't slipped into that shared, former language. It is something she is either unwilling to do, or perhaps she means to express that her cousin can safely speak in front of Cinnabar.

Moihes and the white witch? There is a shiver. There is a hardened look that leaves Cinnabar and seeks Lavender - neither of which can she determine the expressions of - as faces are unseeable.

"What happened?"

[Raveness]

Lavender's body curls to match that of her cousin's and her hands move back to cling to her tightly. There are several moments that tick away where nothing is spoken, time seems to stand still, even the sun seems to be hiding from the dawn.

It is during this time that slowly Lavender begins to calm, not completely, but her heart beat slows and her body once trembling greatly, is now just shivering every now and again. A hand comes up and she wipes at her eyes and her cheeks wiping away the evidence of tears, or perhaps just clearing the slate for more to fall.

This time her words are slower, more coherent and spoken plainly.

"I had a dream. It was the white witch. She was here, in the teahouse. She put a curse on.. on... " Her eyes glance at the black frame of the Governor and she chokes back more tears. Then she proceeds. "But then it wasn't her at all... I mean it was.. but it was him too."

Her grip lessens on Cambree and she bites her lower lip, wrinkling her forehead as she leans over to whisper in her cousin's ear..

"They were one in the same."

[Cinnabar]

There's some tension at that brief hug, surprise at the gesture that has not abated by the time the woman has moved on to Cambree. He closes the door gently as Lavender speaks with her cousin, understanding none of it, but keeping quiet for now. Listening, watching certainly, but not intervening.

Instead he moves first to put away that blade, then to find matches; a moment later, with a scratch and hiss and whiff of sulphur, light blossoms in that darkened room. Candles are lit, banishing the dim blue of the pre-dawn sky with something brighter, warmer.

This talk of witches, meanwhile, of curses... it makes little sense to him, for the most part. There are aspects of it, yes - perhaps some thought of the dreamwitch, Galacia, of whom Ariane Emory had warned him. So he moves to sit on the bed, a polite distance from the two of them, absently rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Who is the white witch?" It's a reasonable place to start.

[Raveness]

"Who is the white witch?"

It seems like such an innocent question, simple yes. Lavender casts her emerald gaze at Cinnabar as he sits at the foot of the bed. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion as her mind searches for words. Then the realization hits her of just what she has done. She has interrupted the two as they slept together.

Suddenly, the redness hits her cheeks and makes them sting with warmth. Oh my! She had only wanted to share her dream with her cousin and instead, she has stumbled upon quite more than she had hoped for. Not only that, now she has to explain herself.

There is another moment of pause as she ponders brushing this all off as sleepwalking. Lavender sits up on her own, snaking her own hands around her middle, as if hugging herself.

"She.. well.. she's.. uhm..." But she doesn't know her name. A hand comes up and she rubs her temple, but feels stuck to explain. Silently, she chastises herself for not dealing with this on her own and makes mental note not to bother her cousin again in the hours after dark.

"She was there the night of the party..."

[Wendy]

The teahouse madame is wound in the bedclothes and her nightgown, and was, for a short time, wearing Lavender, too. Released from the gripping hug, Cambree moves on the bed, attempting to untwist a trio of blanketing fabrics, but her cousin is sitting heavy on the quilt. Tugging, she frees a portion of it, and turns her body so that she can best view both of the people in her room.

There is candlelight to see with, praise heaven. Disheveled, soft, tired, she raises a hand to Lavender's back, rubbing absently while she attempts to describe the white witch, a name Lavender had given the costumed visitor.

She wears a scowl, remembering a shared observation on that cultish night - even as her time there was fantastic. Cambree's green eyes rest on her cousin's profile. Two women couldn't look more similar, but for Lavender's smaller size and distinctly different markings that hid beneath her clothes.

As she listens to the younger one's report, Cambree senses dread, but doesn't say anything. Nothing of the "white witch", nothing of Moihes, and nothing of curses. But, when has Lavender been wrong?

Her eyes trace those of her cousin, so that her gaze will take Cinnabar in.

[Cinnabar]

There at the party. Hm. Well, that... doesn't really help answer the question. Shifting to sit cross-legged, elbows on his knees, hands loosely folded together as he looks from Lavender to Cambree and back again. Curious, certainly. Perplexed, yes. Worried, perhaps.

"What does she do? Why is she called the white witch?" More questions, some attempt to tease this information out, to perhaps gain some idea of who this person is, and why a dream of her has the woman hammering feverishly on Cambree's door at such an early hour. And all along there's this combination of dream and witch that brings a name to mind. Galacia Tarin-Talus Vraal. But this may be jumping to conclusions, may be drawing links where none exist. Incorrect assumptions. So. More information is required.

"What was this curse?"

[Raveness]

"It was a curse that stopped you from..." Lavender pauses and now she moves to hug her cousin, but not like before. "....helping..." She swallows the nervousness that builds up in her throat and then stands, brushing out the wrinkles in her nightgown.

"I am sorry. I did not know... well.." She shifts on her feet as she backs away from the pair and the bed, toward the door. "I had no idea.. I just .. I mean.. I wanted.. I really am sorry." Her sad smile is so apologetic, first to her dear cousin who means the world to her and then to her cousin's partner.

She casts a quick glance back at Cambree as her hand moves to open the door.

"It was just a dream. Forgive me, please? I think I should go lay down. I don't feel very good."

