UE Rewrite: B5 — 13. Fractured Reunion
Added 2025-08-29 22:48:05 +0000 UTCThe silence that followed their joined hands stretched like molten glass, beautiful and burning in equal measure.
Tiffany—both versions—stood frozen in the moment, orange witchfire still dancing between their interlaced fingers while their shared soul resonated with a completeness that felt like drowning.
PoV:
Light Tiffany (Our Mom Queen!)
Elinor (Our Lich Queen!)
Isabelle (Our Auntie from Earth!)
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The silence that followed their joined hands stretched like molten glass, beautiful and burning in equal measure.
Tiffany—both versions—stood frozen in the moment, orange witchfire still dancing between their interlaced fingers while their shared soul resonated with a completeness that felt like drowning.
And you own me…all I am.
The thought echoed between them, neither quite sure who had originated it anymore.
“Well,” Evelyn's voice sliced through the moment like a scalpel through silk, “how delightfully anticlimactic. No screaming, no tearing at each other’s throats, no delicious emotional devastation. Just…acceptance? For now, at least. Hehehe.”
The hag circled them, her brown eyes flashing yellow in the witchfire light. “Though I suppose watching you both pretend this will work is its own form of entertainment. Unwilling to compromise either side of yourself, splitting your marrow just to smother the family you claim to love with silent envy…exquisite”
Light Tiffany—Tiff, the distinction already forming in her mind—shivered, suddenly aware of her nakedness in front of the strangers. She knew every deal. Every thought. Every sharp, spiteful word that had latched onto her tongue.
The ritual had left her with nothing, not even the dignity of clothing. She tried to cover herself with her free hand, but the movement sent ripples through their connection.
She tried to hide her private areas with a strained smile. “Maybe we should have brought a change of clothes…”
Yet, it was Dark Tiffany—her other half—who drew away, left hand over her abdomen, gripping her wrist; she felt the vulnerability as visceral as if it were her own exposed skin, trying to mask the twist in her nose, the nausea rolling through their shared gut.
“Come now, don’t be pathetic. Who are you embarrassed for, our husband, daughter—a maid who will see you naked a dozen times this week? Ugh…”
I’m sorry?
Tiff’s blush spread across both their faces, mirrored heat over mirrored skin, an intimacy neither wanted but could not disown.
“No, it’s not you… It’s me,” her darker half murmured, even as her own hand trembled. “Modesty isn’t exactly my priority.”
“Oh, we can’t have that,” Evelyn purred, raising one elegant finger. “Consider this a gift for your new…milestone.”
The hag’s magic stirred the air, and the very swamp seemed to respond.
Vines twisted up from the floorboards, their leaves shifting and changing color as they wove themselves into fabric. Bark peeled away in thin sheets, softening into something like leather. Moss gathered and compressed, forming delicate embroidery.
Within moments, a dress materialized around Tiff—earthy browns and forest greens, with hints of autumn gold threading through the organic fabric. It was beautiful in an unsettling way, alive in a manner that made her light side uncomfortable—roots breathing against her skin—but she glanced up in question as a flash of envy crept into her opposite’s heart.
This is all so…weird. Invasive. Like the jungle is crawling over my skin… Wait, you want this?
“Oh, sweetie, I’d trade my own drab fashion in an instant, which is exactly the effect you wanted, Evelyn…”
“You look delicious,” Evelyn cooed with a too-wide smile directed at her darker half, and Edmon took a step forward to bring himself into the conversation. “No need to be so defensive, Mr. Knight. It is merely a reminder of where you were reborn. The swamp’s blessing, one might say.”
“Bear with it now, we can swap when we get home,” Dark Tiffany thought through their private connection, even beyond the Nexus itself—an inner world all their own. “I know you want to get closer…but we have things to do.”
You don’t need to feel so bitter about it, Tiff whispered through their link, but pulled the strange garment closer anyway. I’d be happy to give it to you.
“I know. That’s why I said we’d swap. You’re still disoriented and collecting your thoughts—organizing your soul.”
