Motes of light danced in and out of existence, shivering, potential snuffed out as quickly as they appeared, the creeping seeping darkness overtaking the senses. Each fall mote flickered weakly as it sensed the altogether too soothing presence of Drocilla. Each graceful step belied Her anger, Her furiousness hidden underneath layers of crinoline and decorum.
Jadice's steps were one and the same, but counter clockwise, softer than the quietest snowflake, fury colder than the plains She called her home. All reason and logic boiled down to a singular point, all pathways of though coming together with each swing of Her incalculably sharp sword, the air itself singing with effort as She cut through, each time a step out of time, part the everlasting scent of Drocilla instead.
The sweet scent swirled around Jadice, the heady scent attempting to worm inside Her, tempt Her from Her chosen course of action.
Each step was sure, but even the surest of steps drew Her no closer, every single dance a single step behind in time with Her eternal dance partner.
The sound of the gem in Her hand shattering drew Her from Her trance, shaking Jadice awake with a short, angry sound.
Around Her were the shattered remains of hundreds of Xyl's creations, minute gems that allowed one to peer into a single point of time, see a single possibility. She had used countless of them, and still had seen no possible path for banishing Drocilla permanently. All options were exhausted, and She had gone through so many of them.
As She stood up, shaking Her clothes free of shattered crystal, the shards slowly reforming and returning to a blank slate, Her attention turned towards the wall of crystals, each soaking in a different solution, each one telling a story.
Some, from far before, from right before His shattering, sat sitting in the solution tinted with things better left unstudied. Each one showed a possibility of joining with the traitors. Jadice had thought to sweep them away, but instead left them there, to sit, undisturbed. Unwanted. Untouched.
Several born various gods names upon them, with odd dates and times. She had only used one before crushing it and placing it away, not within the odd chemicals that still bubbled, so many centuries later. She must at least figure out one way to win against...what was Drocilla to Her, again? She didn't care about the others who had tainted Themselves so irrevocably. Not nearly as much, at least. But maybe it wasn't forever. The hidden vials, the lone ones, ones dated closer to now, ones She had not used yet, the glimpses She got when She looked at them, insinuated Xyl might have been thinking there were other possibilities.
Her hands closed around one such vial as the scent of musk filled the room, filling Her senses as She slipped away into the vision, not noticing the soft delicate footsteps that had waited for Her to not notice, stepping in behind Her, carefully carrying Her away on a redolent wind.