Private Trump Call between Vikund and TearTear paused suddenly, as if hearing someone's voice. She sighed deeply, "I'm sorry, Tasha. Someone's calling me." She leaned back in her seat and opened her mind to the sensation, *Yes?* "It's me," Vikund said. "Would you like to come through or have I missed my chance?" The fact that he spoke out loud told her he was now alone. She regarded him through the contact, a swell of emotion flooding her thoughts; anger and love and confusion. "I can't abandon my friends. I have to stay here long enough bring them back. And you're busy anyway." Her eyes dropped, another rush of anguish flooding the contact. "Did? Did you know? Have you been lying to me all this time?" "Did I know what? And what friends? Tear, I think we've both had a difficult day. You're going to have to fill in the gaps for me," Vikund answered. Though he was always one to put a brave face on things, Tear could tell he was suffering from mental fatigue. Perhaps the meeting with Mandor had taken more out of him than he cared to admit. He could feel the waves of emotions ebb like the receding tide. Genuine concern began to well up in their place. "It feels like. We both had a bad day," she replied. She paused for a moment, fighting back the weight of sorrow threatening to overwhelm her. "My mother. My mother tried to kill me, Vikund. She sacrificed me to the Logrus. Or tried to. And the Master knew about it. I'm nothing more than an experiment to him. A freak. Everything I've ever known has been an elaborate lie." She swallowed the tears. "He sent me here to collect three noblewomen. But things went. Wrong. They saved me from possibly. Hurting myself. And I nearly killed two of them in the process. I didn't know. I had that kind of power." "I knew you had that power; Mandor knew too," Vikund said firmly. "Believe me, I knew nothing about your mother other than what you had told me. It all happened a world away from me. Are you certain this is not another deception? Who are these noblewomen?" His voice betrayed a note of concern. "Lady Helena, Lord Torren's daughter. Lady Tasha, Lady Tabitha Minobee's daughter. And Amba. I'm not sure who she is," Tear said, almost apologetically. "Tasha took me to see the Logrus. And the others came to stop me from reaching it. It was…" she suddenly pauses, hiding her thoughts. A flash of worry and doubt fill her and a wall goes up around that particular concept. Finally, she continues. Vikund frowned, and his frown intensified with each name. "I think they were telling me the truth. Lord Torren and Master Suhuy were there. Suhuy. He's the man from my dreams. The one on the Trump. They said. The Logrus protected me. I was just a baby and it held me and cared for me for days. Weeks. I. I remember it now." She sniffles and lets out a week sigh. "Vikund. Please. Tell me the truth. Was…" Another brief pause as she steels herself. "Is what we have. Is it real? Or is it just another deception? I need to know. I don't know who to trust any more. Nothing is real. I'm just. A fabrication." "This is real," Vikund replied, extending his hand through the link to touch hers. "I don't know what games they are playing in Chaos, but please come home." At his touch, Tear finally began to cry; her emotions flooding through the barrier of logic she'd created. Her fingers linked with his, holding on to him as if grasping for her life. "Vikund…" she whispered. A darkness unlike he'd ever witnessed swallowed her tears; her violet eyes turning cold. She let go of his hand and shook her head. Her voice cracked like ice as she fought against her feelings for him. "No. I need to think. About a lot of things. But I'm not going back to the castle. I have a new Master now. And you have yours." Tear dried her cheeks. "Even though I don't know who I am anymore. I still love you. I always will. I. I believe you. But I need to finish this." "And who is your new Master? Suhuy, who has tormented your dreams all these years?" Vikund asked. "He told me the Truth, Vikund," Tear said flatly. "Every last hideous bit of it. He will. Train me from now on. So I can find out what I am. He just. Told me. Even when I wanted to kill him. And I was wrong. They were nightmares. They were memories. Of when he took me out of the Logrus." Tear knitted her hands and glanced away. "You're tired, Vikund. So am I. If. If you'd said it. Just once. Maybe I'd come home. But I can't. Not now. Not like this. I need to start standing up for myself. I'm sorry." She frowned, staring at him with hollow eyes; the contact humming with her desperation and longing. "As you wish, Tear." Vikund said. "I hope you find more comfort with honesty and truth than I have. I shall pass your regards to your Aunt and Uncle." He paused, considering. "I may not be able to contact you this way again for some time, so next time you call ... I will listen. You will keep in touch, won't you?" "I'll tell them myself," Tear said. "I will be there before nightfall. I made a promise to bring them to Amber and I shall. I'm just not sure how long it will take. After that… I just can't stay in that castle. Not with him there." She sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "And, of course I'll keep in touch. I know you don't love me. But that doesn't change how I feel for you. And if you say that the last year was. Real. Then I'll believe it. I won't stop. Being near you. Until you tell me otherwise. "Goodbye, Vikund. Please? Get some rest. You look so tired, my love. Do. Do you need me? To do anything for you? And only you?" She smiled hopefully, as if this simple question meant more to her than every terrible thing that had happened to her in the last few hours. "Not good-bye," Vikund said. "Au revoir. I do need you, more than I can say, but this is a bad time. When you are back in the city... call me. Safe travels, my sweet." "And you, my love," Tear said, her lip trembling for a moment. "Whenever. Whenever it is the right time. I will be there for you." Her violet eyes turned away, unable to meet his gaze lest she waver in her conviction. He passed his hand over the picture, severing the contact and sweeping the ashes of the drawing into the waste basket.
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