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All The Colors Of The Rainbow

(Realm of Elysia)

“Now, Bren, you mustn’t fuss about any of this,” Robyn instructed as they all led her to the dressmaker’s house.

“We’ll take care of everything!” Felicity rejoined.

“She does all the designs for all the Seraphs and I know she’ll do something ‘Fabulous’ for you, too!” they all giggled.

Bren and her five compatriots made their way up a winding path, lined with blossoming flowers of every imaginable color. Ravishing reds, brilliant violets, sunny yellows and every hue in between fanned out like a vast artist’s palette before them. However, unlike Dove’s garden, these flowers formed definite patterns and designs that made you just want to roll in them. Leafy trees also lent their cover to the path at various points, providing deliciously cool shade from the sun above. Living stones paved the way, each shimmering as the girls’ soles stepped upon them.

Falling water

The sound of falling water grew stronger as they rounded the corner, bearing the unmistakable sound of something turning. Before them, nestled against the base of a magnificent castle and it’s high white tower, was an enormous water wheel turning slowly. Slightly above the wheel, water from the holy mountain flowed lazily through a long granite chute, spilling over the wheel’s buckets, as gravity emptied them into the stream below.

“My word!” Brenzel exclaimed at the size of the elegant building. Beyond any fairy tale castle she’d ever imagined, it’s chief tower rose from the main palace in brilliant white stone, cut with intricate floral designs that mirrored the garden below. In fact, everything around them, including the trees and the shadows they cast, seemed to be part of one flowing pattern.

I’ve been expecting you!

The five, in high spirits, assembled at the grand entrance of the Dress Makers house and waited, each putting their finger to their noses, smiling. Brenzel, looking at them curiously, wondered what they were up to. Facing an intricately carved door, she waited too. Suddenly, Brenzel caught the scent of a most amazing perfume. Sniffing, Bren smelled a soft intoxicating fragrance like… lilacs, no…citrus! That was it, she was sure of it. Inhaling deeper, her body calmed as all tension seeped out of her.

Then the fragrance changed, becoming an ocean breeze stirring excitement and wonder in her soul. Immediately little feet walked, as if she were there, the ocean lapping at her toes, hand in hand with her father. Then again it melted into mossy woods after a spring rain, like those she used to explore as a young girl, causing her to feel refreshed. Finally, turning inside out again into a soft floral bouquet, Bren just sighed contentedly, as her mother hugged her.

The door began to open, as each of the girls straightened up, trying to look proper. The sun, never unpleasant, stood at it’s zenith, yet the light from inside the dressmaker’s palace caused them all to squint as a beautiful woman said, “Welcome everyone, come in, come in, I’ve been expecting you!”


I’m Fabulous

Hand above her brows to shade her eyes, Bren looked up into the features of a natural blond like herself, only perfect in form and feature. Lavish ringlets of golden hair framed her symmetrical face, while the rest gathered on top in a bun. Stunning eyes, with long full lashes, graced her delicate nose and exquisite ruby red lips. Speechless, Bren just stood there admiring their host as the bevy of young maidens filed past one by one.

Looking lovingly at her new guest, the woman took Bren’s hand and led her inside, saying, “It’s so nice to finally meet you, Brenzel, I’m Seraphina Gabriella Iolanthea – but you can call me Fabulous!

Bren, blinking, simply said “Hello.”

Divine workshop

Leading them in to what appeared to be a large lounge/workshop, with divans, tables full notions and sewing accessories, and bolts of fabric leaning against almost everything. Bren sat on a space cleared for her by Hope. As the other girls tidied up, Fabulous left the room to fetch tea.

Looking around, Bren saw seven large statues, in eight recessed alcoves spaced evenly about the curved walls. The white marble over-sized figures were of beautiful women, dressed in stunning creations, accentuating their female forms while being demure and tasteful. As Bren looked at each, she recognized one instantly! Felicity and Manu, carefully admiring a bolt of gossamer fabric, startled at Bren’s exclamation, “That’s Dove!”


