knightlywriting

[knightlywriting]

ortus

The rain only fell faster and faster, and Nero found that he couldn't see the skyscraper spires any longer. Shivering and numb, he pulled the heavy cloak tighter around him, and his eyes darted around the cobblestone streets.

The alleys were no longer a place to stay. The boy had only been untouched and unharmed when his brother was around to keep him away from flying fists and prying fingers.

(His brother was gone now. He was alone, and so, so scared.)

BANG!

Nero jumped. His head turned towards the noise, and he found two doors wide open. A gaping black hole stood in-between the wooden doors, and the wind made an unholy noise as it rushed past. The boy stood still in the torrent. With a shake of his head, he dashed for the darkness. 

It's fine, he thought. I'll hide somewhere if anyone chases me out.

The boy leapt into the building. His feet slid across the slick floor. His left hand reached out and grabbed a door that slammed shut as his back met the ground.

 "Ah..."

The boy groaned as he rubbed the back of his head. Slowly, he got up and closed the other door, plunging the room into complete darkness. He fumbled around in the cloak's pocket, pulled out the matchstick and struck it across the wall. The matchstick cast an amber glow on the wooden floors, and Nero looked around at the high, vaulted ceilings and the pillars that reached far above his head.

 To be fair, everything in Steelpoint City was made for people taller than him, but the boy could not even see where the walls ended. The wooden walls faded from amber to black as he looked higher. His foot kicked something hard as he got up, and a torch rolled in front of him. The boy picked it up and lit it with his match.

The torch brought into view rows upon rows of shelves and dusty tomes, the books easily bigger than his head and the lowest shelf already at his eye level. The chair beside him was ever-so-slightly above his forearm, and the table above that.

 A human library? he wondered. It was not one for dwarves (the furniture was too high), but it was not one for elves either (the furniture was too low).

 Nero raised the torch up high - it went up to the second shelf - and started to walk. His feet kicked up dust, and his footsteps echoed as he moved. The boy craned his neck to see the shelves and laid on the ground to reach for a copper coin. The halfling felt the torch's warmth creep into his left hand and upon his face. He walked without thinking - all his eyes were searching for was for a soft place to lie down. A library would have a decent place to sleep, right? Maybe if he tried to find the librarian's office...

A sharp chill went down his back and ended at his ears. He spun around only to see nothing but books behind him. He turned back. The halfling saw only darkness. Nero held out the torch in front of him, and he still saw darkness.

Against the screaming in his head, Nero found himself moving unwillingly forward into the dark room. The flame went out. A sharp, cold wind blew. The room plunged into purple light. The raven-haired boy saw flickers of lilac from his torch.

 In front of him, lying alone on the floor, was a book.

 THE WIZARD'S GUIDE TO NECROMANCY.

[knightlywriting]

A Rose by Another Name

Note: This is just some unedited, self-indulgent drabbles put into a story. Sorry for any mistakes here and there. Background on some things here.

"And I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death." Walt Whitman

Seira J. Loyard stared at her reflection in the mirror. Then she leaned in to get a closer look. She was right - her pupils, usually the bright red of blood, were turning black. With a frown, she moved away from the sink and out of the bathroom.

Even as she walked back to her room she was planning - her usual plans would be vastly different if she decided to stay in Korea during this time. Of course, the easier option was to go back home, but the palace grounds were so silent, and she preferred the light quietness of her room in Korea as compared to the heavy silence of the same in Lukedonia.

Regis, as usual, quickly picked up on the subtle difference. A few days later, when they were talking about the four children (and what to cook for them this time), he broke off halfway through the conversation. Her charge gave a quick glance to the date shown on the television, then back at her eyes, then nodded to show that he knew what was going on.

“I forget how often that happens,” he commented, keeping his composure even though he knew what ‘that’ implied. “Are you going back to Lukedonia?”

Seira’s only answer was a shrug. Regis nodded and moved back to the topic of lunch.

