Kidnapped|Book 4|A novel in the Blue Moon series| An Avengers fan fiction series|

~Epilogue~

There are probably only two prologue/epilogues that are long, long as in roughly the same length as an ordinary chapter. This is one of them. The second is the prologue for Revenge, which I've already begun to write. 

I'm not sure if you're going to like it, but I hope you at least enjoy reading it. 

WELL, I'd love to say my thank-you's now, since we're ending Kidnapped.

THANK YOU. ALL OF YOU. For sticking with me for another book where I probably torture you too much as readers, but for loving the story anyway. Thank you for writing nice comments for me to read when I'm having a rough day, and for often making me laugh, or making me smile from your predictions or your interpretation of my story. Or your predictions. 

Thanks for making me feel loved, all of you. You have no idea how much these stories, but also YOU ALL mean to me. You are all EPIC and AMAZING and BEAUTIFUL and BRILLIANT and SPECIAL. And I thank God every day that you decided to read the tattered heavily errored Blue Moon. 

I'll be starting Maelstrom in the next couple weeks, after giving me a little break in preparation for Round 5. GEEZ. Fifth book already. 

Anyway. Enjoy the chapter!

~Epilogue~

In a darkened room of the huge lodgelike mansion overlooking the thundering waterfall, four figures silently regard the dancing flames that are dancing on the large logs in the center of the room, the smoke dancing around them before floating up through the small hole of the ceiling and vanishing into the growing darkness.

Caomh, leaning against the wall, regards the occupants of the room with glittering eyes, like radar. He has blood on his face, but he's smiling like the redness is a tattoo of victory.

Fjodr stands at the window, where a small gap of curtain reveals to him the setting sun over the mountains and the lake below the house. His hands are behind his back, and his lips are pursed.

Saissa is sitting on the floor, her pleated black skirts laid gently over a bearskin rug in ripples. She's combing her fingers through her long dark hair, but her even darker eyes do not leave the woman at the center of the room.

Neidra is sitting in the largest, high-backed chair in front of the sparking fire. Her hands are clenched against the velvet arms, and she is still wearing the long red dress she had worn when giving Thea the twin scar on her cheek. Her crimson adder, as if representative of her mistress's mood, coils menacingly around her arm, hissing occasionally.

In front of them all, on the oak table before the fire, sit three wooden boxes, decreasing in size.

"These powers," says Fjodr curtly, "You are certain they will prevail? Thea and Loki still live, and will surely seek vengeance."

Neidra laughs almost mockingly as the adder hisses again, "The little firebird and her father will meet death soon. I first must establish myself in the three worlds, and have them bend before me in an eternal bow."

"And you will accomplish this with these powers?" demands Fjodr, "How possibly can three powers conquer three worlds?"

Neidra stands, flicking the adder around her neck like a red boa, and bends to the largest box. "With time," she says in her low voice, a small smile on her reddened lips, "And with the right application."

She flicks the largest box open and picks up a long scepter. The scepter is detailed with iron markings across the hold, and steadily narrows until the top is nothing but a fine tip. But around the tip, a dull silver glow circles in an alabaster cloud.