Dragoncrest Cliffs the world's grave. not ours.

had she known her foul contribution to the reasons her daughter's helltorn body flopped limply against the shoreline that day, erzulie would have drowned herself.
she stood with her own scream rising high and keen in her throat, claws gripping the frozen sands —
an echo of rosalyn's, and then the blur of her sea-honed wife flaring viciously and fearlessly forward —
and her own head filling with a heavy dull buzzing as she forced herself to focus upon chacal, upon grabbing for the girls's nape no matter how old the child had become, seeking to drag her backward as her wife clashed with the ursine — oh, she knew him, she knew this one with sour familiarity;
"kouri, ti fi!" the breathless words garbling into syllables that blended. 
turning back to raleska, expecting chacal to heed and to flee, back to the guarded halls of sapphique.
her daughter, bonesplit and empty of life, in the way only one so twisted could be. but horribly recognizable all the same.
she could not know, but the loa did, and grimly they for the first time stood back from erzulie as she lunged after rosalyn, their favour paling as she filled herself with the shrieking might of her wife's presence and tore blindly for the sake of the girl she had always loved as daughter, mind in the last turning to valravn and to regin —
her thought of them stamped out beneath the saltwater rage blistering her blood.