Trixie “Trix” Nymphae

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27839488 - girl in a stylized steampunk costume holding a gun. anime.

Trix watched from within her automatonic cog as the unconscious body of her father floated away. She felt very little sadness though, watching him adrift in the Oehn Sea, on the perimeter of time in an ancient epoch of a foreign dimension. She was too angry with him for that.

The remnants of their submarine was sinking into the depths and she felt an irritation with herself for failing in her calculations. She had meant only to set the vessel ashore, but having collided with an unanticipated reef -she had needed to be creative.  Her automaton had carried them both away from the wreckage and to a surface depth that was safe.  She was aware that her father had hit his head, but she was certain it was minor and she knew that the respirator he had designed was safely in his mouth.He would wake soon, but she planned to be  well on her way before that happened.

Once she returned they could rebuild and repair. He would be angry with her- but what was new?

Stealthily she navigated her way to the ocean floor, her cog crawling crab-like toward the source of a strange and powerful energy.

She stewed over the reality that her father, the great Marcel Ghostraven, had been tracking this DeLuna woman for so long that he had forgotten his purpose -and any time she would mention this to him he simply dismissed her as too young to understand –or changed the subject.

She knew it was because he was afraid she might be right.

She had noticed the energy fluctuations a few weeks earlier and suggested to him that they might be the cause of DeLuna’s interest in this desolate place. However, he had simply scratched his chin and remarked, “perhaps.”

Perhaps. The word burned her deeply. Perhaps he was an old man who was completely incapable of doing anything other than building toys and lamenting his stupid, stinky pipe!

Being young doesn’t make you stupid, she thought, even if people treat you that way. Maybe it just means you can see things without all the excuses. I mean, clearly there was an energy out here and it was big enough to call DeLuna  across time and space. Whatever the reason was, it surely mattered enough to investigate it.

So why had he kept them stilled in the middle of nowhere, a couple paces from the energy field that should have been their big attraction? Instead he was monitoring some lesser fluctuation in a dormant volcano?

The answer they had been looking for all this time could be so close, and he expected her be a good girl and go diving for seashells. He was just getting rid of her, she knew it, and it angered her until a hot coal sat in her chest and burned.

Trix knew that this little rebellion wasn’t just her following a hunch- it was her showing him once and for all that she was old enough to make a decision and be taken seriously; And when she returned with information that would help them save her mother, things would change.

The waters surrounding the automatonic cog that Trix piloted  had gone inkish and still. Her controls had suddenly locked and would not obey her commands. She was irritated and the annoyance was quickly becoming a stubborn panic. She was throwing levers and cursing- when she saw something on her screen..It was beyond massive, swimming in filth and drool with what seemed to be countless wiggling arms reaching and clawing into the void. One of those great, seeping limbs coiled around her machine, trapping her in the gloom.

She knew that she was safe in her automaton. Her father had created it to be impenetrable and intelligent. Her father! The thought made her heart sink but she refused to cry. Her mind raced and pounded, but she would not accept this situation as her own fault.

She suddenly understood just how wrong this day had gone and without any way to send Marcel word, she would remain here in the clutches of this beast with no hope of rescue.

She strengthened her resolve and turned her attention fully to recovering her controls. That was her only hope.


Somewhere in an ancient sea, Marcel Ghostraven drifted with a warm and peaceful tide. His black curls floated around his head reflecting light beams angelically. The demon Kronos beheld Marcel’s unconscious body, accepting him as most certainly dead.  In his clutches Kronos caressed the golden cog bearing the mark of Ghostraven and the sigil of Lys- Marcel’s most prized possession.

Kronos laughed.

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