Dies Irae

This is something I got in my mind, which wouldn't leave. I hope you enjoy it.

Jaune looked nervously at the message on his scroll, the contact that had been in his address book for nearly fourteen years standing out, the last message of the woman, if she truly was a woman, speaking of an opportunity for him. He knew that it might be too good to be true, too good to be real… yet he desired to be a huntsman, like his grandfather and his father… and even his great-great-grandfather.

As he pushed open the door that led towards the lobby of the fancy hotel, which did not look like it was going to be allowing any scruffy seventeen-year-olds, he looked at the décor, which was upper-class, most definitely in the highest income bracket. Renting a room here for a night would wipe out his own finances, and he mentally wondered how this meeting would go.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for the room of Selene Umbra." The desk worker at the reception looked at him, her glasses sitting on her nose, lending her a strict appearance. The woman scowled at him, yet picked up the phone.

"Miss Umbra, there is a young man here, asking for you." The woman's eyes looked at him with disdain, the hoodie that he wore boldly showing the Pumpkin Pete bunny symbol, the armour he had managed to scrounge up on the cheap from a Huntsman store having been stored in the cheap hotel that he'd booked, ever since getting to Vale. "Of course. I will wait for your assistant." The woman fixed him with a look as she set the phone down, her gaze not in the slightest bit changed. "Miss Umbra's assistant will be here for you in a short while. Take a seat and I will direct him to you."

The woman focused back upon the work that she was doing, leaving him to stand there, wondering briefly whether he should do as she asked, spotting a set of comfortable seats just a short distance away, making his way there, unsure whether he should just take a seat, sitting down upon one of the sofa's. 'This is definitely not what I expected…'

He had expected perhaps a casual meeting at a café, the older woman with who he had been chatting for nearly thirteen years looking perhaps a little frumpy, like one of those aunts who always coddled you. He expected, from her own descriptions that she would be looking perhaps a bit fitter than most.

"Are you Jaune?" The man's voice drew him out of his thoughts, as he looked up, a bearded man's face staring back at him, a set of implacable eyes peering at him. It was a surprise to see a man of that size here, and he gulped.

"Y-yes, sir. Are you the one that Selene sent me?" The nod from the man was enough.

"Follow me. I will lead you to the room that she occupies." The man's voice was calm, without any sign of emotions in it, as he led him along, the man's body clad in a suit that fit him well, for his stature.

Jaune watched several of the upper-class people here scoff at him, a pale-haired girl wearing a white dress surrounded by several older gentlemen, a man who had one of the worst moustaches that Jaune could ever imagine, standing at her side. 'Really, a red handkerchief? What is he? Some sort of asshole with his new girlfriend?'

"Please enter." The man said, standing at the door and opening it up with the keycard that he slid through the slot, the door opening slowly, and allowing him entrance.

He stepped into the room, even as he let his eyes search for the woman that he expected. "Jaune."

The woman who spoke stood at the window, her hair done up in a simple ponytail, her pale skin clearly contrasting, as she was faced away from him, a long black dress covering her body, even as she turned around. Blonde hair moved, a shimmer in the air, even as she approached, a set of deep blue-green eyes meeting with his own, a faint smile on lips that had been painted a cherry-red, their motions almost sensual. 'This is the nice woman who you talked to every day for the past fourteen years…'

"You look… handsome." The woman's words sounded hesitant, even as she let her eyes go over his body. "Not as expected." He wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or not. She stopped, standing before him. He noticed that her assistant had vanished, leaving the two of them standing there. "Please, take a seat." She laid a hand on him. Her skin was as cold as ice, as her eyes seemed to… shift? They seemed to flash a bright red for an instant, inhuman and cold and dark in their expression, but soon regained that interesting characteristic.

"So… you're named Selene?" He guessed, even as she led him to a comfortable and soft-looking couch, seating himself there upon her urging, even as a tray with tea sat there on the table. A delicate hand grabbed the tea-cup, raising it. "It's a pretty name, I mean… you're pretty."

