While Cass wasn't famed for her optimism and upbeat nature, even she had to admit that her attitude lately had taken a turn for the worse. Death was constantly on her mind; killing people, to be precise. Not that she was planning to get an AK-47 and go postal, or anything, but the supernatural kind of killing that was markedly less bloody but markedly as permanent. The huge sheaf of her father's papers was being meticulously catalogued and indexed to aid in cross-referencing; it was an archaeological study spanning years, and although Cass valued her innate intelligence and natural aptitude for history, it was interspersed with scientific context and obscure references that, in short, made the study half-clear and terrifying, and half-incomprehensible. It dealt with the lost book of the Bibliotheca, an ancient and comprehensive account of Greek history - particularly the myths. As far as Cass had been able to make out, it had disappeared into private collections before resurfacing a few years ago, purchased by her father's museum with nobody aware of its significance. It was currently sitting on her coffee table in a cardboard box, and she was damned if she knew what to do with it. To return it, she'd have to hand over the research papers and her dad's notes - and those she knew she was keeping.
It was just after dawn when she woke up, plagued by a bad dream that was already fading - probably something to do with turning up to school naked. Wiping her face, Cass visited the bathroom and then made a beeline for her kettle, prepared to caffeinate rather than lie around waiting for a respectable hour in which to get up. Like most mornings, she drank her coffee sitting at the kitchen counter, a selection of the papers before her, some ringed shamelessly from old coffee mugs. Between yawns, she jotted down the bare facts of everything she'd gleaned so far, not quite able to find a reason for doing so, but not stopping, either. Her subconscious had already had a few thoughts in this direction, but for the time being, she wrote a neat summary, determined to lay it all out for herself.
The Bibliotheca manuscript concerns the Trojan War, including Cassandra of Troy, sister of Paris and in-law to "I'm so pretty" Helen. She was given the gift of prophecy, but cursed so that no one would ever believe her claims, because she pissed off a god and they were all dicks.
She paused to add another teaspoon of sugar, then continued:
In the famous myth, she was unable to prevent the war and got raped to death by Ajax, which makes me wonder why people romanticise Ancient Greece so much. The book, however, says that she caused the war. She had a vision of her brother's death and she prevented it from happening; without Paris, Troy wouldn't have been destroyed.
Forgetting about the coffee entirely, a frown creased Cass' face as she finished.
Nobody believed her warnings about the impending war because she'd averted her own prophecy after claiming Paris would die. Her family is slain and Ajax does indeed come after her with whatever mutant appendage that's supposedly capable of killing her, but instead she kills him with her brain and cuts open her abdomen. She allegedly uses her own blood to write a vision on the wall of the tomb:
She will rise from the ashes of her sire
to restore the true order of all things;
For death is she, as death am I.
To stand in the way of the Fates is to fall
And as surely as the living die,
your world shall drown in blood and fire
Trade not the lives of your kin
For the lives of your people.
As worrying as it had been to discover this information bit by bit, it was nothing compared to the sinking feeling Cass had now, seeing it pieced together and whole. This was only a fraction of the research, and maybe some of the translations were wrong - and the entire thing was a myth anyway. Despite these rational claims, though, she couldn't help but be rattled. Folding the paper over, and then over again - and then, in a nervous compulsion, folding it until it couldn't physically fold anymore - Cass left her cold coffee and grabbed her jacket. For the first time in days, she let down the mental barrier that kept her cut off from Alistair. They were just out of telepathic speaking distance, but as always, she knew exactly which direction to walk in.
Unsurprisingly, it was strange to know exactly where she was going while also wondering where it was she was going - a paradox, perhaps, but only linguistically. It was like giving an address to someone and having them arrive by GPS - the path to the destination is obvious, but the destination could be anything from an ice rink to a nuclear testing site. Hands in her pockets, trying uselessly to enjoy the mild weather, Cass followed the glow in her mind, entering a park she'd never been to but moving ahead without pause. By now it was clear that she was approaching, even though her mental shield was back; presence and proximity could never be hidden in the link. But she made no contact, simply locating him - without trouble - parked in one of the trees.
Pulling the notes from her pocket, Cass tested the grass beneath the tree - good; not soaked with dew as she'd feared - before sitting down and beginning to unfold it. Now she did contact him, her thoughts light as the brush of a feather, revealing little except a solemn, thoughtful mood. Come down, angel. I need... In all this time, she hadn't consciously accepted what she was chasing Fordren down for. Wincing, she smoothed out the paper and re-focused. I need your help with this.
