the fern fiasco

and the crown it weighs heavy

Yet the faeries hadn’t been the sole observers as to the affairs of manic children and fretfully affectionate beasts—although in the Rift, would it be presumption to claim such statements as woefully trite?—her attentions, also, had been caught involuntarily by the hapless pair. And she, too, was allied in as much surging resentment as the fays, but unlike they, found her asperity aimed at a rather dissimilar source. Perhaps it was, when Fate had exhaled life into her and, yes; delighted to endow her as deafening a voice as mother had when enraged, it was in the end a blessing! It may certainly have been misunderstood when Cahira lunged out of the withering verdure with generous amounts of crackling foliage en route of the girl, however, her words couldn’t have been less ambiguous. "Get away from her!"

What foolishness had demanded she plunge into a campaign she knew little of, what vexatious, irrational sentimentality, Cahira couldn’t perceive. She had been naive enough to be outwitted by the malevolence of this world twice, thrice, if careening headlong into a fray in time was to be considered. Assuredly, she ought to have learnt something, to have gained healthy misgivings about conspicuously innocuous beings, and, perhaps, she had. She certainly exhibited what may have been considered selfishness in her lack of introductions—in her failure to embrace civility or mirth at the presence of these companions and, instead, seek asylum behind shrubbery—though it was, in truth, fear that had persuaded her to hide. At the sight of the swarm, however, this proclivity faltered.
Whatever the wanderer had done to suffer such malice, she was a child, merely a youth! By what was inferred in the gangliness of limb, even Dallilja would have been her senior. The pang she endured in the aftermath of this thought dulled into a ache, for what nightmares, what misery had her younger sister underwent while she was held enraptured by myth, despicable lies? Oh! What a wretched older sister she was! But as she watched transfixed, even melancholy gave way before the sudden, vehement flood of wrath.

Frankly, it was far less abrupt than she assumed; the struggle in the thickets with the creature and the jaguar, the desperate flee for life, the loss of Dallilja, of Shahrokh. Her nephew, blind and wayward, the only thing she had left of Destry, and she had let him go! Had Destry not already sentenced her—in her good opinion—with condemnation, certainly, she would have now. And how could she blame her? She, who had been duped by bewitched sand, left petrified; not with horror, but with glee! A season had crossed in her wake and there was nothing she could do in order to remedy the lapse. She knew loathing, then, knew it well, she loathed this world, this place. This horrid, morbid dream, where even sunlight was not as it should be, where mother—where mother was dead. This place which preyed upon children, which tore families in two for greed. Long had her enmity had time to bitter, simmering before increasingly fragile barriers; now, it simply overflowed. She had not considered the wisdom of her actions in the all-consuming blaze of her displeasure, and perhaps in that moment, she was more like Azarel than she had ever been before. For a fleeting moment, she understood him. Understood the hardness in his gaze, the harshness of his voice. More than she would have liked.
So when she’d come barreling into the onslaught with unadulterated ferocity, the crease of her brow sated with thunder, though her eyes had been damp; they glistened as with flames in the brilliance of her halo; the sweeping crown of her head a blade, a lance into what she fervidly hoped to be flesh, a barbarous urge, warranted it may be. Her hooves dancing, cavorting with lethal might, aiming to eradicate, to smash, to shatter.

She would make them suffer the way this blasted world had tormented everyone else. Maybe they were cognizant—well enough they were, she hoped they felt every second of agonizing dread as when Nótt and Dagr had been wrenched from her mind and ravaged upon until nothing was left except a void.

She had.

@Roscorro @Gwyn
A/N: With permission, a completion of one of her trial quests as well! :D 
- Help someone in need. 

'till it's banging on my eyelids