A few days later, Seira found herself sitting on her bed, combing through snow-white and jet-black hair alike. Three knocks sounded on the door.

“Seira, it’s me,” came Regis’s voice from outside. “...come in.”

The door opened and shut quickly, and Regis settled on the chair adjacent to her bed. His eyes roved over the salt-and-pepper hair. His lips pressed flat together for a moment - he was not exactly pleased. Seira nodded in response.

“I might not go back to Lukedonia,” Seira admitted. “The condition is not exactly harmful, just shocking. Mostly in appearance.”  “You’d have to explain it to the kids, though,” Regis frowned. “Unless you hide in here the entire day, but they have school on that day.”

The room fell quiet as Seira thought and Regis waited. He resisted the urge to fidget for a while, but gave up and started kicking his legs (he wasn’t in Lukedonia, after all, and it was just Seira). The only indication of Seira’s uncertainty was her red bottom lip as she bit it unconsciously. After a few minutes, the female noble spoke again.

“I will be staying, then.” At Regis’s incredulous look, she continued. “It only lasts a day - Sir Raizel would understand, and surely nothing much will happen then. The Union has been quiet for only a month.”

Regis’s head was tilted to the side and he stopped kicking. After a pause, he said, “If you say so. You know this best.”

The date was October 31st.

According to Tao, the high school students really got into the spirit of Halloween.

“It’s a western concept, but it’s gotten quite popular,” the man grinned. “I think they just took the chance to play dress-up and get a half day.”

And a half day they got, for Frankenstein learned long ago not to protest against the entire school community, especially when they were led by both the student council and Han Shinwoo. Almost all the students were dressed up in some way or another, and the few who stayed in uniform allowed their peers to paint their faces.

Regis and Raizel were early, they always were, and Regis was surprised to see the students dressed up as witches, cats, and other such characters. An amused Tao explained calmly to the noble that those who dressed up as 'vampires’ didn’t really know what they meant (they were merely human, after all), and there was no need to be disgusted. If Raizel was confused, he didn’t show it, and continued staring out the classroom window as always.

An idea struck Regis. He quickly asked Tao for his cellphone and dialled Frankenstein’s home number.

(Technically, his home number for now, but it was still a bit weird to think of it as such.)

“Hello?” “Seira, you know how some places of this world celebrate today?” “…they do?” “It’s sort of weird, but Tao says that they don’t really know what happens, or think of it as a myth.” Seira merely replied with a hum. Regis decided to move on to his reason for calling. “If you come today, and ask the girls to help you - say you already changed into some things and need help for dressing up.” “They dress up in celebration?”

Tao, even though he didn’t know what was going on (and why Seira even stayed at home in the first place), decided to take over.

“They dress up because it started from tricking spirits from taking them as they looked like someone else,” he explained.

Silence on the other side. The guard knew well the noble well enough to take it as agreement, and passed the phone back.

“Hey, I need to go for duty soon, yeah?”  “Alright,” Regis said.

“…wait a few minutes,” Seira’s voice came over the phone, and the call ended.

With a confused look, but which quickly turned into a barely-restrained grin, Regis handed the phone back to Tao.

—

“Whoo!”  “Seira, you look great!”  “Hey, Regis, why aren’t you dressed up?”  “Nothing has enough class,” Regis sniffed. “Maybe next time.”  “We might not even have a next time!” Shinwoo moaned. “The student council head’s leaving next year!”  “You could just ask next year’s head of student council,” Regis shot back.  “Yeah, but this one’s fierce. I’m actually scared of her.”  Ikhan shook his head, holding back his laugh as Regis gave Shinwoo the most judgemental stare he could muster.

