"I'm scared."

There was something beautiful in looking at the devastating aftermath of the oceans rage, something almost fascinating about the havoc such a thing could bring while looking so peaceful, so calm, and so forgiving only to find it was anything but. And when it came to grisha and those who hunted them, Delia truly thought that many of them underestimated the allure of the tides, as if forgetting that it was the sea itself that plunged their ships into its dark abyss, that it was the waters themselves that drowned you to fill your lungs with hatred and ice for no other reason except that it could.

The sea was dangerous to those who didn't respect it...and Delia wanted that saying to apply to her alongside it. There was a part of her, hidden behind her too-large eyes and skinny limbs that were constantly shying away from those around her, that wanted to be something powerful, perhaps even more than that. She wanted people to fear her just like they feared the General, she wanted people to look at her and see past her lanky frame that bruised easily...and be able to feel the storm under her skin that would make the sky itself quake in terror.

But that desire was nothing more than that, a simple desire as reality took hold of her in its cruel grip that would hit her like a slap to the face, with the echoing memories of her dreams slicing her to pieces as she awoke each morning to hands that could barely move a singular drop of rain, and the hope of being powerful slipped from her grasp like sand falling between her fingertips.

She was a tide maker, that much was true, but there was just something about her and water that just didn't go together...which she supposed was rather ironic indeed. It pushed when it should of pulled, pulled when it should of pushed, it was like a stubborn horse that refused to tame until the young girl was ready to breakdown completely and tear her hair out in chunks, her arms trembling with the strain she'd force upon them, night after night as her heart pounded inside her prison of flesh and her blood rushed inside her ears, always so loud, always so consuming as the ocean simply cast out a single wave when she'd wanted a tsunami.

And at first, when she first arrived at the Little Palace, she and a few others tried to console her, making up explanations that she was just a late bloomer, that she'd get it eventually, that some things came easier than it did to others until finally they ran out of such excuses...and soon those looks that were once filled with pity and comfort when she was but a babe really, became cold and feigned ignorance as the whispers and the rumours grew louder. That she was broken, that she wasn't a grisha after all, that not even her powers wanted her, each saying getting crueler and crueler until Delia learned to keep her head down and bite upon her tongue until she could taste her own copper morality.

But when the comments and the overwhelming cruelty that burned like ice weren't about her abilities...or more accurately her lack thereof such things, they were about much worse things, things that even if she wanted to she couldn't control, and more so often that before, she wondered if the problem was in fact herself, and not other people, that she'd been born into the world to be unloved, to be a laughing stock to those around her, a scapegoat if you would to those who were far more important than a failed grisha...and sometimes it was hard to actually remember that her name was Delia and not, in fact, shu scum.

Her jaw clenched suddenly as that vile name breached to the surface of her concentration, pulling at her heartstrings and chest and making her fill with rage and grief...and then just like that, the small pond that she'd barely had levitating fell back down into the dirt below causing her to curse in frustration, wanting to scream and cry and kick like a child throwing a tantrum but thankfully still having some dignity not to fall into such displays. Especially considering that while the garden was deserted, she still didn't fancy running into someone who'd catch her meltdown in process and find another thing to bully her about.

In another life, in another world perhaps she'd be stronger, perhaps she'd show them all what happens when a child wasn't embraced by a village, when she'd burn it down just to feel it's warmth, she'd show them that they weren't made of blood but red sin, see if the saying was true, that blood truly was thicker than water as she'd made them bleed for their cruelty and spite because some days she wanted to spit out the mess that she was, sometimes she wanted to run away, and sometimes she truly did wonder why she stayed in a place that was meant to bring her comfort but had only brought her pain.

"Training again, are you?"

And then, seemingly without her permission, Delia found herself smiling as the dark moon shone over her like a promise of things to come in the haunting night that crowned it, peace restoring in the battered corpse she called a body and remembering her reason for her complacency like the answer had always been there, curled upon her tongue and singing for relief...and that simply was because she'd follow the girl with fire for hair and eyes so blue that the ocean itself was jealous to the ends of the earth and then more if she so wished it, for no more simple reason than she'd tailored her heart to love no other but hers.

A tensitive friendship that had blossomed from shared ignorance and being outcasts from things that had nothing to do with their violations or control over, one picked out and molded through callous hands to be something not here or there while the other was barely even anything of importance, only for that bond to grow stronger and firmer as the years passed and the desperate need for company soon dissolved into a simple need for each other in some strange absolution.