Her lips formed what seemed to be a smile, as she raised the cup, gently blowing over the surface of the tea, which had already been poured beforehand. "Thank you for the compliment, Jaune."

Her voice sounded distant, as if things were weighing on her. "You were a constant for fourteen years. I'd expected someone… different? Older?" The laugh that she gave sent shivers down his spine, if only for the fact that she looked like she'd just strolled casually out of one of the dirty magazines that Saphron kept around, the one with girls doing stuff with girls and not really…

"I am older than your mother… But I suppose." The woman paused, as an expression came to her face, her gaze cast down. A look of conflict arose on her face, as she took a deep breath. 'Come on… Do something Jaune. You've made your friend sad.'

She was a friend, tried and true. She was someone who had listened to child him talk about how annoying it was to have older sisters, she had offered advice in dealing with the bullies who came to hurt him, had been a friend when there had been a need for that. "Jaune… Arc." The name rolled off his tongue, even as she looked at him.

"That's my name, fully. Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue and apparently, the ladies love it. I thought I'd… do that introduction thing. Just to make things formal and such." The blush on his cheeks was enough as an expression flickered onto her face.

"Jaune…" An envelope appeared in her hands, placed on the tray between them, the woman's body looking as fit as it could be. "Here are the transcripts that will get you entry into Beacon." The words of the woman were soft, with a dark rumble that seemed to go through it when she spoke that word. His dream… and everything that came with it, all in a single envelope.

He had told her of his dream, more than once… and now, she had achieved entry into that institution. "I don't know what to say… I mean… Thank you so much. You are a really kind woman." The laughter that came from her mouth was cold and distant, as if the concept of being a kind woman was something anathema to her.

"I have slain more people than you would ever think existed, Jaune." The words were dark, laden with the harsh truth, yet he could not see it. The woman must be making a joke, must be trying to scare him off.

"And you're still warm enough to provide a young man with a dream a chance to have that dream fulfilled. That doesn't sound like a killer's nature to me." He threw back at her, and a complicated expression came to her face. She seemed to stop breathing for an instant, swallowing heavily.

Technology marched onwards. She could still see the windmills churning away at the water, grinding the grain into flour, before the bakers would bring it to become bread. A delicate process, often disturbed by the Grimm, who bore the will to destroy everything. A moment, trapped in time, even as she looked at the strange device in front of her. "What is this?"

The man who offered it to her was one of her followers, a brilliant doctor of Atlas, exiled for his experimentation with creating the perfect… thing. She wasn't up to date with things, yet had seized her opportunity after one of the papers that had been brought in by Tyrian had spoken of his deeds in the field of 'robotics', whatever that was.

"It is a device with which you can communicate. Due to the modifications to your palace, we have reception here. It will allow you to communicate with people across the world, with but a flick of the button. It is called a 'Scroll'." The man's words were simple dressing, even as she turned the strange device over, looking at it. It looked like a simple writing slab, the glass-like surface enough of a distraction for her, even as light bloomed into it. 'So… this is technology. It does not look like any of the scrolls that our noble father had to detail his land.'

Scroll Network Access. Enter Username:

"And what, Arthur, do I do with this… thing?" The question was voiced in the most delicate of manners, as her finger brushed over the screen, the screen changing. 'Curious…'

"You have to set up an account, through providing a username. Please… pick whatever you wish." Her fingers tapped on the small white bar, letters appearing below the screen. "Ooh." She tapped the name that she desired, filling it into the bar – Salem Alexandria Luxuria Eva Majesticus, Queen of the grand reaches, monarch of the endless sea, bright as the light of stars and bringer of peace – the official title that she had held as the princess of her nation. Her father had been sure to bestow it upon her, after the brutal death of his guards.

The name which had been gloriously exalted in the time during her… first love. Anger blossomed inside her heart, as she pressed the screen again, a red bar coming on the screen – 'Username invalid.' – frowning slightly. "Why does it not work? That is my name, is it not?"

