Larkspur's voice called to her. He was there. He had done all she had said, all she had expected and more. Her gold-green eyes peered eagerly out and she walked towards the sound of his voice, her bright eyes taking him in before looking down at the girl. Kill it. He won't stop you. Damian's words were sweet and darkly promising, and her expression remained unchanged. Would Larkspur stop her? She was unsure. She could claim the tiny beast was damned, evil, perhaps she could even talk Larkspur into sending the little devil to the pyre. But Misery drew in a careful breath, and she let out a slow sigh. What are you waiting for? Hands around the throat, shake her. Bash her fucking skull in. Its easy. It was easy. She had done it before. Little Rune, the poor, sad boy who had simply looked too much like his father. But the hiding girl was just that - a girl. A little girl couldn't grab unto her with hateful hands and hurt her. Meth did. But this wasn't Meth. This little girl had no milky, hateful blue eyes. This little girl wasn't made and evil. She was just Larkspur's girl.

"Oh, Larkspur," Misery's voice was warm and nearly overflowing with pride. "She's beautiful. You've done well." Misery's eyes couldn't quite pull away from the tiny girl. So very young. She could remember when Poe was that age. When the other girls were. Lately she had thought a lot about Poe and the old days. But those were so long ago. She missed her daughter and her ghostly son. She missed Ahren and she missed Damian. "I bet you don't know who I am, do you?" Lowering herself to one knee wasn't easy, her leg had never healed properly after Meth's attack. "I bet you know who Rah'khir is though. She's your Goddess, little one." Soft, quiet words, one thin hand reaching out to try and pat the hiding puppy.

It would have been a lie to say she wasn't pleased. Misery ran a gentle hand over the girl's fragile skull, her other hand clutching her sleek black cane to keep her up. The girl knew her Gods. Larkspur was a good, faithful boy. Trading Anzu - even if he had been a lovely, handsome companion - for the brute had been a good trade. Would you have traded me? Misery ignored Damian - she had the luxury of doing so now that he lived within, but his question unsettled her. His half melted cross still hung around her thin neck, a relic of so long ago. She would die with that relic around her. A soft, gentle laugh escaped her as she lovingly petted the young puppy. "Oh no, little one. Ankh would not dare venture out at night, not unless she truly had to. I am Misery, your grandmother." Saving Larkspur's life made him her Mother, at least in her book. He was her son, just as Gin had been. He had been luckier than Gin though, the sickness of their dirty blood hadn't touched him so deeply. It seemed this stuttering puppy was rather bright, if not nervous. "But I know of Rah'khir. I know of Ankh. I was born to Tak though, he who walks behind the rows. The walking man." A million names for the devil.

Misery had been born into darkness and come out into the light. The Khalif believed her blessed, she believed it madness. A life like hers wasn't blessed. She had the luck of a devil though, despite leaping into pyre's and testing and bedding madmen she still lived. "And you are Eris's girl. Do you have any siblings, my Vögelchen?" Perhaps the girl knew the holy tongue, perhaps not. But it wouldn't stop Misery from falling into it.

"Only those who are arrogant and blasphemous name a child after a God." Simple, her voice quietly angry. Sukan and Kylie had been those kind of fools. They had named her precisely what she was to them - a Misery. Her twin, had been named Ankh for her snowy fur. The Khalif were fond of naming their children after words or objects, but not the gods. Gods names held power. It had always made her stomach curl to call her Ankh. False god. Lying god. They loved her. They had not loved Misery. Sukan had hated and violated her. She had killed her father. This girl would never know such cruelty - Larkspur was a good boy. "We are all made in the image of the holy ones. Those bathed in black belong to Tak, those of white to Ankh. And everyone in between falls to the silver lady, Rah'khir." No doubt the girl had been told that, but repetition was key.

"I did. The day I was born I was of the blackest sin." Not a spec of light on her, she had been a deep, absorbing shade of black. She missed her darkness sometimes. Missed being able to look at her own dark fur and remember Damian's. The white fur never felt right, but it was her's now. As tempted as she was she would do nothing to darken it - she had been blessed somehow. "But I changed. I have done both very good and very bad things, little one," Her voice was very soft, and she scratched affectionately behind the puppies ear. "But I have always believed. I am no saint, but I am not the worst sinner. But the gods rewarded my faith. I have risen into the light. I will never turn my back on Tak," A cruel god, but his cruelty was refining. His cruelty was love. "But now Ankh blesses me as well. She has taken me into her light."

"The Gods can be kind, Salvia." Misery's voice was quiet as she gave the puppy one last affectionate pat before rising slowly, putting her weight on the cane. The tremor ran up her scarred right leg as she did so, and she gritted her yellow teeth. "But the Gods are also cruel. Cruelty is refining." Misery knew that well. The God's were kind - they had brought her Damian. But in their cruelty they had given her only forty-three days with him as her mate. That was refining. It had made every moment more precious, every second carved into her memory. "If Harlowe turned his back on the Gods, than he had to be punished." There was no greater sin then letting go of the faith. If you turn your back on them, Tak will eat you alive." Maybe it wasn't the best story for a child, but it was true. "Tak will always find you. Even if he doesn't come and get you himself, he can take our bodies and use them to exact his vengeance." Misery was unaware that was the exact vengeance that had been enacted upon Harlowe. But she had seen it done back home. A foolish wolf proclaiming that the Gods were false. The gleaming gold-green eyes of a cousin turning upon the creature before they ripped the tan fellow apart. Eating his heart. Tak would always find you.

Misery looked at Larkspur, her worn face sliding into an easy smile. "But you don't need to worry about that, Salvia. You have a good father. He will teach you. You will be faithful, and Rah'khir will protect you. You'll grow up and be the finest of hunters like all of her children." The Silver Lady was renowned for her hunting prowess. Her children praised her by hunting the finest and deadliest of beasts. "And one day you can be marked, if Eris allows it. Blessing marks, protection things. And you will learn the holy tongue so that when you praise your Goddess, she will hear every word."

"I am." Wicca with her black and white fur wasn't the ideal leader, but they considered Misery so blessed they didn't argue. Besides, the girl was zealously devout. Wicca was good, even if Misery found her optimism utterly irritating. The girl was obedient and starved for love - the absence and death of both parents hadn't worked out well for the girl. Misery had used that to her advantage. "I've found a girl, my niece, to handle things for me. I have work t'do here. I've missed you, Lark." Quiet, simple words. Wicca would give her the freedom she needed for now. Her gold-green eyes looked down at Salvia, already fond of the girl. "They will have so much to learn."