Sometimes, Delia was sure that not even the saints themselves could tear them away from each other as she glanced over her shoulder, grinning brighter than any lantern or star as she watched the familar face coming into view as she leaned over the wall, a rare shine of mischief in her beautiful eyes that were filled with strength that she could only pray would never leave, and she didn't hesitate to wander over towards her and help her climb down carefully, making sure not to dirty her up lest she'd never hear the end of it and then quirking a brow once she was on her feet beside her.

"And just what are you doing up?"

"Well I heard you splashing around obviously, do you have any idea what time it is?" Genya asked in some indignation, though in truth it wasn't really a question that she wanted answered, brushing some imaginary dust from her slim shoulders as she quickly followed after the tide-maker who'd began to walk back over to her rather pathetic puddle the moment she was sure her friend wasn't going to fall over from such a height, glaring down at the water as she felt that ash-like taste of frustration and hatred unfurl upon her tongue and make her throat burn as she looked upon the cause of her devastation and huffed quietly.

"Splashing seems to be a bit of an overstatement and I'm guessing late." She said dryly, kicking at the puddle with the tip of her boot before looking back over to Genya...only to freeze as she noticed something different about her which made her rather confused indeed. One of the many things she envied and adored about the girl was her immaculate dresses that would always manage to frame herself perfectly, like she was a princess who'd just wandered out of a fairytale and into her cursed life, which was why it was strange to see her without them. "And why are you wearing your kefta? I thought you said it made you look dull-"

"Not a word. I didn't want to get my dresses dirty and this was the only thing I didn't mind sacrificing." The red-head glanced down at her pale uniform with a slight twitch her her brow, brushing her fingers down the length of it and praying to every saint that she could remember that Delia couldn't see the slight tremors that moved over her skin every so often, unable to find it in herself to tell her friend the truth, desperate not to break their peaceful bubble they'd always found themselves in away from the cruel words and hands of others that were made to twist and maim and harm.

"What about that hideous emerald one-"

"I'd rather we didn't bring that monstrosity up thankyou very much." Genya sniffed dramatically, turning her nose up into the air as if she was one of those push lady in waiting she'd always run into at the palace, feeling relief settle in her bones at the change in subject as the tide-maker snorted in amusement, their shoulders knocking together as they shared a laugh under the silver moonlight that danced above them and bathed them in its beautiful glow. "But honestly, Delia, what are you doing up so late? I very much doubt you're going to use your abilities better when you're sleep deprived."

She froze, knowing that there was some truth in the tailor's words but unable to agree, not when that awful fear had seized her heart and reminded her of why she was put here in the first place, hoping against hope that this time would be different and the waters would finally bend to her will instead of slipping through her fingers like sand in clenched palms. "I head some rumours around the grounds this morning...apparently the general is going to be over-seeing training and- well, I don't want to be kicked out because I'm barely even a grisha so I came down here to-"

"He wouldn't kick you out! Who on earth told you something so stupid- actually don't answer that, I know exactly who it was."

Of course Genya knew who it was, the same person it always was. Zoya Nazyalensky was as powerful as she was cruel sometimes, thorns of venom that struck out from her skin and barbed at those who threatned to get too close like it was a sin, a crime, and honestly, the shu girl could no longer remember just what she'd said or done all those years ago to make her hate her so, just knowing that even now, she was still reaping the thorns that pulled at her skin until eventually she'd be stripped to mere bone. And yet, there was just something about the way the red-head had said it, like it was a joke, like it wasn't important or devastating that had her teeth on edge as she glared over towards her.

"Look, it's all well and good you being the queen's pet to the point where you can do no wrong, but some of us don't have that luxury, Genya! And yes, maybe he won't kick me out but when he see's how pathetic I am he'll make me-" She cut herself off before she could finish that thought, closing her eyes in frustration as her bottom lip wobbled in an effort to keep the tears at bay. How pathetic it was to want everything, to want to be powerful no matter what the consequences may be, and yet being as useless as a prayer to the ever ruthless tides that would never know the meaning of the word mercy.

But the tailor knew what she was going to say, her face twisting delicately as she squared her shoulders, refusing to allow her, intentionally or not make her feel like she was lesser for something she had no say in. "What? A servant? Come on, you can say it, I'm not ashamed because unlike some I know my worth."