Carrying a tray of cups and a teapot, another woman entered the room, setting it on the low table in front of them. Pouring each of them a lovely cup of steaming lite-brown brew, the woman said, “I’m so excited, this is the first time anyone’s ever draped a Nascent Seraph. Smiling broadly, she leaned in saying, “I’ll admit, I’m a bit nervous!”

I’m sorry, who are you?

Looking at the girls, who busily added one lump or two, according to their sweet tooth, Bren turned back to the lady in front of her asking, “I’m sorry, who are you?”

“That’s quite alright dear, my name is Seraphina Gabriella Iolanthea…but, you may call me Fabulous!” However, the woman before her was not as tall at the lady they first met. More confusingly, instead of blond with with hazel eyes, this woman was brunette, with sea-green eyes!

Grace chirped “Isn’t she lovely, Bren? Fabulous, I love that look on you!” To which the other all agreed whole hardheartedly.

Manu asked, “Fabulous, do you have any more of those heavenly sweet cakes from the bread-maker’s apprentice? I’ve thought about them constantly since our last visit!”

“Oh, of course dear, yes indeed, I do have some. I’ll go and fetch them, just a moment!”

Bren sipped her tea quietly, wondering what was going on, hoping that someone would explain without her having to ask.


Looking over the rim of her cup, Brenzel admired the statue of a woman to her left, who looked to be African, dressed in a royal gown of yellow and red, with precious stones falling down from her headband like frozen raindrops, glistening in the light. Her mid-drift sported an amazingly intricate corset, obviously conforming to the ripples in her stomach, before yielding to her hips. Bren thought to herself, “I’ve never seen a woman with muscles like that.”


Returning, again – or maybe not – another woman sashayed in with a small mountain of pastries, to which all the girls squealed with delight. Elegant and thin, she was the epitome of refined style. Hair falling like a rich mane almost trailed to the floor. Her dress, reminiscent of a classical Greek peplos, shimmered and changed color slightly as she moved. Her eyes, the most remarkable Bren had ever seen, were violet and clear.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Manu said, apparently unaware that the women who served was different from the first two.

Fabulous, dear

Looking at Bren, guessing her next question, the woman serving said, smiling, “Fabulous, dear.”

“Oh, okay.”

Then the elegant woman, seeing that her guest was still squinting slightly, said, “I’ll lower the lights a bit, so it’s easier on your eyes. We don’t get many from Eden you know,” then looking quizzical, “. . .actually none, really, you’re the first one!”

As the well-lit room dimmed, the light in Bren’s mind turned on as she noted each woman had the same eyes, just different colors, and she asked, “Are you fabulous?”

“Of course, Love, who else would I be?” To which the girls giggled among themselves looking sheepish. Brenzel looked at them disapprovingly, thinking, “Okay, my pranksters, I owe you one now.”

Angel of Fire

(Lakota Tribe, Montana Territory, 1877)

Standing over the corpse of a fallen archangel, wings broken and body charred, a great inferno exploded around her as the forest ignited. Fire, greedily devoured thousand-year-old trees, reflected upon burnished armor. In her breastplate, a single red stone glowed blood-red, amplifying her malevolent intentions exponentially. Moving forward, gleaming feet crunched through charred skulls, some oozing with putrid, nauseating fluids, as she made her way towards the city below.

Leather-like wings of dragons, huge beasts of war, beat above her, raining down fire on everything in their path, slaves to her unbending will. Everything burned around her, though the heat did not affect her in the slightest. Originally a dense green forest, charred trees bent, splintered, and fell away to either side of her advance, clearing a road before the Angel of Fire.

Crimson death

In the distance, screams and popping sounds like fire crackers sounded incessantly. An army, made up of professionals and locals alike, advanced grimly upon her. “The last of it,” she thought, and waited until they rushed. Then a low, guttural sound rose from deep within her, building to an ear piercing crescendo, a scream so powerful that red, concentric shock waves fanned out, causing the remaining trees to whip like grass in a hurricane. The deadly crimson waves slammed into the army full on. More screams as thousands of men felt their flesh burn and peel from their arms and faces, bodies cooking within their own armor, roasting them alive. Falling like dominoes, it was all over in a minute. Nothing moved.

