Roche remained carefully limp as she was dragged through the tunnels behind the wall. She couldn't see anything, save for a few flickers of moonlight peeking through cracks in the stone. Those flashes of light revealed jagged stone and the hulking, feathered shadow of whatever was holding her captive. Her mind raced. She didn't know what to do except feign unconsciousness.

"I know you are awake, young Ala." the creature spoke through her inkblood again, its voice somehow vibrating up her veins. The sensation was uncomfortable, and she shivered against it. Then the words registered.

"My name is Roche, not Ala." she replied before she could realise that she was hanging from this creature's mouth. The creature made a wheezy sort of roar sound, and Roche flinched. She whimpered, "Please don't eat me."

"Eat you? Ala, I do not feast on human flesh." the creature hummed. The moonlight had disappeared now, and the ground had sloped. As the creature walked, Roche heard its nails scraping against the rocky ground. The sound was familiar.

"So it's you. You're the one who's been scratching at the library walls."

The beast paused, tilting its head in acknowledgement. The ground flattened out again, and Roche was gently deposited to the ground. Something soft was around her. There was a blinding glow, like two hot coals smoldering in the dark. Roche yelped, pressing back against the rocky wall before she realised it was the creature's eyes. Her inkblood roared in response, like attracting to like. Roche pressed a hand to her chest as a blue orb of light lit up the space, allowing her to see.

"You... you used inkblood." she murmured faintly. Again, the beast tilted its head in agreement. Roche looked down. The soft substance she was on was a large nest of hay, tucked in the corner of the room. The space seemed to actually be a cave that was empty of objects, save for a few melted candles and fuzzy objects that looked like a mix between hairballs and cat toys. There were also large wooden sticks speared into the circular walls, like rungs of a ladder. The wood was heavily marked, like claws had recently rested upon them.

Roche swallowed as she turned to the owner of those claws. The creature was large, filling up a large portion of the dry cave. It had two large, razor sharp chestnut claws that gleamed like they'd been polished. The claws extended into reedy but surprisingly thick legs supporting a large, bird body that was easily ten times Roche's height. The bird-like creature had a dark, onyx plumage. Each feather seemed to glow and shift. Roche closed her eyes, her inkblood tentatively stretching out. She could feel its presence in every damn feather on that bird's body. It vibrated with power. She opened her eyes, squinting. She could see shifting words and runes carved onto each feather. Roche gaped at it.

"Your feathers... they're made of inkblood." she said quietly, drawing her gaze up to the creature's face. It stared back at her, face rimmed with the same feathers that coated the rest of its body. They thinned towards the center of the face, revealing two fiery orange eyes and a flat beak. It tilted its head.

"Astute observation, young one." it tilted its head again, meeting Roche's scrutiny with its own. After several moments, Roche risked inching closer.

"You're beautiful." she murmured, "Why have you hidden yourself in these walls?"

The creature's eyes turned sad. "I am Circe, one of the last Striga. Anywhere else is a danger to me."

"Striga?" Roche repeated. Circe opened their wings, inkblood feathers ruffling lazily. Roche could see that the ends of the wings curled forward reflexively, like fingers might.

"The Strigae were a clan of inkblood beasts, guardians of language. We were the bearers of every tongue, every word and every meaning that connects you humans." Circe snapped their wings closed, creating a breeze so strong that Roche was nearly flattened, "Alas, we were hunted."

"Hunted?" Roche repeated incredulously, feeling like a broken record. The Striga seemed beastly at first, but its voice was a gentle hum in her veins now. Uncomfortable, but not painful. And it was a beautiful beast. She couldn't fathom anyone hunting it. Perhaps Roche was just overly grateful that she hadn't been eaten like a mouse in a snake's gullet, but she didn't see why these beasts would be hunted to extinction.

Circe nodded sadly. "The king decreed that as wielders of inkblood, we were a threat to the Faultless Kingdom."

Roche hesitated. "Are you?"

"NO!" The word was a roar that sent her scrambling back. "We have no will, Ala. We do not desire violence. We do not desire anything. Strigae are balance. Or we were. Now all we crave is balance, what we were." Circe ruffled their feathers, peering at Roche carefully. Roche unglued herself from the wall now that the outburst was over. She nodded slowly.

"Why am I here?" she asked finally, "Why have you shown yourself to me?"

"I have been watching you, Ala. Guarding over you. You are in more danger than you can possibly imagine."

Roche's blood chilled. "You did what?!"

"Why do you think I scratched at the walls, dear Ala? I have been trying to warn you. As has your inkblood."

Roche nearly protested until she remembered the way she'd awoken these past few days, with her inkblood's haunting voice echoing in her ears. Roche bit her lip until she drew blood.

"What danger am I in?"

"You already suspect it, do you not?"

"The Council?" she guessed. Circe tilted its head again.

"Bingo."

"What's a bingo?"

"Unimportant." Circe insisted, much to Roche's frustration. "The Council of Seven is dangerous, Ala. You've been getting too close without knowing what you prod."

Roche narrowed her eyes. "As touching as that is, why do you care, Circe?"