Seira definitely looked her part as, coincidentally, the Grim Reaper. Her pale skin was offset by an oversized black hooded robe. Having come from Suyi, the robe looked more like a gauzy floor-length dress instead of the cheap Halloween costumes made of satin or fake velveteen. The scythe she held was a store prop, but the black handle and white plastic blade fit well enough. The most shocking part to everyone but Regis, Raizel and Seira herself was her appearance under the robe. Her long white hair was now so black that it gleamed purple under the white fluorescent lights, the pupils of her eyes of a similar colour - the centre could not be seen. Her skin was now nearly bone white, making her eyes look even more unnatural.

“Not bad, right?” Suyi grinned. “They’re from the most recent shoot. She doesn’t even need the mask I brought over, she fits this role perfectly!” “…I wouldn’t be able to tell who she’s supposed to be without the scythe,” Ikhan muttered. Shinwoo nodded in agreement.  “That’s because she doesn’t have the mask!” Yuna quickly tried to rectify her friend’s statement.  “It’s not even the proper mask, that’s a blank mask from the opposite store!”

Regis only raised an eyebrow at Seira’s costume, and Seira gave no response as she sat down in her seat.

The smell of roses wafted through her room as the head of the Loyard family leaned against the headboard of her bed. She was still in the black dress - the soft material actually felt rather nice. An alert, something related to a disturbance at the construction site at the outskirts of Seoul, went out a few minutes earlier, so now she was alone in the house.

(Well, except from the Noblesse himself. Frankenstein demanded he rest as much as possible, and he probably wouldn’t be needed anyway, just rest, please.)

The light of the full moon streamed into her room. Seira made a point to stay away from the window.

She could hear them - could hear the screams of souls not avenged, those who were unfairly killed and those who were. She could see them - black, purple wraiths not unlike a dark haze lingering near the ground outside. Weirdly, they did stay away from the few dressed-up students who were still outside at half-past eight. She could feel them - the tugging under her skin, of something yearning to burst out of her and kill destroy remove eliminate

The noble sucked in a deep breath and pressed her hands into fists, nails digging into her palm. The urging ebbed away, but not fully. Should she repot another rose bush? Seira considered it for a while, then decided not to. The pots would be in the living room instead of hers if she kept it up.

Then a pain in her head brought her head to the mattress - and the telepathic message for help struck in her head.

Regis wasn’t sure if he could hold up much longer.

The mutants only got stronger as time went on - they glowed with an uneasy ultraviolet energy that made shivers run up Regis’s spine, and some of them called up more wraiths to attack them with.

His energy shield was the only thing between him and the mass of mutants from the Union that were in front of him. They struck the shield over and over again with unrelenting, unnerving energy. The entire group could sense it - the energy that radiated from them was dark and full of pain and sorrow, and the worst part was that it felt very much like the trial version of Frankenstein’s powers. It acted like it, too. They drained the energy from him as he held his defence, and the wounds they managed to tattoo on him weren’t healing as fast as they were supposed to.

The original RK team were already drawing from the power they borrowed from Frankenstein and they were barely holding on, quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number against them. Rael and Karias were tag-teaming - one sniping from a distance and taking down mutants and wraiths one by one, the other moving too fast for most of the enemy to hit as he slit them into pieces. But the wraiths blocked their vision, and their masses confused the eyes between who were the summoners and who were the summoned. Frankenstein was not doing too well himself. A group of mutants decided to gang up on him and he was now rendered unable to help his side lest he run into the chance of dying. As it were, he was verging onto overloading with power in order to take down the group, but was holding back for obvious reasons.

Unearthly black, purple haze suddenly rushed up from the ground and down upon the group as they held defence. Purple and black bolts not unlike those of Frankenstein’s rained upon them and drew blood as they made sickening black marks like rot upon wherever they touched. They drained energy from the beings they contacted, and Regis felt his shield growing weaker and weaker and his legs buckling under his weight as the souls rained upon them screaming curses in his ears.

Help! Regis cried out to Seira. They needed backup, and he knew Seira would cast aside her worries despite what was going on to help no matter what. Minutes passed, and he felt doubt creeping in as he mustered the strength to kill off the wraiths surrounding him. Strike after strike only thinned the crowd, and not by much even as he and Rael went through the unholy masses.

