The sword is heavy. Thick steel formed into a wide blade, with grooves along it still wet with fresh venom. Even holding it by the long haft feels awkward, the handle wrapped in cords of leather. Smears of blood, old stains and fresh, stretch along the edge, nicked and a little jagged in places from years of use. It is the weapon of a warlord who bore the title more truely than most, and scant moments ago was bent on ending Lilac's life. A piece of steel that many bled out their lives on. Lilac carries it down into the Temple of Being alone, the sounds of battle distant as she descends into the fleshy caverns. They're different now… still and quiet. The phospheresence still lights patches of the tunnels, but they are hardening and whitening even as Lilac walks along.

Lilac is tired and worn, and more than anything, sad. She had tried and tried, but for all her fighting she couldn't save the Temple of Being. She wonders if she ever could have saved it; by all appearances, the orb was its heart. Without its power, the Temple of Being could not be. As she walks, she drags the massive glaive behind her, it too heavy for her to lift properly. It's her marker, her memento. A tombstone to a being unfathomable, nearly forgotten – except her.

The floor beneath Lilac feels drier and harder than before. The pools of standing liquid seem to be largely gone… it's like walking on leather in most spots, and where the blooms have spread the most, it feels like bone or chalk. The spreading change creeps along heedless of Lilac, the tunnels dimmer despite the whitening where the change swallows patches of the Temple's glow. She can still make out structures… here, an eye hardened into an opaque swell, there a valve sagged open and froze into chalk. Still, there's enough light to see by as Lilac walks further in, the many strange tunnels converging as they had before toward the Temple's heart.

The sword's heavy, but Lilac goes on. Her arms ache from carrying it and fighting so hard. She still has blood and bodily fluids all over her. It's a lot like the last time she came here. Her dealings with the Temple of Being have never been clean, or simple. I know, I shouldn't even be here, she tells herself, that little voice in her conscience that reminds her what the Temple did to her, did to lots of people. But I can't help it. It's so sad. Did it just exist, just for that orb? It's mother was nothing but that sphere, heartless. It's really nicer than it ought to be, isn't it? Looking around, she notes the calcification with a an aching frown. "Poor you," she whispers.

Eventually, Lilac finds the intersection of those many tunnels. There is still a pool of water, or water-like fluid standing here. The walls are paler, but still fleshy, and above the cluster of eyes still carry a sheen reflecting the phosphorescence that remains, though the eyes are cloudy and milky now. What's gone is the movement, the pulse of living walls and subtle shift of the Temple's body.

Lilac walks to the center of the room, and looks straight up. It's dead, she tells herself, feeling an aching sadness. "I'm sorry," she tells the mass above her, "I'm really sorry! I tried, I really did. It wasn't enough, I don't even know if I could have stopped it, whatever I did. Mother was just this … this orb. I'm sorry, I'm sorry you didn't have a real mother, that no one cared about you, except to use you." She hefts the sword, putting it edge down so she can lean on it. "I brought this for you," she tells the quiet room. "It's a … a memento, a grave. For you. So you'll be remembered, even if it's just by me."

The sword rings slightly on stony floor, the sound echoing slightly in the chamber. Lilac can see herself and Beshret's blade reflected in the glassy, sightless eyes above, even despite the dimming as the calcifying creeps over patches of glow. There's silence and stillness, and then a momentary twinge in Lilac's belly. Nothing painful. It just feels like a little tickle or shock. Maybe it was her imagination.

The tickle makes Lilac look down at herself. Blood, gore, even some of her beast-form hair and the chalky remains of her beast teeth. "We sure are a mess, aren't we?" She shakes her head, figuring she must be hungry after all that effort. She's always hungry, after all. "Well, here you are," Lilac says, looking up again. She lifts the sword in both her hands, then thrusts it as hard as she can in to the ground. "The sword of Beshret the Warlord. It feels fitting; you were much more a wonder of the desert than he was."

Tchunk! The blade digs into lifeless chalk, splitting the floor and securely embedding itself. The cracking echoes up the tunnels along with the metallic whine of steel, and fades. Loose ends of the handle's wrapping dangle, swinging gently. The sword stands upright, jutting from a dry point in the center of the dimming chamber.

Lilac steps back, taking a moment to review her work. After a moment, she decides it needs more. It's so lonely alone, and it looks like a monument to Beshret, which isn't what I want at all. She thinks a moment on what to add, then nods. Yes, that'll give it a personal touch. She flicks her tail into her hands, undoing the bow there. Once she has it, she steps forward again, and secures it to the hilt. It makes her smile, if sadly. "Now, I think we need some words."

The bow adds a splash of color wrapped over the hilt. It looks for all the world like a butterfly alighted on it, except for the ends of the ribbon trailing down.

Like a butterfly. Yes, I like it. The Temple of Being should have a memorial that reminds one of life as well as its death. But, it needs some words. Kneeling down at the base, Lilac looks at her nails, then the chalky ground. I've never been as good with words or lyrics, but here goes.

Here lies the God of the Temple of Being,

Born from ancient might, greater than any Emperor.

Hmm, a little more, Lilac decides, and writes on.

It sought to Be, but never learned to live,

May It rest in peace, knowing it is not forgotten.

Lisandra Dragomir

There. Lilac sits back, bracing her hand against the floor. With everything said and done, she feels a little lonely. "Are you really gone, O Temple of Being?" It strikes her as almost impossible, that something so massive and ancient could die. It makes her feel that nothing really lasts, not her, not empires, not Gods.

The chalky floor yields to the scraping, though it ends up taking the harder claws of Lilac's beast form to leave distinct lettering. Soon, the epitaph stretches away from where the warlord's blade was embedded, a reminder for the ages. When Lilac speaks, she's answered with silence still… but then there's that twinge in her belly again. As if something inside her shifted.

Lilac peers between her furry legs at her belly. I thought I was hungry, but … She peers up at the hardened stalk of eyes, the center of what had once been the Temple of Being's focus. She wonders at it, then, ears perking, looks down at her belly again. Can you hear me? You called to me once, I remember. Could it be … ? Or, am I just losing my mind? She sits on her haunches, staring at herself and wondering what may be.

Lilac can only hear her own voice echoing in reply. Maybe it is her imagination, or maybe she is losing her mind… but here, in the isolation and quiet, she can feel that odd sensation inside her. More so than before, it feels like something within her is alive.

Mmm, Lilac thinks, settling down on all fours, resting her head on her paws. I guess it doesn't matter if I'm crazy. Life is really crazy, and if I'm mad, I'm at least as normal as everything that has happened to us. And, I can feel it. She reaches around and noses her belly, suddenly feeling very soothed by the presence of the life inside her. That something, in all this fighting, will be born, rather than die. And, it will come from her. Her and this ancient being. I wish I could say you cared about me, and maybe you didn't. But, I care about you. I'll remember what happened here. This child won't be without a real mother, and he or she will learn to live. I'll protect it, with all the power that has been given to me. I promise.