She desired to smash the insolent little device, to break it open and to bust it to dust… yet something stopped her. "Your Highness, please… The technology is not ready for the glory of your name." He glanced at the name, then up at her. It was not often that people read her name. It was her divine right to rule, yes. "Please, enter a shorter name. Maybe add a title?"

"Of course… I see." She tapped something shorter, the name entered in the field immediately. "This works, yes?" The man nodded, and she pressed the big round button.

"If you wish to contact with others, press the…" The explanation went over her head, yet she nodded along. The Grimm were easier to control. Their urges and her own aligned, most of the time. She just needed to know whether she could contact others… As speaking with only a few of her followers grew dull and trite.

"It… it connected?" She tilted her head to the side, the ornaments clicking lightly. 'What is a profile picture?' The shrug she gave was enough. 'Does it really matter? Ozma would not find me so easily with THAT name.'

"You can now speak with thousands of people across the Kingdoms. The CCT network ensures that you will have the best and brightest connection, with our own receiver giving you the greatest line into the Scroll network." She smiled, even though the man's countenance changed lightly, the man taking a step back. "Charge it within the charging station, your Majesty. It will eventually run out of power, as indicated by the little battery there." The man tapped the spot, which read 99%... and had the most curious image. 'Hmm…'

"You are dismissed. I shall personally explore this 'Scroll' at my leisure. Please convey to Tyrian that he is to train little Cinder for the week." It was a generous offer, yes. One week of her absence would make the girl more pliable to the lure of power, after her Faunus associate would ensure her will to remain as fierce as it could be.

'Ahhh… To have children of my own.'

Three hours later, she was engaged in an interesting conversation with a child on the nature of the sun and the moon. She was not speaking in the most elegant of words about the natural phenomenon, yet the concept that the moon was made out of cheese had her darkly amused. 'It would be silly to admit… but the child has earned its fantasy. Just like…'

A glance at her username, at the name that she had chosen out of honour of her eldest daughter – Selene -, a memory coming to her mind as she watched the screen, waiting for the response.

'Mommy! Mommy! Why is the moon all broken and busted? Daddy said that it is because a dragon ate it.' Her fingers traced through the snow white hair that fell lustrously from her scalp, her eyes looking at the girl as she tugged on her dress, trying to captivate its mother's approval.

'Because the moon was made out of cheese and the big bad dragon took a bite. Now he will be smelly like cheese for all eternity, my heart of hearts.'

She could feel a tear slide down her cheek. Aside from the burning need for vengeance, she could not feel a thing… yet the emotion that surfaced within her only ignited her hate for Ozma once more. His current meat puppet would soon realize the plans that she had concocted for him… yes.

"Mommy said that it is logical that we only can have one slice of cheese on bread… Why is that?" The question was silly, yet she entertained it mentally. 'It would be bad to over-stuff one's face? Really?'

It was… almost a little like being a mother again, speaking with the young boy. He seemed to be inquisitive, asking the questions that flittered into his mind like the brief flutters of butterflies, working to bring him enlightenment. "Because your mommy knows that you will be full after eating one slice, Jaune."

The first sentence between the two of them had been… less than formal. The simple – "Hello! My name is Jaune and I am nearly four years old!" – had been written in a childish manner, yet… it was the first time that someone had talked to her in such a manner, on this strange device.

The time passed, the boy allowed on the Scroll only for two hours in a day. Questions had come, obviously from the mother, inquiring about her circumstances and the like, no doubt in an effort to protect her darling little boy from any predators. 'The biggest predator is speaking to your boy…'

As the boy's sixth birthday had come, she had sent a present, after sending out Tyrian in order to find a suitable child's toy. It was the enthusiastic 'Thank You!' that she got from the child that brought out a smile in her, as she could imagine the emotions of the boy's mother, as the gift had been something simple. A toy 'motormobile', or some-such. Cart and horses were apparently no longer 'suitable' for children of this age.

For the boy's tenth birthday, she had gifted him a certificate for instruction in the art of dancing. Every child should learn how to dance, after all… and his sisters apparently took pleasure in him being able to dance. It was amusing to her, how easily things passed on to her little conversational partner, as he spoke at length about his worries that he might not be a good dancer. 'The money would ensure lessons proceed as smoothly as possible. A young man has to learn how to woo a lady upon the dancefloor.'

