This is just a bit fof a set up for what the main story is going to be. I'm still working on chapter 7, so be prepared for another long ass wait. The research for this is important to me, and i want to be thorough before posting about what I don't actually know much about.

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Being a dance instructor at Warro Cohventen Dance was more often than not amusing to Frosne, despite (although sometimes because of) certain fiery chickens. What was odd to her, however, were the humans that came in and commented on the tan complexion of her human skin. No, she did not go to those tanning bed things, and she spent more time inside during the day than out. No, she had not tried that newfangled cream shit that actually turned you orange, not tan. She had been born (or hatched, if you want to be technical) in Northwestern Wales, so was slightly used to people wondering about how she had gotten this color without being outside in sunlight much. Fros just always put it down to who and/or whatever her mother had been, or perhaps it had been her father’s preferred human guise at fault. She didn’t really care. It was just other people that messed with her about it for no god damn reason that she could see. Not often, thanks be unto the Abyss, since it always annoyed her when they did.

What was currently annoying her was the decree that the Council had agreed upon.

Despite her latest, erhm, demonstration, the Elders were determined to find out more about her. Since someone else looking into her history had elicited such a strong and gore filled response, they were placing the task onto her. Granted, she had an admittedly spotty memory of things that happened before 1391 Anno Domini (or Current Era, C.E. to most modern scientists), but there were people she had trusted that confirmed her being a child between 1369 and 1391, so combined with the inner insistence that 1369 was her birth year, that is what she said.

Her name didn’t mean “Frozen Memories” on a whim, after all. It was a sort of warning to people who met her. There was the generally accepted reasoning that Fros herself had started that something rather terrible had happened, and she had locked all he bad memories away, freezing them.

“I’m going with you.”

Frosne startled out of her thoughts, refocusing on Drem. “Says who?”

The two of them were doing their personal cool-downs after a class, waiting for the next and final group to come in. Drem was looking stubborn and shooting Fros these oddly furtive looks.

“Says me. If what you suspect is true, and what you don’t remember is really fucking terrible, you shouldn’t have to rediscover it alone.” The Phoenix wasn’t budging on it. It was early on into the argument, true, but Fros had long since learned when not to fight Drem on one of her feather-brained ideas. As much trouble as it could cause, having even someone this annoying could be useful on her trip down possible nightmare lane.

“Fine, but clear it with Warro first. This would, after all, mean he had two dance instructors out.” Fros liked to be reasonable when possible. Drem beamed at her.

“Already done!”

Fucking hell.