Edmon stepped forward, his black armor glowing with neon blue frost. “Is that all? Tiff—both of you—we’ll figure things out between us later. We should go. Elinor—”
Tiff’s heart clenched, lungs like paper, floating on the air she breathed as her daughter’s strong arms drew her into a hug. It wasn’t her; it was Dark’s reaction, making her lose her tongue, looking at her and seeing mistakes—what should have been.
Their daughter’s voice cut through their broken bones, selfishness, and the internal razors picking them apart and eating away at a restless limbo.
“Mom. You know I talk to both of you… I can feel the misery, and how every touch makes it so much harder to handle. I can’t fix your hearts if you don’t open the way.”
Elinor…
“No. You knew this would be unbearable, but you chose this path, Mom. Both of you did, in the end. I’m holding you both, always. So drag each other around, push back, fight…but do not drag each other down… As your empress… As your daughter. I promise, you are both equal in my heart.”
Wildfire spread across the border as Tiff drew her daughter—not her empress—in, unable to let go of what she had been tasked with protecting. Her failure. Despite her sacrifice. Her daughter had been forced to carry an impossible burden she could not take from her.
Her feet felt like they wouldn’t touch the ground, yet she could feel the failure fester that Dark bitterly rejected, but understood.
Promise me, Tiffany, she whispered, holding Elinor tight for them both, we’ll fix our hearts, because only we can.
“It isn’t me twisting the knife. But fine—I’ll bleed if you will.”
Tiff lifted her eyes to look at her other half, looking away, trying not to show vulnerability. It was the best she was going to get—at least, for now. She could feel the ghost of her fingertips brushing the others, a phantom closeness born of the same desperate need to protect their daughter.
It’s a promise.
“Edmon!” Dark gagged as their prince pulled her into an embrace, completing the family bond between both of them, daughter and husband wrapped in their arms. Her body tensed, ready to push him away, but the bond stole the strength from her arms. “You can’t…surprise me like that… It’s warm.”
“Of course it is…I’m holding the three women who mean the most in my life.”
“What a helpless fool…”
What a romantic…
Tiff had to chuckle as their gaze locked.
For now, this was enough.
Their family was worth the fight for their soul.
“And just like that, the mood is soured…”
Tiff’s mouth became a line while twisting in her daughter’s arms to scowl at the monster, stroking her nalvean prisoner’s frozen face as if deciding if she wanted to restructure it.
Yes, she is going to be an issue I need to solve…
⸻✧⸻
Elinor squeezed once and pulled away, directing a cool gaze toward the distracted hag.
“No need to play your games, Evelyn. I know you’re doing your best to drive a stake through the moment. You’ve done your part. It’s time we leave.”
“What, already?” the hag’s lips curved slightly, sharp gaze drifting to her. “It’s not easy to frustrate that cold, logical heart of yours, Empress. When you put your metal on, ready to dive into the next war. One side tells the truth, the other lies… Safe travels, and I hope you can save that mind of yours.”
Clipped fingernails sliding across the trembling nalvean, mud crawled up the woman’s legs, hands forming to pull her into the soil—soundless, slow…agonizing.
Yet, Evelyn’s slitted, yellow eyes never left hers.
“I wonder, in the end, who will you betray, my lovely Witch Queen?”
And just like that, the creature melted into the soil with a low, penetrating cackle.
“That’s not spooky.” Paloma gulped, hanging back, hands clasped tightly at her front. “Empress, I called Tempest. Was that…wrong?”
Not at all. Excellent work.
The girl’s nervous fidgets eased, a smile blooming as she hesitated, then dipped into a curtsy.
New customs were hard, but she was cute.
Her gaze swept to her family—two mothers and one father, all looking to her. The ‘good’ Tiffany clearly wanted Edmon to take control, as if that dynamic hadn’t been upended forever.
Classic Mom.
Dad, she prompted privately, watching the giant wyvern descend, wind billowing around them. Mom is going to have a hard time with me being the ‘empress’ of this empire. You’ll need to talk to her.