Selene Umbra was, in his eyes, a woman around fourty. She was of course, much older than she posed to be, yet the mother seemed to be content with the fact that there was someone looking out for her son.

Sitting opposite the boy in a comfortable throne-like chair with leather armrests, she could see the features that had been shrouded before, clear now. She had allowed Watts to bring her a general summary of the boy, of his family's history, omitting the picture, as she preferred to form her opinions on his features when meeting, a slight carry-over from her training as a royal. 'There are no pictures of our nobles… so you will form your impression by sight, Salem. It is imperative that you learn how to spot deceit, without impressions beforehand.'

The words were cold and distant, from a father whose bones had been dust for millennia. Looking at his embarrassed self, she could see a spectre of her daughter sit there. Her hair as blonde as it could be, her eyes looking nervously at her mother… at the one who had raised her and had brought her joy…

For an instant, there was no Jaune Arc. There was only Selene Ozma Majesticus, daughter of Salem and Ozma, the eldest one… and she could feel her heart burn at the yearning that came welling up from deep inside her. She felt the need, as her eyes caught sight of that face, that eager, young face, looking at her with wonder, her heart throbbing, even as she felt the need… the urge.

"Jaune…" his words about fulfilling a dream had struck her, like a punch out of the blue, her whole body tingling suddenly, the illusion that shrouded her true features from being seen, replaced with a facsimile of what she truly looked like. For a moment, he looked different, a man who had been upon the field of battle, looking up at her with those angry eyes.

'Julius Arc.' Her voice was but a whisper, as she stared at the man. His blade and shield were there, even though his lower body had been half-torn by the claws of the Ursae that still milled about. 'A pleasure… I suppose.' A calmness in her soul, even as the man looked up at her with his eyes brimming with that hateful urge.

'You'll never win! His Majesty knows best! He has-' The pained scream was enough, as the power welled up inside her and lanced through the man's chest, leaving his blade and shield to fall to the muck, a scream of 'You killed father!' sounding, a young man wielding what seemed to be a combat-shifting mace, one of those newfangled toys that had been cropping up more frequently, definitely unable to pierce through her own defenses…

Nothing could kill her. Nobody could imprison her. She was inviolate, all because of the curse… because of this Gods-damned affliction that prevented her from joining her once-beloved husband in death. What good would come of this? What…

The young man was blown away, even as she rose into the air once more. The mortals who had been given the powers that she and her husband had long-since held dominion over, were all abuzz. Their existence was as an eyesore… Four. It had to be four, just to spite her. The daughters that she had once cherished as much as her husband, the daughters who were dead because of Him…

"Salem." His voice, his face different, his hair longer. His eyes carrying within it that hate for what she had become, that hate that she could not understand… He didn't understand that she did it for HIM. She went to the Gods in order to save him…

"Ozymandias." Her voice was cold, detached. The man's sword and circlet shimmered with powers beyond that which she knew, the scepter at his side like an ornament… and yet, there was this oddness in the air, a pungent scent…

The girls next to him were different in skin tone and in colouration, yet she knew the powers well. Maidens…

More sacrifices to the long list of people who had been slain.

She snapped back to her current situation, as she looked at the young man, who had spoken those words… those words of hope, of joy of being able to go to that damned school… and one which reminded her so much of… of happier times.

Within her, the lust to destroy and corrupt was as fierce as her dedication to breathing. The moments of solace with Ozma, the moments where her ego had taken the second spot next to him… the moments when she had loved him and gazed upon him as he played with their children… "You're crying."

It was as if she had been struck by thunder, his eyes looking concerned, his hand reaching out to brush the… 'am I crying?' tears away from her cheek, the touch of his hand warm… so warm. 'When have I cried last?' The hope inside her heart was something that burned and flickered, even with the sensation of that hand. "There, not you've got no more tears. A pretty woman such as you shouldn't be crying."

