What's In a Name?
The small woman crept daintily across the span of dead Ygg...the stump stretched nearly a half-mile in her estimation, and sitting on the far edge was the Stickman, his feet dangling off the edge. He was named for the magic walking stick he bore, and she knew well the breadth of his cunning. He sang to himself...some pirate tune from the far side of reality, blissfully unaware of her stealthy approach. Twenty yards away she paused, and with a wave or her hands vanished, and in her place stood a dark knight, shrouded in shadow and bladed armor.
"Arise Stickman, and face your doom," the armored man called out, his voice a rasping whisper.
Stickman arose, startled, his green eyes wide in shock. But before he could move to attack, a pink blossom fully three yards across fell from above, pinning him to the mouldering surface of Ygg.
"Wretched thing," the small girl exclaimed, removing the fallen flower from her doll. With a wave of her hand, the doll stood up and its blank face again assumed the mischievous countenance of the Stickman.
"I know you, fiend, for you are the Blackthorn Knight," the Stickman continued. "I will not let you take me, as you have my brothers and sisters."
"Blackthorn Knight...," a man's voice called out behind her. "Stickman? Whoever could you mean, Dahlia?"
Annoyed, she turned to look at the dark-haired man, who bore more than a passing similarity to her illusory Stickman. In lieu of a response, she merely stuck her tongue out at him, and then turned and gathered her dolls. "Is it time to go already? I was just getting to like it here."
"We have to go, little one. It's not safe to stay here for long," he replied grimly.
"I don't want to. You all can go on ahead. I've decided to stay here," she explained, smiling slightly.
"You've decided," Caine asked, one eyebrow raised. "And what if I disagree with your decision?"
"Then you'll just have to catch me, Uncle," she stated, and with a sudden wave of her hands and fluted muttering, she transformed...in her place a large black horse, powerful and commanding. She galloped directly at Caine, who only avoided being trampled by diving to one side. Her flashing eyes were red as blood, and her white teeth were bared threateningly as she sped past him. A quarter-mile away she transformed again...into a crow, and began rapidly flying toward the woods adjacent to the meadow in which she had been playing.
Caine cursed and rose to his feet, chasing after her. Teresa had already taught her far too much in his opinion, and as she grew older she became more stubborn, opinionated, and impulsive, much as Fiona was as a child, save that her mother had been raised in a more civilizing Court environment. Dahlia was a child raised in the wilds of Chaos, and it showed in her fiery nature. As he reached the woods, he drew her trump and concentrated on it...he sensed she was near...and not fleeing. He returned it to his pouch and began moving deeper into the forest; she was nearby if his senses were accurate. Something fluttered near his left cheek, and he seized it instinctively. A white flower rested in his palm...a dahlia. It's scent was faint, and as he contemplated it, more fluttered down around him, until he was surrounded by a gentle rain of white petals. He looked up in the trees and spotted her, sitting on a high branch carefully tossing flowers down upon him. She smiled as their eyes met.
They walked back to the cottage, hand in hand. She smiled, enjoying the sun on her face...and her uncle's strong hand holding hers.
"Why are you always so serious, Uncle Caine," she asked quietly.
"These are serious times, Dahlia...sad times, too. I miss my home," he replied. "And I worry.... It's been six years since we came here, and we're no nearer to returning than when Ygg was destroyed."
"It'll be okay," she said earnestly, suddenly stopping in front of him and halting his progress. "We'll be okay, Uncle Caine...you'll take care of us. See," she asked, holding her closed fist to him, palm down. Caine reached out his hand to take her offering, a gentle smile in his eyes, and into his palm she dropped a rather muddy toad which promptly urinated in his hand.
"Got you!" she shrieked, and ran to the cottage door, stopping short when she saw Fiona standing there.
"The prodigal returns alight with laughter and mischief. From where did you get your whimsical nature, Dahlia? Certainly not from myself or your father. I suspect the faeries left you in place of another daughter," she chided gently.
"What's 'whimsical'?" Dahlia asked, carefully moving to position her mother between herself and a glowering Uncle Caine.
"Whimsical...whimsy...capricious...given to sudden humor and odd notions," Fiona replied. "Like you...."
The little girl paused, considering the idea. "Is it like laughter?"
"Laughter is an action, whereas whimsy is a quality," Fiona replied.
"Then I should be called Whimsy, just like Marsil calls herself Laughter," she exclaimed.
"Oh no, Dahlia is a perfect name on its own," her mother admonished.
"Mother," Whimsy glowered, suddenly quite serious. "I mean it."
And henceforth she insisted on being called Whimsy, though as years passed her nature grew less joyous, and the name more bitterly ironic.