Then he was struck to the ground, and suddenly the sky turned black.

This is the end, Regis thought. Then instantly after that, Wait, I can still see, is-

The wraiths were pulled up as if dragged by the neck, and he looked up to see them swirling around and blocking the moonlight. Glowing, ultraviolet eyes stood out from the darkness, and long jet-black hair floated around the figure like snakes.

Seira J. Loyard held out her left hand and spoke a single word; “Thanatos.”

 The wraiths converged like fire ants into her hand, forming a scythe not unlike her Death Scythe. But this one was larger, and it was pitch black as if it were sucking up the light around it. The gold embellishments were now a bright white, radiating an ultraviolet glow.

It was as if she froze time - everyone stopped fighting to look at her with shock. The mutants started growling threats, half of the summoners moving towards her with hatred in their eyes.

Frankenstein’s face contorted in pain, then suddenly became one of understanding. Fear shot down Regis’s spine the instant the scientist smirked.

A rain of Dark Spears immediately came upon the still-frozen mutants, halving their size and sending everyone moving again.

“Tired, already?” He shouted with glee.

The mutants rushed the RK, coming upon them with wraiths and hands and spears and swords gleaming with dark energy.

“Keres.” Seira’s voice was calm amongst the chaos yet Regis heard it crystal clear. The wraiths that were attacking fell to the ground screaming and clutching their heads, then suddenly glared at their summoners with glowing white eyes.

“What the-” A mutant summoner stepped back, eyes wide and hands up as if he could block the ghosts. “No, my control, wha-”

The haze of wraiths screeched, sending ears ringing, and they rushed at the mutants.

RK snapped back into action - courage and strength and adrenaline rushing into them with the knowledge of reinforcement, even though they did not truly understand what was going on. The original three knights leaped first, electricity sparking from bullets and wires and electrocuting their enemies even as claws ripped them apart. The nobles went next, with arrows accompanying the wraiths raining upon the sheer crowd of mutants and blades punching holes and slicing lines. The Dark Spear drew wraiths around it, increasing in power and size as her wielder taunted and killed and drew the health away from them.

And as they ripped apart the crowd, Seira lived up to her family’s role and reaped those who came at her. Her blade came down on the mutants, cutting through necks and bodies and splitting people in half. Wraiths came at her beck and call, sweeping around her and down to the crowds further away.

As Seira called upon her Reaper, black-and-gold dress wrapping around her with the wind and the light of the full moon falling upon her back, the nobles present realised the same thing that Frankenstein knew minutes earlier.

The date was October 31st.

 The wraiths dissipated into the ground as the last mutant hit the ground. M-21, Takeo and Tao winced at the coppery smell that invaded their noses; they could never get used to the smell of death. After all, they were still only human at the core. The nobles rested on their knees as they caught their breath. Frankenstein stretched leisurely and glanced at the Loyard with veiled curiosity. Seira was lying on the ground on her side, panting heavily as her eyes remained closed. Her scythe was still beside her, gleaming in moonlight.

Frankenstein’s and Tao’s phones beeped, and they saw it was midnight. The black of Seira’s hair and eyes started to drain of colour. The original white of her hair came back from the roots and flowed down to the ends. Her eyes slowly became bright red again, and colour started coming back into her skin. The scythe turned from shadows into the usual shining black metal, the ultraviolet glow ebbing away to become gold once more.

Seira let out a breath, and sat up clutching her head. The pain on her face was obvious - an unusual sight for anyone who knew the usually expressionless noble.

 Regis spoke up.

“Are you okay?”

 She merely replied with a hum.