“Imagine that,” her father returned with a strained, internal laugh as the two women in his life were suddenly glaring at one another again. “And I used to be the helicopter parent, but I guess even your mother had that streak in her—now split in half. Yeah, I’ll talk to her.”
Thanks… Butter is going to freak out. She now has two moms in one…
The canopy quaked a moment later as branches split. Tempest descended in a storm of light and pressure, mirror-scales scattering auroral flashes through the swamp’s twilight. Electricity crawled across his ridges, ozone thick in the air, but the wyvern folded his wings neatly at the edge of the clearing, awaiting her presence.
Let’s go home.
Elinor’s chains shot out, launching her skyward to mount Tempest with practiced ease, surveying her fractured family from above. The twins echoed one another, earning Evelyn’s invisible, mocking laughter, but Elinor brushed it aside.
Tempest lowered his wings a moment later.
The boarding was clumsy—Light Tiffany hesitated, Dark Tiffany resisted, Edmon tried not to show favoritism, and Paloma shrank into the background.
Elinor let them struggle; their discomfort revealed more than words ever could, and it would prompt the needed internal conflict.
You okay, Mom?
“Perfect!”
“Spectacular…”
Tiff’s mouth thinned to a line as she begrudgingly took Tempest’s forward seat. Tiffany leaned into their father, and the way his hands steadied the darker twin told an entire story of fractured identity before they ever left the ground.
This is going to be a long ride, Tempest.
The dragon shook his head with a sigh that bordered on understanding.
Once they were settled, Tempest launched heavenward. Lightning rippled across his scales as he took to the air, the swamp falling away beneath them like a world already left behind.
They flew in silence, heavy and raw.
At least, Elinor, her father, and Paloma did.
Her mother was having an internal war by the frown on Tiff’s face and the smug grin on her darker half. It gave Elinor chills; she didn’t think she could feel anymore.
It was like the cold war between her parents that occasionally happened while growing up, only somehow worse.
Elinor kept her face forward, letting the turbulence behind her unravel as it would.
Redirection would come soon enough when the next bomb’s fuse was lit.
Her aunt.
The jungle gave way to land remade by fire and water over ridges as they reached Nethermore’s shelf. Pools of turquoise and orange boiled within terraces of white calcium, steam rising in veils that fractured the morning light.
Rust mats painted the ground in lurid swirls, geysers five times larger than the one she’d seen in Yellowstone erupting in sudden fury. Beautiful, yes—but only to those blind to the danger.
Elinor marked the channels between pools, the ridges where battle formations had no doubt held firm a century prior, the natural barriers that the united races used against Ke’Thra’Ma.
This is where you nearly lost me, she said, her tone even. The twins stiffened behind her. Good. She wanted them to remember what failure cost. Remember? You both didn’t just save me, but your other daughter as well. Don’t cheapen it with squabbling. You both did what the other would have done to save me—and her.
Both of them glanced toward the mud pit and the hidden cave entrance far below as they passed over it.
“Well, of course, I would,” Dark snorted. “I doubt she could have taken that animal’s life, though. She’s too good.”
“For my daughter? Of course, I could,” she shot back. “You’re not the only witch. I have White Magic. Like I said, we should split the Circles.”
“And who gets the Gray Coven? Hmm? You?”
“Tiff, Tiffany, c’mon… We can talk about the covens—” her father began, only for Black’s hand to tighten around his arm, still looped around her waist.
“Why did you name her first?”
“I…”
Elinor sighed, recognizing this was going to be a more challenging transition than their first bonding moment had painted. This was soul deep, after all.
Her attention shifted east as her father became the target of both women—willingly—true to the tank he was.
Tugging threads through the Nexus brought placements to mind, as she marked the locations of her soldiers. Every impulse told her where the human caravans were, where Azalea and Camellia caught up—currently in the east—and Garu far in the northeast, tracking the mutated creature.
The wind whipped her braided hair behind her as she brought the internal argument to a close. Below was the nearest group to reaching the gates, an hour away from reaching the doors.