It was… childish. It was… clumsy. There was no veneer of dishonesty, no skilful quip that the boy could have given, yet her heart, dead to the nuances of romance and love for millennia, beat a mite faster. Her eyes looked at him and she could hear…

'Mommy? Are you crying because of daddy?'

The look of worry on her eldest was like a balm to her as she looked out over the domain from the highest tower of their castle. The wind tousled her hair, the marks on her soul not even starting to heal. It had been an argument about the commoners below them, about their amenities… something silly. The tears just kept on coming…

'No, mommy is not crying because of daddy, Selene."

Her voice was gentle, as she had learned over the years, her voice like the silky softness that belied her powers. A practised voice, guaranteed to lure pawns to her for dominion and seductions of power.

'Mommy is just…'

She paused. The child was five. She could not understand the difficulties of being a queen.

'A little bit emotional. It happens when mommy is happy too.'

A child would not understand the nuance of the words. The hidden depths. She felt the small hand grab her own and then squeeze it, her heart lifted once more, the seductive whispers to slay her children, to bring endless death to this land, to destroy its fertile fields always coming to her, yet she smiled, brushing the tears away.

'Mommy is happy to have such a wonderful daughter like you. Come… off to bed with you. Mommy won't like it when you're all sleepy. We've got lessons in statesmanship to go over tomorrow.'

It had been the last night before that fateful one… when he had taken away HER children. "Are you okay?" The boy's worried tone reached her ears, and she smiled. 'My help will aid this child in achieving his dream.'

"Jaune…" She sat herself down, looking up at him. He wasn't the icon of masculinity that her husband had been. All rugged features, muscles that allowed one to rub over them and wipe the sweat off with a cloth… or a tongue. No… He had more of an innocent charm about him, full of trust, full of belief… Confidence, sure… Yet it was false, like a mask. Fears and doubts and hopes and dreams…

"Sit on my lap." Her voice was clear, and he obeyed. Whatever ingrained response had been made by his elder sisters, it demanded obedience to her words, and he sat down. His posterior definitely needed definition, yet she laid her head against his back. He was taller than she was, by a margin.

'I love you, mommy.' The words came from a girl's mouth, mimicked by her other daughters, their cheerful smiles enough… and she noticed that she had another leakage of her tear ducts. "Could you… Could you call me Mama?"

Her voice sounded pathetic, weak and sniveling, like some woman caught in the trenches of emotion, even as he turned to her. She had expected confusion, fear or something else in his eyes, but instead… she saw something else. Understanding, regret… hope? 'I love you too, sweethearts.'

"Sure thing." The words were simple, even as he turned around, awkwardly. His knee hit her in the side, even as he sat on her lap, facing her. An awkward position, yet she knew that he had been the 'baby' when the elder sisters played house. An embarrassing tale, and she had heard it all from the young boy who had grown into a teen. 'I miss you, my children…'

"You've lost children, haven't you?" It was the most private thing that she had. Nobody outside of Ozma knew. Nobody would ever know… unless by divine intervention.

"How did… How did you know?" She sounded pathetic. Nothing like the Witch who had bore danger and fear towards the populace for nearly a hundred years.

"One of my sisters is studying to be a psychologist." An anonymous donation to the family. The girl's dream realized, due to his own sadness for her lack of options. It had been a favour, done without thinking. Money was trivial, after all. "They all know of you, I mean… Hard not to. You've been talking with me for so long."

"I had a husband, once." 'Why? Why do I tear open this wound?' He smiled, as he hugged her. She froze, an expression on her face of weakness. 'If the illusion breaks… he would be aghast. He would call me a monster…' "We did not part on… amicable terms."

"He's a fool for giving up on you… Mama."

The words were like thunder, blasting away all the thoughts in her mind. She was openly weeping now, the pain within her heart rising once more, as she remembered the pain of seeing the toy that her daughter had been given for her birthday, only a week before, singed by the release of their powers. The little bodies, half-crushed under the masonry that had been the roof…

'Ozma!'The yearning was there, and she could still see their faces, even as the face of her once-husband had changed with the years… yet those eyes remained the same. "It's okay to cry."