[knightlywriting]

Caffeine Rush

“There’s only one plug in this entire coffee shop and you’re sitting right in front of it and you’re not even using it, and my laptop is about to die in the middle of this online exam I’m taking, so whatever I don’t care how intimidatingly attractive you are I’m sitting down at your table to plug my shit in.” AU

“10% battery remaining. Please charge your laptop. Your laptop is automatically set to power-saving mode.”

Wendy Darling’s eyes widened in horror. Oh no.

The pop-up message covered a Google Chrome window with a literature question (“Explain why so-and-so reacted this way, and the consequences of his actions.”) and a white box with at least two paragraphs that was Wendy’s answer. Quickly, she darkened the laptop’s screen even lower than power-saving mode had put it to and rummaged through her bag for the laptop charger.

Chapstick, water bottle, extra money, pepper spray, and textbooks were inside the bag. The girl pulled out all of her items, and saw the charger hidden at the bottom. She slouched with relief, and then looked around her window seat for a power outlet, and she found… nothing. No power outlets to save her from an inevitable, horrible grade if she did not manage to charge her laptop in time.

Serves me right for not staying at home, Wendy grumbled. Laptop battery is definitely more important than the wifi speed right now, oh gosh why are there no power outlets in this dumb place?

Desperately keen eyes roved around the coffee shop, over the crowds bathed in soothing yellow light and eating and drinking warm food and drink to alleviate the cold weather that crashed onto the glass windows and howled in the trees, and stopped when she spotted the one and only power outlet in the corner of the store and at a taken table. The teenage boy (around her age, she assumed) reclined comfortably in the booth seat, and despite the crowded area, no one seemed to be sharing the four-seater table. It made sense, Wendy thought, if everyone else found him to be as attractive as she did.

Wendy Darling, get a hold of yourself, she scolded.

But, really, the boy was quite attractive, scarily so with high cheekbones and a mischievous grin that graced his elfin features as he tapped away on his phone. The way the boy sat also intimidated her - he sat as if he were a king, as if he owned the coffee shop - and the confidence that seemed to radiate from him shoved the idea of shy, timid Wendy asking him if she could use the power outlet into the back of Darling’s mind.

Wendy groaned, and glanced worriedly back at the exam question on the screen.

“5% battery remaining. Please charge your laptop. Your laptop will shut down at 3%.”

The pop-up message made her shiver. Just great, it was raining too hard for her to run home, other than the fact that her house was five minutes away, and the only power outlet in the store was -

not taken.

The boy sat at his seat, oblivious to Wendy as he took up the table with the power outlet beside it but not using it for anything. He sat back further into the couch and grinned at his phone as Wendy watched.

Wendy seethed. She needed the power outlet, or there goes her “top of the class in English Literature” streak, and here she was hesitating because of a (very attractive) boy?!

In a sudden burst of fear for her grades and self-confidence to get what she wanted, the girl stood up and grabbed her belongings, slinging her bag over a shoulder, and balancing her laptop on her left hand and a half-empty cup of vanilla latte on her right. The charger’s wire dangled in the air from where the charger was on top of the laptop. Quickly, she shoved her way through the throng of people in the coffee store and towards the power outlet. She barely registered the look of surprise and amusement on the boy’s face as she sat down across him without a word. Wendy put down the laptop, the charger, and the half-empty cup on the table, barely avoiding the other cup. Hurriedly, she slung the bag over the chair further from the window as she settled down in the seat against the window. The pitter-patter of the rain outside matched the thumping of her heart, and sudden thunder made Wendy jump as she fumbled with the charger.

“Well, hello-” the boy started to say, the confident grin becoming chesire-like, but he stopped and rose an eyebrow at her as she cut him off.

“Sorry about this,” Wendy said, loudly and so unlike herself. She plugged the charger into her laptop and into the power outlet, and flipped the switch to ‘on’.

Her laptop’s screen brightened cheerfully, and the fear-inducing pop-up was gone. A small smile spread over Wendy’s face despite herself, and she immediately set to working on the online exam. She pointedly ignored the boy in front of her, who looked like he was on the verge of laughing.

