The relief on Erin's face is palpable, as is the rise of her Mantle; the favor of Spring upon her picks up the warm breeze, laced with just a taste of rain. The scents of sex and gunpowder prevail, of course, but joining them are lavender and charcoal as all the colors near her brighten, the sounds sharpen, as if the world itself is becoming just a bit more alive around Erin fucking Peters, favored daughter of the waking land.

"I've never quite fit in," she murmurs, her musical voice so very soft. "At first that wasn't my fault, and I'm old enough to know that now. If you ever make the mistake of visiting Earth you'll figure out pretty quick that baby dykes have it pretty fucking rough...but now I'm. Me. This half-feral killer. Had a sword in my hand as long as I can remember, and not owning one at the moment has me waking up screaming at night. Me who's never known a life of peace, who's never had a good night's sleep, this fucking. Protean horror trudging on day after day after day, on the death march to my Spring when I can finally, finally, wake up happy. These people, I feel for them, I do. No one should have to go through this."

"But when it's done, they'll return to their lives of peace. They know how to live them. And...I never learned how to do that."