The Striga made that strange wheezing sound again. Roche realised it was a laugh. "Young one, I felt you the day you received your inkblood. Your acquisition of such power was felt across the world. Did you think that I, a being of inkblood, would not feel your presence as you walked into this castle? Did you think I would not care for my inkblood kin?"

Roche felt faint. "You felt me get my inkblood?"

"Not only did I feel your inkblood, but I knew the potential it had. The potential for good. The potential for evil." Circe cocked their head, "I am a creature of balance, Roche. And potential is very bad for balance."

Roche's head spun. "So you're going to kill me?" she forced out. Again, Circe chuckled.

"Fortunately, no. I do not create balance just as I do not create inkblood. I am an ever present viewer. The Strigae have only ever guided, never tampered."

This was all getting to be a bit much for Roche. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"So why am I here again?"

"Did you not want to escape the Council?"

"Yes, but hang on!" Roche spluttered, "You can't just say you've been watching me and not elaborate!"

"Hmmm," Circe hummed, "Perhaps I watch you because I can."

Roche flashed the beast an unamused look. "Right. That's not disturbing at all." She could have sworn that Circe was smiling slightly. The sight irked her. Why couldn't anyone in this damn city give her a straight answer?

"A power such as yours is not taken lightly. So heed the message your inkblood wishes you to hear: you must be wary. You have the power to make or destroy this kingdom. Who you become, who leads this world, will be a responsibility you will bear if you choose it. So choose wisely. For once you step into your role, you may not retreat."

"Wait, can you repeat that?" Roche pleaded, "Let me write that down at least!"

"Do you see paper in here? Or ink?"

"No," Roche admitted grumpily, "But what does that even mean? Isn't every choice permanent? Isn't every role fixed? Everyone has the potential to shape the world, that is what books have taught me."

"Indeed." Circe gazed at Roche with those wide, glowing eyes, "But not everyone does."

Roche swallowed. A new question bubbled on her tongue. "Why was I given inkblood?"

"When one reaches into the words of this world with a clear mind, there are many interpretations one might gain. It takes a special person to see without judging, to understand with influence, and to love with abandon. To do so requires a clear mind, a pure heart, and a malleable soul."

"...you're saying my head is empty?"

"Yes," Circe agreed with no small amount of witty satisfaction, "And that gives you the greatest potential for change. Your inkblood recognized that and gave you a chance."

"A chance?" Roche repeated, "A chance for what?"

"Who knows?"

"Well take it back! I'm having a hard enough time without the threat of execution over my head!" Roche shouted. Circe gave her a hard stare.

"You asked for a change, Ala. Inkblood is not given to someone who does not want it."

"That's impossible." Roche spluttered, numbness creeping over her, "Why would I want inkblood? I never asked for it!"

"The rules of the universe do not bend. You must have asked for something that the inkblood could fulfil. In return, you've been given control over one of the largest reserves of inkblood this world has ever seen. And you mustn't squander it."

Roche felt like crying. She didn't remember much about the day that power flooded her veins. She only remembered trying to get rid of it after. She curled away from the memory, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"What do I do?" she inquired softly, "You say that I have potential, but I have none. There is nothing left for me in this kingdom. If I return home, I am a danger to my mother. If I stay, I am surrounded by none who truly know me. I should head to another city, shouldn't I?"

"It is your choice, Ala." Circe murmured, eyes glowing brighter, "But fear makes a terrible counsel." As if to prove the point, Circle held out its wing, revealing a feather with the same inscription. Roche fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"I'm not afraid!"

"Could have fooled me."

"Ugh!" Roche threw up her arms. This was pointless. "I need to get out of here."

"Why?" Circe asked, "Are you fleeing the city?"

"Maybe!"

"And you would leave those who you have come to know?"

Roche paused. "I haven't known them for very long, and none of them particularly like me. I have no reason to stay, Circe. It's been nice knowing you." She rose to her feet, staring at the open tunnel. She had a long night of trying to navigate back. Circe didn't try to stop her as she passed the threshold.

"Take care, Ala. When you make your choice in the morning, choose wisely."

Roche whirled around. "What choice in the morning?"

Before she could ask more, Circe raised its wings. Roche widened her eyes.

"What are you doing?"

The Striga flapped its wing down hard with a muted laugh, sending a powerful wave of wind that shoved Roche out of the room. The wind seemed to bend, curling around her. The air escaped her lungs in a rush as she was slammed to the ground. Roche blinked, and suddenly she was on her ass, right where Luctus had first cornered her.

Her pursuers were nowhere to be seen.

Roche rose to her feet shakily, clambering to her quarters. She lay in her bed, unable to sleep.

What awaited her in the morning?

She didn't want to know.

A/N ...Look. In Merlin, Kilgarrah annoyed me to the moon! His paranoia messed up Merlin so bad and led to a lot of the problems that Merlin needed to face. So I figured that a creature of inkblood, of truth and communication, would be a bit more impartial. What do you think of our new friend Circe? Bonus points if you know the story behind the name :)

Have a good one!