Whatever. Her exam was more important than a boy. (At least for now, she hoped.)

[knightlywriting]

Fungi

The man peers closely at the leaf sample, its branch suspended by a stand. Ants, mummified by fungus, hung upside down on the leaf like bats. Petri dishes, test tubes of chemicals and a microscope littered the clean white cloth that covered his table. Clear plastic, sterilised and smelling like ethanol, protected the cloth from stains and the samples from contamination.

For what could have been a simple strain of cordyceps, he was pretty sure that its fungi was not supposed to be a dark brown and dotted with white. He had spotted the ridges and the white spores that blended in so well with its exterior. It was unusual, rare, or even never had been seen before, and the man was more than willing to be the one who found a new species of cordyceps in the world.

With this in mind, he picks up a set of tweezers, and carefully plucks an ant off the leaf.

The man suddenly feels pressure building up behind his nose and in his chest. Quickly, he turns away from the sample so as to not contaminate it.

"Ah-choo!"

His right hand shakes, and spores float down like miniature snow. Spots of white lands on his fingers like stars, for the man had forgone his gloves in a fit of excitement. He sniffs, inhaling some of the spores, and places the sample in an empty petri dish. The dish was put above black paper, and the white spores suddenly were as subtle as the dandruff on his clothes.

Carelessly, he reaches for the stack of papers behind him. As his left hand grabs the pen on his table, his right hand grasps at nothing for a few moments - until it suddenly glides against the edge of his research notes. He drops the pen, and his face contorts slightly with pain. He immediately rummages around the drawer below his table, ignoring the fact that the cut on his right hand had rubbed against some of the spores on the table.

Then again, white spores on a white table are not very noticeable.

A few days later, his body temperature hits 40 degrees Celsius and his teeth are chattering. The man nearly blacks out during his breakfast of Campbell instant soup and bread, and he decides to go to the nearby store for some over-the-counter medicine and a bit of painkillers, just in case. He walks into the air-conditioned pharmacy, and his shivering becomes worse. The pharmacist looks at him with eyebrows furrowed and a worried expression on their face.

"Are you sure you're in the right place?" asks the cashier, popping their bubblegum. They suck the bubblegum back into their mouth, and stand up straight. "You should probably see a doctor. You look pretty pale."

"I'm fine," says the man, voice horse from the lack of use. "Just need some Tylenol and Advil."

"Alright, then." The cashier turns around to grab a small box and a bottle. "Don't have any more Advil - somehow we ran out of stock - but this should do. That'll be $15.20."

The man takes out two 10-dollar bills and gives it to the cashier, taking the small blue plastic bag with his medicine. "Keep the change."

He walks out of the store and he swears that he feels a headache coming on.

The fever hasn't dropped.

The man notices that his legs are swelling, and the skin has turned hard and cracking. He spots dark brown peppering his legs, standing out like the chocolate chips in the cookies he ate just the other day. He sighs, feeling more exhausted than he has ever been, and he thinks about seeing a doctor. But for some reason, he listens to the niggling voice inside his head that he shouldn't, and that everything would be fine in a few days.

Well, he thinks. I could be just getting old. This should be normal.

The man reaches for the lotion on his bedside table, the sweet smell overpowering his heightened senses and his lethargy and the stench of having not showered in a week. He hopes that the lotion will smooth the cracks and soften his skin as he rubs it onto himself with gentle circles.

The cocooned ants on the leaf sample, still sitting on his table, start to break open. Soft cracking sounds are heard, and the man merely dismisses it as the house settling in. A leg moves slowly, then another, then another, and then one ant breaks free. It crawls tiredly to the other cocoons. The ants inside are still moving, still struggling to break free of the brown encasement, but the free ant does not seem to care. Pincers tear apart one of the cocoons, and then the same pincers tear apart a fellow ant.

The free ant feeds as another one escapes the brown and white prison.