Her hands grabbed his head, cradling it within her grip. She could feel the desire within her to kill, to maim, to destroy and pervert… and she looked into his eyes. The illusion had been stripped away after a moment, as she looked at the boy, the pale skin featuring the veins that had been laden with the essence of destruction, the pool of the dark brother having left its mark upon her body. "Even if you look a little different… You're still someone I care for." The words were so similar to those words that her eyes leaked.

"Take…" She wasn't even thinking, as her finger went to her lips, teeth digging into the digit, the pain a mere afterthought, even as dark blood flowed from the self-inflicted wound. She could feel the healing immediately kick in, yet she willed it not to close, to leave the wound there where it could be used. "Take my blood. Drink it."

A covenant, like the one that Ozma would give to his perversions of HER daughters. One that no man or woman under her dominion would ever achieve… For the past, for the present… for the future. "Of course, mama." The words were so gentle, yet he seemed hesitant to do such a thing. Her eyes softened as she knew his hesitation.

"It'll be okay… Jaune." Her voice was like the soft lure of death, the delicate seduction of those who had come before. Hesitation showed on his face, as he looked at the pale finger, the rich red blood clotting together into a single drop. 'Enough to destroy a kingdom…'

He did so, and the moment that his lips wrapped around her finger and he sucked, things changed. Skin turned paler than regular, and the teeth bit down into her flesh, even as her other arm wrapped around him. "Hush, my beautiful child. Mama is here." The words were of comfort, uttered to the young man upon her lap, the yearning for a child to hold there, maternal instincts aware. "It will be okay."

He shivered and shook, his eyes showing pain and fear, yet her brilliant crimson gaze met with those blue ones, even as the darkness of destruction seared through his flesh and bones, the teeth that dug into her fingers once more bringing more of the blood forth… the blood that had been corrupted with infinite destruction. His body changed colours once more, skin flushing a bloody red, a low moan coming from his mouth. She held his body, shushing gently the boy who had managed to wrench open her heart.

"My sweet child…"

She rubbed her head against his cheek, the feeling of his skin growing cold and the shakes ceasing, even as he inhaled quicker and quicker, hyperventilating under the stress of the darkness. It was far lesser than that which she had suffered, during that deep dark plunge, when hair had turned to ashes and her skin had turned to alabaster.

"Hurts…"He said, a pained whimper that let sensations furl in her, as she softly ran a hand through his hair. The loose style in which she carried it now was far less maintenance than the bun that she preferred formally… but there was a reputation to be carried.

"It's okay… Mama is here."

A gift for the young man desiring to become a hero… Even as he thrashed and quivered, the leaking fluid from his groin already showing that he had lost control over his bladder. She was not deterred in the slightest, as a loss of one's own bladder function was to be expected.

"Mama gave you a gift… My little Jaune."

The gift was one that she had never given to another… Yet now, with the kinship that she felt to the young man, the one who had reminded her so much of the daughters that she had lost, she had bestowed it.

Magic.

The Power.

He quietened down after nearly five minutes of shivering, his body surprisingly strong enough to take the essence of destruction, her features already as her minions knew her, a look on his face of horror, pain and agony.

"Hush my child…"

Her voice was matronly… which was a far cry from how it had been before. Aware of the fact that he had wet himself, she smiled indulgently at him. "Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?"

The newfangled technology was something that she would need to use… eventually, but she knew how to draw a bath. The blue knob was cold, the red one was hot. Making sure that it filled up with plenty of warm water, she stripped the boy, her gaze walking over the flesh of the young man, her fingers going over the crisscrossing veins that had blackened ever since she had given him the gift. 'A man who is upon the cusp of maturity…'

As he sank into the water and looked at her with those eyes that were still caught in that half-horrified state, she smiled. "I'll get something that fits you."

"Mister Watts." The voice of the scientist came from the speaker of her Scroll as she placed the call whilst she strode out of the bathroom, the man entering the room a moment later, taking notice of the way that she was dressed… as well as the stains. He knelt before her though, as most servants ought to with their queen. No amount of hubris could lower HER standing amongst her minions, her pawns.