Sitting bolt upright, Wichapi couldn’t breath. Heart racing, starving for air, she clutched at her throat vainly. As the first deep gulp of air rushed into her lungs, she moaned and gasped, falling forward on her arms in the predawn light. Heaving, she began to scream, sob, weep, wail, as women from nearby tents rush into her, fearing the worst. Holding her down, they shouted, “wake up, wake up, it’s only a bad dream.” The Indian maiden fought them with the strength of a wild animal, throwing several against the tepee wall.


Every since Brenzel left, life hadn’t been the same. Wichapi felt like a ghost, a shadow of a person. Bren’s absence became a wound that wouldn’t heal, that sense of oneness with some special was cut, bleeding – and it hurt.

Chaska, unusually moody even for his dower disposition, became increasingly distant, too. Putting her hand on his big shoulder, she said, “I know you miss her too, brother,” but he just shrugged her off, grunting something under his breath, which she couldn’t hear, but meant, “Leave me alone.”

The dreams, always the dreams, came more frequently and with greater intensity now. Sometimes they felt more vivid than real life. Waking up most days past noon, Wichapi slept late. Each night she lay staring up at the stars through the tepee’s opening, desperately fighting off sleep, fearing what new horror her nightmares might reveal.

Screams in the night

Meeting Chaska by the river one day, he noticed the dark bags under her eyes saying, “Sleep flees from you my sister.”

At least, she thought with a sigh of relief, he was talking to her again. Wichapi replied, “I have bad dreams, I can’t sleep most nights.”

“What are these dreams like?” He asked.

Looking away, Wichapi confessed, “Most are too horrible to say. I am dressed in some sort of clothing I don’t understand, it is bright and hard. I’m in places I don’t recognize. It is always battle, though, much worse than anything I’ve ever imagined. The screams of the dying are everywhere, they torment me,” she finished.

Stepping closer, Chaska laid his hand on her arm as she began to weep. He took her into his arms as tears fell, her initial stiffness giving way to deep sobs of pain. Gently, the big Lakotan said, “I am sorry my sister, your burden is great.”


Feathers plated in his hair, fluttering in the breeze, Chaska confessed, “Ever since we fought the White Eyes, I haven’t slept well, either. I’ve been in many battles, fought many men, but I cannot be free of this one. I see them always. It wasn’t that they died; we all know that we might die when we fight, it was the terror in their eyes, like they had seen an evil spirit or a ghost.”

“Brother, you protected our people, what you did was necessary and you did so with honor.”

“No,” Chaska said emphatically, “there was no honor in what I did to those horse soldiers. I was wild with a lust to kill, to maim. It wasn’t war, Wichapi, it was butchering. I treat dead buffalo better than I treated them.”

Wichapi, not knowing what to say, remained quiet, walking slowly beside her troubled brother. Turning to Wichapi, her his looked at his sister intently, shaking slightly, saying, “There was an evil spirit in me, sister, and – I know it was you.”

The spirit of control

Cut to the heart, Wichapi said, “I’ve never tried to control you brother, I wasn’t myself when all that happened!” she pleaded, hurt at Chaska’s accusation.

Looking up at the sky where a hawk scanning looking for prey, the Lakota Brave said, “You are dangerous, Sister, you are losing yourself. Nothing seems forbidden anymore.”

Anger rising, Wichapi spoke in measured tones now, “My brother, please do not do this, you are the only one I have left in this world, the only human being I trust. Don’t abandon me.”

Chaska, tensing, said, “It is you who are leaving me. You are going where I cannot – where I will not – follow. I know there is good in you, but turn from this path you are on, it can only lead to sorrow.” Then, reaching out for her hand, taking it tenderly, Chaska said, “I promise I will not leave you, sister, but you are right, I am only human – you are something more. In my heart I fear that this power will destroy you and our people.”

The Indian princess, looking far away, said, “I know.”