Delia sucked in a harrowing breath that made her bones ache, feeling so awfully old and worn out and yet so young all at once, as raw as a wound and as painful as one too as she looked over towards her friend, her salvation and her cause for almost everything she did except the need for survival, trying to portray everything the girl felt for her in that one singular look full of sorrow and apologies as the shame of being seen as cruel as those around them consumed her viciously and she welcomed its guilt. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of that, I didn't mean to snap, honestly, I'm just...I'm just really scared."

"You shouldn't be! You're going to do fine." Genya promised, stepping closer to grab her hands and hold them her own, squeezing softly and rubbing her thumb over the ridges of the tide-makers knuckles as softly as she could, even going as far as to duck her head to stare into her shorter friends gaze properly as she slowly shared her smile, closing her eyes for a minute as she seered the moment into her memories desperately. "Now, why don't we go off to bed and get you some beauty sleep, saints knows you need some."

And then of course, the red-head had to ruin it as Delia's eyes snapped open as she gasped in mock offence, tearing herself out of her grip to cup some water in her palms and splash it over towards Genya as she squealed and laughed, quickly running away from her as she gave chase with a grin and another handful of water, deciding that whatever horrors the day would bring when morning came...she'd face them bravely, as long as she remembered who would be by her side throughout it all, because it was only then she was sure that she could conquer anything.
________________________________________________

The ground seemed to crunch beneath her feet, dry and crisp after an inferni had become out of control and burned the grass around them, hurried away to a healers tent where their burns would be treated while some of the more...experienced tide-makers got to work soaking the green once more, allowing new life to blossom over the charred remains as she watched them quietly, feeling that hint of her usual dark envy that clung as her insides and clawed it's way at her throat until she could feel herself ready to choke on her own misery and despair.

But honestly, she didn't feel half as jealous as she usually would, not when it turned put that the rumours were true and General Kirigan was stalking the grounds like an ominous ghost with unfinished business, dark eyes of blackened shadow staring into their very soul as he looked over them with hidden indifference, as if searching for something, someone new.

And what he'd do with that someone, Delia would never know, not with her lackluster abilities that hardly made her a grisha at all, but she did know that when the general took interest in those skilled few that seemed to win his favour through their own devastating sins...they were never the same. It was like he'd give them everything she had always wanted, power, amplifiers to hone it, status, fear...but all for the price of something far more harrowing and vile, it was like their souls were sucked out from their mortal corpse and left just their skills, their abilities, their strength but without being the people they once were.

So yes, it was safe to assume that she was feeling somewhat nervous in his presence, her gaze constantly flickering over towards him as he watched over them, watching as the tide-makers wandered towards the pond where the trainer had ordered them all to make specific shapes in an effort to showcase their flexibility in front of the General, like it was a show or something as equally humiliating...and eventually, the turn came to Delia, and even their trainer grimaced when she cast her eyes upon her, upper lip curling in something akin to embarrassment as she told her to make a circle which had everyone else giggling.

It was one of the easiest shapes to make, even the youngest of tide-makers could do it, and yet the shu girl still felt that awful desperation scratch at her slim wrists, flowing towards her fingers as they began to tremble and shake. You're going to do fine, Genya's voice spoke confidently inside her mind, looking at her like she always would in complete adoration, just don't do what you usually do and overthink everything, it seemed like easy enough advice except for the fact that they both knew it was a lie, and yet, her hands began to move once more, flowing into a familar pattern, calling the waters towards her as she focused on the tailor's voice.

And then the water began to move, shakily pulling away from the rest of it, rippling across the murky blue haze as she took a slow breath, twisting it around and around as it slowly began to grow smaller, shifting into a circular shape as she grinned brightly, hope unfurling in her chest like flower blossoms on a beautiful day, festering like a disease and making her wonder finally, if the secret to summoning and making was Genya's belief in her, her name, her devotion...but of course, her hope and desires were never meant to last.

The only warning she was given for the twist of fate was the howling winds rushing towards her, before she was blown off of her feet and into a pile of mud near the bank of the water, her face smashing against the ground as she skidded and crumbled, feel something thick drip down her face as crimson clouded her vision, her shaking fingers moving quickly to touch the open wound on her forehead of where skin had met rock.

"Careful there, half-breed...not even the dirt seems to want your kisses."

