The Ivory Shard

	There, at the heart of the moon, lies a grand pool. It shimmers ethereal blue, the clearest water in the world, reflecting a glittering night sky and towering, gnarled, snow-dusted trees. The Pale Stag Herself stands tall, crook in one hand, and someone else's hand in the other. She looks down at the child, no older than twelve. Her soul is pure white, radiant and untouched, but for thick, thready black strands that consumes the hand Haija holds, twitching and pulsing. She can feel that hand digging its nails into her palm, but she holds it calmly all the same.

	"My child. You may ask anything you wish of the world below." Haija offers her a slip of paper and a quill. The child looks up at her with hesitation in her eyes, clutching the paper delicately. She slips the hand free of Haija's, her right hand, the only one she knows to write with. She kneels to the ground, and carefully scrawls on the parchment, before handing it back to the God.

	Haija glimpses at the paper, and after a brief pause, nods solemnly. She withdraws a strange object from her cloak, a single, jagged spike of ivory moon-rock, and punctures it through the parchment. Gently, she rolls it up, slips it into a bottle, and seals it.

	"Are you sure, my child? This is your only chance to communicate with the world below. What is on this paper will be the last of your legacy. Is it truly what you want most?"

	After a beat, she nods.

	"So it shall be." Haija casts the bottle into the pool, and it sinks...

	...

	It is a pristine winter morning, one so perfect that it could only come from the grace of the Pale Stag. Pale violet dawn streaks across jagged icicles hanging from dead trees, and though the wind blows with a hefty chill, the sky is as clear as ever. The stars are still faint, hiding in the cold blue.

	You walk along with an acolyte to the brook of Bailly Creek, a shallow and slow creek that flows from Her Lake. The water runs colder than usual today as you dip your gloved fingers into it, a distantly familiar and telltale kind of cold. Your eyes trace up the stream, and notice the light catching on glass cresting the water, bobbing lazily toward you. You share a glance with the acolyte and, savoring the moment, watch as it dances into arms reach. You scoop it gingerly from the river; a simple bottle, dark blue, with a single piece of parchment inside... but you can see a hint of something else, too.

	You freeze, for a moment, and the acolyte beside you gives you a quizzical look. You uncork the bottle, and slip the parchment from within. It's weightier than usual.

	You unravel it, and struck through the very center of the parchment is a small shard of the most gorgeous ivory you've ever seen. To each side are two, harshly scrawled words:

	"KILL     HIM"

	You look back at your acolyte.

	"You know you must take it, Tycho. This one was meant for you."

	You nod, solemnly, but glance back to the moon rock. A fearful realization dawns in your mind.

	"Of course..."