He wakes up one day to find that the fever has broken. He lies in sweat, and feeling dirty with the lack of showering and the messy bed, he gets up. However, his mind suddenly goes elsewhere.

Not the bathroom, not the bathroom, are the thoughts invading his head. Go outside, outside where there are trees and grass and flowers and leaves.

The man walks mindlessly to his backyard, not thinking about how he probably really needed a shower at the moment, not thinking about how his legs are brown and spotted white when he looks down at them. He drags himself out of the back door, and squints when the sunlight hits his eyes which have gotten accustomed to the darkness. He feels the muscles in his eye relax and contract, winces at his hypersensitivity towards such things.

The tree.

...What? His conscious mind breaks into his subconscious. He nearly walks back into his house until his consciousness drowns in subconsciousness.

Go to the tree.

Slumping, the man almost crawls to the tree, his legs feeling more and more tired with every step he takes. He looks up at the tree when his feet hit the trunk, and inspects the branches like how he inspected the ants. And then, against his will, his hands are places onto a sturdy branch near the ground and he begins to climb.

Higher and higher he went up the oak tree, fearing breaking branches and people noticing him and calling him down, but none of that happened. He stopped halfway up the tree, right outside his bathroom window, and walks onto a thick branch slowly and carefully.

Steady now, he thought to himself (or did his subconscious take over again?), balancing on the tree trunk. He feels a substance around his legs as he walks towards the end, and then he trips on a small ball of brown with white spots that seemingly came from his feet.

He falls, but the stuff on his feet hardens before said feet can leave the tree. The skin on his leg, his arms turn a darker brown even more quickly than it did over the last few weeks, and he barely gets out a scream before his mouth is petrified brown and white into a permanently open mouth. He feels the cracking and thickening of the substance around (in) the skin, and before he can think to himself why,

he stops thinking.

based off @ravensrepository ‘s prompt #383

[knightlywriting]

"Sure, sure."

Their smirk was insufferable - so much so that he wanted to slap it off.

"Are you even listening to me?" he growled, balling his fists. "We lose this thing, and literally the entire planet will be in danger."

A yawn. "Do I look like I care?"

The man squinted his eyes, and his back straightened. It wiped the smug expression off the other person's face. "Hey, dude-"

"Do not."

The man's fists started glowing.

"Call me."

He held out his hand, fingers spread out.

"Dude."

The hand clenched, and the person immediately bowed. They started to choke, and their face turned blue. Just as it happened, the man unclenched his hand and the person fell onto the ground.

"Can we go now?" he asked, voice raspy.

"S-s-sure," came the soft reply.

The man walked over, and his shadow darkened the world around the other person. He pinched his nose, eyes closed and mouth tight-lipped. Then he reached out and pulled his partner up.

"Let's go then."

Both of them started walking towards the door. The man walked in front, back straight and arms swinging. The person walked behind, slouched and their hands in their pockets.

[knightlywriting]

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

Mary, Mary, quite contrary how does your flower grow? With silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row.

Black walls outlined in pink crayon surrounded a girl. In her left hand she held a yellow crayon, and all over one wall were bright yellow markings. They looked like roses floating on the wall, avoiding a wooden frame and its broken canvas. The girl leaned back after completing one last petal, examining the flower she had drawn, before grinning and tossing the crayon in the general position of a crayon box. She leaned down and grabbed a crayon that was as green as her dress, then started to connect the roses together with a series of lines. The lines went off-course here and there, where they formed pointy leaves. The girl growled in a little frustration as she tried to form a sharp point with her crayon, tossing her head to get blonde hair out of her face.

"Hey, Mary, shouldn't you rest for a bit?" A blue doll on one side of the room spoke up. His friends, all in a neat row in front of him, nodded in agreement. "You've been drawing for quite a while now."

"Not yet, Tim!" Mary replied, squinting her eyes as she started to draw thin veins of green over the blank spaces on the wall. "Just need to finish this, and I'm done."

