There’s so much to take in all at once.

Aside from the veiled woman, the people are familiar, because my mother had a framed painting with their images. It’s been in all her homes. She simply said it was family she wasn’t close to anymore whenever I asked about them.

My brow furrows, because realization dawns.

These must be the Portocale first-borns. One of these is Mom…in her original face. I wish I knew which one.

There’s a stone slab covered in blood, and the woman in the ornate clothing wordlessly stands behind it, while holding some type of slim, gold, rectangular box.

The two women approach the altar first, and the two men hang back, while the woman in the decorative clothing chants something. The Portocale women start chanting something as well, while I idly glance around, wondering where Vance is, since these should be his memories.

There’s no sign of him, and I half wonder if I haven’t tapped into Portocale memories, given the fact his mind is trapped inside a Portocale curse…

Not important.

The important part is the fact this must be Pandora.

My eyes immediately bounce back to the box.

The legendary box.

The box people all around the world have referenced, though most lost belief in its existence.

It’s more royal and less little-box-of-horrors, which is slightly unexpected.

The lid is an oddly shaped piece of metal with a small-but-distinguishable ruby in the middle.

Easing closer, I take in the scene and the quiet fury resting in all their eyes, aside from the woman who is presumably Pandora. Her eyes look eager and excited.

No words are exchanged. It’s as though they’ve already rehearsed the steps that follow.

The men slice their hands with two separate knives, and they hand the blades to the women, who’ve knelt before the altar. The men kneel on either side of them, as the women slice their hands. No one flinches. No one reacts.

It’s as though they’re too numb to feel anything.

This…is after the massacre. I think.

As they move their hands to bleed over the box, it pops and sizzles. Pandora leans over, fingers gripping the ruby to lift the lid, and an audible breath that almost sounds like a whisper escapes from the crack.

The world shakes beneath my feet so abruptly that I stagger forward, stumbling against the altar that bangs the side of my knee. Wincing against the pain, I idly wonder why I can feel and touch things in here.

I was expecting more of a ghostly presence, but…then again, Damien certainly doesn’t feel ghostly when he does a full-on invasion.

The Portocales tip their heads back, drawing my attention back to them, as the world continues to quake all around us. Their eyes go white, and ice spreads under them, as a grayish-colored smoke is funneled into their mouths.

Pandora’s eyes beam with menace and mayhem, and I find myself watching her instead of them.

The box disintegrates, turning to ash on the altar, as the metal lid melts into an infinity symbol. Pandora takes the gold infinity thingy and pulls her dress up to her thigh, while the smoke continues funneling.

She presses the symbol to her thigh, and I suck in a breath of surprise when it sizzles and melts into a tattoo on her leg. The ruby melts as well, glistening like fresh red paint when it finishes.

It dries almost immediately, and I see the smile in the blood-witch’s eyes when she stares to clearly admire it.

“So you needed people willing to handle all the hardships and sacrifice that came along with that box just so you could gain your own immortality,” I say to Pandora, narrowing my eyes.

Obviously, she gives no reply.

The smoke finishes, and the Portocales rise, pupils dilated.

Pandora turns and melts into the wind, her smile disappearing last of all. What the actual fuck can a blood witch do? Someone did say she’s not a threat any longer, right?

It’s hard as hell to find information on Pandora to see the truth for myself, and now she’s sort of creeping me out. Everyone has their own way of summing up things, when it involves her and if she’s still a threat, and sometimes one contradicts the other.

“War! War! Beyond the Double-Dutch doors!” I sing into the air.

The image ripples, and in the next instant, two doors are blowing open in front of me to the massacre that is most decidedly the night of the sacrifice. Since Neopry heads are all over the floors.

I spot the guys, all of them clearly burning with misery and anguish. Anger comes next.

I admit, I have no emotion seeing them so upset, since I feel sort of bad for them for being so painfully manipulated by the woman they trusted and loved, no matter how many times she tricked them.

I know what comes next.

“Sing, sweet gypsies, who will be mistaken no more.”

I land in the middle of a forest that is brightly lit by a full moon, even through the canopy of limbs and leaves, and my breath comes out of me in a rush.

Because…an army is rushing toward me, coming so quietly and swiftly that they barely make a sound.

Before my very eyes, Vance leads the charge, the lead hunter of the fierce pack.

My next breath is painful, because I spot Emit behind him, dressed in his wolf’s fur, likely as a show of what he considered respect. He looks the angriest, which explains all the wolf aggression.

Now he’s with his wolf every day because of this choice, but it’s taken a long damn time for him to stop hating himself for it.

Damien is hot on his feet, still looking nothing like the Damien I know. His eyes are just so dead, even here and now. I’ve seen those eyes on him from time to time, and now it’s sort of sad to see how long he’s truly had them.

That’s a shitty eternity.

This time, I feel too much emotion, and a persistent tear slips out. Arion is behind them, catching up and passing some others, moving faster and faster, the most determined and sadistic gleam in his eyes.

He wants vengeance and bloodshed.

Desperately.

I start singing before they can pass through me, because I don’t want to see more.

“Six gypsy families all stood nigh!”

The image ripples, and the impending massacre flips to a new scene that could give someone the warm-and-fuzzies. You know, if not for all the obvious.

I’ve yet to be able to get Vance to acknowledge me, and I’m too scared to tempt it in the frames where he’s holding a weapon or looking murderous. Seems like a bad idea to jar him out of a dream during those moments.

My breath is nearly stolen with the next shift in scenery.

I’ve been transported to a time where everyone is toasting, dancing, cheering, and behaving a little badly under a full moon. But I can tell just by the bible in Arion’s hands that this is before immortality.

I feel myself soften when I see the innocent, happy, and pure look in Arion’s expressions, as he talks animatedly to the guys.

Subtitles would so be awesome right now.

Emit laughs, the sound booming from his throat, as Vance and Damien laugh a little quieter at whatever Arion has said. I find myself smiling like an idiot just witnessing them this way.

I go to kneel beside them, idly noticing the Portocales from the earlier vision seeming more at peace on this night.

Vance starts talking about something, and Arion shakes his head, while giving them a dry look. They all start laughing, seemingly at him, but he smiles to himself as though it’s all in good humor.