She knows she has no intention of going back to sleep tonight, or anytime soon for that matter.

[Cinnabar]

The woman's vagueness prompts some small frown from Cinnabar, a crease of brows and pressing of lips in frustration. What is it about Myrken Wood that keeps people from giving a straight answer?

"How? Explain this more clearly, please; I don't know what you're talking about." And then she's moving to stand, moving to leave, and that has him frowning more firmly and shaking his head.

"No, no. Stay. Tell me about this white witch, and the curse." He lifts a hand to beckon her back towards the pair of them, he and Cambree, to take a place on the bed once more.

"If there's one thing I know about Myrken Wood, there's rarely such a thing is just a dream. It frightened you. It has meaning for you. So. Help me to understand, hm?"

[Wendy]

Cambree rubs at her face, both of her hands moving over the smooth skin to liven those layered cells. She pushes her fingers through her hair so that it will rest away from her face. In the minutes exchanged, her eyes are becoming clearer - her stares less numb.

The "white witch." Mention of her causes some visible withdrawal from the woman on the bed. The blanket covers are pulled up to her shoulders, in part due to the coolness of the room on this early November morning.

Her cousin moves to leave them with hardly an explanation, half-mentioning a curse of some kind. When has Lavender been wrong about these things? "Lavender, wait." That voice of hers is beginning to return, "Stopped him from helping who..?" or what?

Rather than have her cousin leave, Cambree swings her legs over the bed's side and pushes onto her feet to stand. The quilted blanket is kept with her, pulled snug around her shoulders to provide some warmth, and a long train that slips from the remaining bedclothes. She steps for that door.

[Raveness]

Lavender glances first at Cinnabar and then to Cambree. She stands, still in the doorway, despite the governor's hand and beckoning to sit. A shiver runs up the woman's spine and she visibly shudders, her hand moving up again to stroke the side of her head. She realizes with a sigh that she's not going to be able to leave, at least not yet.

The woman isn't even sure where exactly to begin, but she has to begin somewhere. She ponders both of their questions in her mind, keeping quiet for a moment or two before she begins to speak. Timidly, quietly.

"The white witch came here to the teahouse. She danced with.." Now here the woman pauses, but her eyes linger upon the governor, without speaking anything more.

"I'm not sure how she did it.. It was magic of some sorts, but the tea, it changed. No one saw her go near the tea, but the Governor's tea.. it was ... " Again another pause. She takes a deep breath, her shoulders droop as well as her head. She gazes at the tops of her bare feet and shuffles from one foot to the other.

"It was... poisoned. And of course, nobody knew so he drank it." She nods her head, still not gazing up at the two of them, speaking only to her feet.

"Because it happened here at the teahouse and with the governor very ill, Cambree was taken away. And the witch, she put a curse on him... to keep him away. So that he wouldn't come here, and couldn't come to help."

Lavender bites her lower lip again and then fidgets with the front of her nightgown.

"It was what they wanted.. to get Cambree alone... locked up.... where no one could help her.. I tried, but I was too late.. and she was.. she was...."

Lavender begins to cry again, her shoulders shaking and her hands moving up to cup her face. Between sobs she manages to whisper.

"She was already dead..."

[Cinnabar]

At first there is curiosity as the Governor listens to this story, to this dream; witches and curses and poisonings and then death, and though his concern grows throughout this recounting, it is that last point that has him blinking in shock, in confusion.

He has faced many things, many awful and horrific things in this last year alone. Often they have been perilous, harmful, threatening risk to life and limb. They have required caution, circumspection, the care warranted by dealing with that which is dangerous. This, though, this prospect described in Lavender's dream? It takes a time to consider, but he realises this is frightening. The threat to someone precious to him, the risk that it may be true, this is more unsettling than facing any number of monsters or madmen or murderers. It is a thing to be feared, and yet this realisation of fear also makes him angry, incensed that anything would dare make such a threat. It's fortunate that Lavender hides her face as she nears the end of her narration, for Cinnabar's features are a terrible thing, a wrathful twisting of lips and lowering of brows and narrowing of eyes, some near-snarl of outrage at even the mere idea of it, of what she suggests; but this is hurriedly covered, smoothed over to some extent.

Instead, a sharp shake of his head and a frown with it.

"It won't happen." Thinking on it, regarding Lavender fiercely for a time, but this fades quickly, uncertainty setting in as she breaks down and weeps. Quieter, then, perhaps attempting to be reassuring.

"It won't happen. We won't allow it." A glance between Lavender and Cambree, then, resolute in this decision. Conviction in his tone that leaves no room for doubt, for worry. It is a truth when he speaks, a truth he creates because he has decided it, and nothing shall stand which threatens to make it a lie.

"Now that we know what to be wary of, it can't happen."

[Raveness]

When Lavender does manage to peek at Cinnabar she shrinks back, wiping the tears from her cheeks again. Her head nods at his words in agreement, but her footsteps carry her backwards, back pedaling into the hall. With her back pressed against the wall opposite of Cambree's door, she turns her head and glances into the darkness that lingers still. Her eyes blink once, then twice and a hand moves up to tuck a stray piece of auburn hair behind her left ear.

"I'm sorry.. " She whispers again, but to whom? Her head is still turned to the side, peering into the thick smoke of night.

Then her head turns back towards Cambree's room. "I have to go.. I can not say anything more... I've said too much already. They won't let me..." Her eyes have a horrified, haunting look and the woman begins to tremble once more.