Mom, Dad, Isabelle’s group is near… We’re diving.
““What?!”” her mothers choked in unison, her father breathing a sigh of relief.
⸻✧⸻
The world had already ended once.
Maybe twice.
Isabella couldn’t be sure anymore.
She had walked away from the ashes of France—at least, that’s what it felt like to her, despite all the heroic talk and national revival.
There was nothing left there to hold her there.
Charlemagne’s banners of fire, Joan’s intense light, monsters stalking the night—legends devouring the world she had known.
Before she left, she had made one last pilgrimage: Tiffany’s grave, Edmon’s, the shared marker of their mother and father.
She’d thought they died.
She’d buried them…
Then, a golden-haired goddess appeared in the United States, pronouncing herself the High Queen of the Evening Star!
That was interesting.
She hadn’t paid it much attention with the Beast of Gévaudan making headlines in Paris.
That was, until she got a random call from the U.S.’s France Ambassador, asking if she’d take a call from her niece.
That call had changed her life.
She’d stood there at the graves.
Cold stone, empty names.
She had pressed her hands to each one, whispering words to people who could never answer, wondering if it could be true—her sister’s family was living in another world.
At first, she wasn’t sure.
But that night, she was so lonely…
Boyfriend? Dead.
No family left—well, cousins, but none who really cared about her.
After that, there had been only silence inside her.
So, she called back and made plans to close up her life.
A few days later, she met Sarah on the plane the U.S. sent.
The mousy, sharp-eyed professor—currently with broken glasses—had stumbled into her life during the evacuation.
Their friendship was born of exhaustion—shared bread, shared fear, whispered memories of what had become of Earth. Sarah talked of mummies and dynasties when the nights grew unbearable. And Isabella had listened, not because she cared for history, but because Sarah cared, and caring was oxygen.
Now, standing among steam and poison pools, Isabella thought perhaps the end had come for her too. Her body was a week past its breaking point. Her spirit had nothing left but the thin tether of companionship.
A veiled hope of seeing her sister’s happy little, perfect family kept her moving.
She. She was the black sheep.
Her sister? College PhD. A wonderful daughter. A competent husband. Lived in the highest economy in the world.
Then the sky cracked open.
Wind tore through the field, steam exploding into whirling veils. A shadow blotted out the sun, vast and winged. Isabella’s breath seized. The earth quaked as something descended through the light—a dragon, scales like shattered mirrors scattering auroras, electricity crawling over its body like a living storm.
I’m dead…
It landed with such force that the ground itself seemed to bow.
Her legs folded beneath her in a collapse her body had long promised.
Not fainting, not surrender, but an acknowledgment that she could not stand against the weight of miracles and horrors colliding.
Sarah was right behind her, dozens of others in their group folding like paper.
Cries.
Shouts.
A name…
“Aunt Isabelle. It’s been a while.”
The dark clouds of regret split. Through the waves of the deep in her heart, and the storms of the sea in her shattering soul, tears spilled out of her eyes as she saw the face she’d looked at in photos every day.
“Tiffany, Elinor, Edmon! You… Tiffany?”
Then, the confusion hit like a tidal wave.
Upon the dragon’s spine—chains gleaming faintly, robes whispering like smoke, emerald eyes burning with unnatural light—stood Elinor. Her niece. Her sister—two sisters?
“Ti—Tiffany?” Isabella croaked, her voice tearing in her throat as her gaze darted, standing mirrored on either side of Edmon as he helped one to her feet. One had darker hair than her sister had, yet the lighter-haired sister somehow had a darker complexion. Her chest constricted. Madness? Ghosts? “Tiffanys? What—how—twins?”
Her little, cheerleading, goth niece now stood crowned in glory upon a colossal flying lizard—except no lizard had ever shimmered with stormlight and auroras, wings blotting out the sky. It was terrifying. And awe-inspiring.
And Edmon—no, perfected Edmon, somehow more handsome—showed a strained smile atop the giant beast.
“We have a lot to discuss.”
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