"Would you be so kind as to have these clothes laundered, post-haste?"

What the man thought was not something that she would worry about. Her attire might be dirtied, yet she was a woman of standards, the man nodding without any thoughts visible, even as she shed the dress casually, the scientist knew better than to look, the bathrobe that she had kept in a hand ever since leaving, donned. "It will be done, my lady."

"Good. Mister Arc will be here for… another four to five hours. Maybe the night. We shall see how well he survives." The man hesitated for a moment.

"My lady, with the boy... What do you intend?" The question hung there, as she thought.

'What do I intend with the young man?'

"Cinder may be entering the Vytal Festival through Haven… But it never is wrong to have one's own pawn in another place, in order to ensure that plans come to fruition." The boy was unskilled and untrained. Not even the first lesson of accessing the power within him would be easily done.

"Do you think that Ozpin would suspect a clumsy young man whose heart's desire is to become a Huntsman?"

"Why… of course not, my lady." The man seemed to think on the suggestion that she had offered, coming to his own conclusions as to the reasoning behind it. A novel thing, she supposed, yet she was more than aware that the truth laid in a different direction.

'A child to care for as if it were my own…'

She watched the man take the clothing, in order to get them cleaned. It was to be expected, really, that there would be some effect from her unveiling her true form… as the man had undoubtedly noticed. None of them would look at her as if she were a woman… but the boy…

The boy had called her Mama. It had been genuine, straight from the heart… honest.

When the day of her wrath finally came, it would be magnificent… and those pale imitations of her daughters would fall before the wrath that she incarnated within her child.

'Jaune Arc… You will be one of the only ones who holds my appreciation.'

Children could be willful against their parents, she knew… But she was going to make sure that the boy knew how to face the world with the inch of power that she had bestowed upon him.

Jaune x Salem. It's something that I decided to write after seeing Volume 6 and going like 'Hmm…'.

Today also marks my late father's birthday, so eh… this is a poignant story, with a dash of additional sadness. Here's a poem, dedicated to my father. I wrote it after I finished this chapter.

Father

You would have turned seventy and one,
Your smile so great as usually is the case.
I had given you something silly last year,
But this one, I would've liked to see you still.
You're parted from us now,
my life void of your laughter and support.
My hand, never to touch yours again.
To feel the scars on your palm,
to know what it is like to be a real man.

I am so happy with the years that I've spent,
I am so happy that you gave me the time and love,
You've gone now from this world for nine months,
Never to come to me again in hope of a cake,
you liked the things that I liked to bake.
I've not made much progress,
the pain is always here, so I digress.

I miss you, dad. Whenever I think of you, I grow sad.
It's been a time since I've started to write these stories,
to write the hurt away.
To make people feel some joy in their life,
to explore a world in dismay.

I'm so proud of you. You were one of the pillars of my heart,
now I'm still alone in my own home,
what has once been whole, now broken into a single shard.
This story is sad, you probably would have cried.
It's one that's about a mother who had lost it all,
whose children and lover have died.
There is but one thing that I would like to say, dad…
I love you. Always.

I cried when I wrote the poem. I hope that you'll forgive me for writing it out, but I just figured I'd share a little of the love that I have for my father to you all. To everyone who has lost a beloved parental figure in their life, a brother or a sister… Know that you will always remember them in the best way. I write to make the pain less and well… Most of my stuff is pretty dark and realistic. Not quite to everyone's tastes, but… Yeah.

Gotta keep my head in front of it (Rough translation from the Dutch), because the future is built by my hands.

I hope that you've enjoyed Dies Irae's first chapter. Salem is definitely a character that I'd like to see more backstory on (aside from the whole origin story). Updates for Dies Irae will be sporadic. The dance of tigers and the massive undertaking that A Grimm Tale is (Which will probably hit 1 million words at the end of the 4th volume) keep me well-occupied.

Have a very pleasant day and leave a review, if you wish. Thank you for reading this first chapter.