She didn't have to even recognize the voice to know who had spoken to her in such vile contempt as she looked up slowly, blood dripping down her sharp features until she could taste copper on her lips as Zoya smirked down at her, dark hair fluttering in the breeze and looking like a cruel goddess among men as laughter began to spark across the grounds at her misfortune including her trainer and some of the older grisha who had just come to watch, cackling and giggling at the mud-covered tide-maker who looked ready to start crying as she crumbled in on herself and looked back to this floor.

The laughter grew louder, ringing inside her ears like a haunting echo of a terrible thunderstorm, just getting more and more violent as her face twisted with sorrow, broken sobs spilling out from her lips that she desperately tried to keep at bay as humiliation and shame curled at her, taking her for all she had, sinking into her rot and threatening to tear her apart at the seams. She'd tried so hard, tried again and again and again until her whole body would ache, her fingers constantly filled with cramp and aches as she tried to force the water to do her bidding only to come up empty every single time, a failure, scum, nothing.

But there was a sudden whispering inside her, rage masking her pain as something flickered in her mortal being, like something was dying inside or taking over, withering and burning as it curled and sunk like ships do to the sea, rumours of god running through her dark blood as she stood up slowly, listening to the taunts that never left her as wrath mounted inside her, just mounting and mounting and mounting as she finally lifted her head to look at Zoya, feeling her blood pound in her ears, feeling it pump through her body, completely in control of everything and anything she did, keeping her moving, alive, and human.

Let's see what laughter can do to a person pushed far too close to the edge...and then let's see what hatred can undo as the laughter abruptly stopped in its tracks as something far more ominous took hold.

Because Zoya was no longer standing with her peers, nor was she smirking in triumph at her own terrible cruelty as she humiliated the shu girl again...because now there was nothing in her dark eyes of blue wickedness but fear as her body slowly bent and twisted into shapes that she had absolutely no control over sickeningly, like a puppet on a string, bowing to its master as she kneeled upon the muddy ground with a terrified whimper, hearing her blood squelch and feeling some agonising tugging inside her veins as her arms were forced up high in the air, her shoulder cracking, popping, crying in protest as it went higher and higher...before it suddenly snapped out of its socket as she howled in agony.

And just like a spell had been broken, everyone began screaming, looking at the horrible display that was all sorts of wrong in terror, healers rushing towards her, heartrenders trying to take control only to find something far more powerful in the works as her blood began to boil and she screamed again as her body was bent at the waist, forcing her up into the air as her back twisted and floated. She wasn't in control, she wasn't in control and what was worse was the fact that she was aware of everything happening, the pain keeping her awake and the terror of the unknown making her want to die.

Yet, as everyone was frantically moving around Zoya, trying to help, trying to get her down, trying to stop her from converting into those sickening shapes that no human could ever go into without being long since dead...General Kirigan was the only one who hadn't moved, had barely even breathed as he kept his gaze on the tide-maker who watched it all happen with a dark impassiveness in her eyes, but most importantly, her hands that constantly moved in front of her, like she was bringing her abilities forth...but there was no water moving or bending to her will, no...there was only blood.

Then someone rushed past her to get to the forming crowd, knocking against her shoulder and breaking her concentration as she grunted and fell, suddenly drained and exhausted as she pressed her palms against the ground, trying to keep herself up as her trance was broken, and then she looked up to the aftermath of chaos, staring wide-eyed and confused as everyone talked amongst each other, not sparing her a glance as they hovered around the sobbing Zoya who was holding herself in an embrace that hurt, feeling completely and utterly violated that her own body was turned against her, unable to forget the feeling of her own flesh twisting and moving.

Delia let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, her gaze slowly wandering down to her hands, her hands that were steady, that were pale...that felt alive with something she couldn't explain as she flexed her fingers, gasping quietly at instead of their usual pain and cracking that held her prisoner, there was nothing but blissful silence...it was like her whole body was singing in bliss.

But then she paused, feeling like something or someone was watching her, gazing right down into her ruined and wretched soul that had been torn apart by strife and desires, and then she trailed her eyes that looked almost red above her to find General Kirigan staring her down, dark eyes looking at her with something almost hungry in those ominous depths of shadow that made her skin crawl as she panted for breath, her heart pounding and lurching in horror...before the corner of his lips curled into a smirk, and then in the blink of an eye he was gone, leaving her there as more and more grisha surrounded the grounds with questions.

However, Delia couldn't bring it in herself to move, still staring at where the shadow summoner had stood mere moments ago before looking back down to her hands that remained steady and strong...because, as it turned out, the saying was true...blood truly was thicker than water.