"Mary," protested another doll. "You've been drawing non-stop since forever! And every single time you complete something, you erase it and draw another thing! What's with that?"

"None of your business," Mary huffed.

However, she knew that what her friend said was true. She had been drawing and drawing since a few years ago. But what other thing could a painting do when she had been stuck in a stupid gallery for centuries?

Mary was drawing to stop thinking of the other world for a while, something that had been suggested by one of her older sisters in red. That certain sister had caught her reading about the 'real' world once again, and had promptly rebuked her. "What's wrong with what we have now?" she asked. "Isn't a world where you can create everything you want good enough for you? You can't do that in that other place."

"But I want other people to talk with! Real people!" Mary said. "Not like you guys aren't great, but I'm bored! I want be in father's living world. I want to live."

"Our father created this world for that very purpose, sister! We aren't made for his 'real' world, and you know that!" the lady in red groaned, running painted fingers through her seemingly perfect hair.

Mary shook her head to get rid of the unpleasant thoughts once again, going back to the vines as green as her dress and the roses as yellow as her hair. Then, she stood up and surveyed her masterpiece. Roses and vines covered the wall, and a neat row of blue dolls guarded the wall perpendicular to the plant-covered one. She had drawn many plants on the other walls and pastel-coloured shells on the ground. Silver bells drawn in grey crayon hung from the black ceiling with bright red rope. With a sigh she waved her hand and the room was clean once more, save for the dolls and the books and the mannequin heads.

Boy, how she wished to go into the world her father had lived in. Would she be able to make a new friend, one of flesh and blood? How was it like to breathe in air? How was it like to...?

Mary sat down beside the crayon box once again, picked up a crayon, and started to draw.

[knightlywriting]

Thief

"Aren't you even a little curious?" The girl smiled, as if the box she was holding at the moment did not contain something that could very well slice them to pieces. "I'll just open it just a bit, and show a tiny peek for you guys!"

"Don't - Don't you dare!" the woman warned, her voice was trembling and was definitely higher pitched than before.

"But my friend is in there," the brunette sang, her voice plaintive. She faked the look of a sad child, but burst out into loud laughter after that. "He won't hurt you, unless you hurt him. Fair's fair!"

"You need to pass that box to us, and we're serious about this! Hand it over or-"

"You guys will spend another three weeks searching for this thing?" The girl interrupted the female. "I'm twelve, I'm not stupid. And you guys should know better."

"Hand. It. Over." The male's voice was low, his voice nearly grating.

"No," the girl said simply, sounding just like a spoilt child.

Unlike a spoilt child, she waved her hand at her two assailants and a blast of wind and fire knocked the both of them away. They hit a pillar, wincing as their heads slammed against the concrete. The girl placed the ornate box under her armpit and ran straight for the back door - towards her freedom.

The girl ran out of the door, lighting a match and throwing it in the general direction of the suspicious shadows. She ran towards the gate and launched herself over it, still carrying the box. Her mind concentrated on the burning flames behind her, and they moved like water to block the path of footsteps she had left behind. She could feel the heat of the fire - it was so great that beads of sweat were forming on the layer of water already on her face - but she made herself run faster and faster, outrunning the fire she controlled and the people she did not.

Reaching the forest, she put down the box on a tree stump and turned to face the orange glow. She raised her hands, and the fire stopped at the first trees of the forest, shooting up into the sky to create a wall of fire. The girl's grin reached from eye to eye as she picked up the box once again and ran into the trees.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

She had been running for a while before she slowed down to walking speed, and once she reached a black rock as tall and as thick as herself, the girl stopped. She put down the stolen box which was glinting with it's embedded jewels and golden decoration. The girl stooped down and inspected the box.

It was well designed, its jewels chosen and placed such that it looked like the sun. Gold markings ran around the jewels, creating a vine-like pattern with leaves and flowers of emeralds and diamonds and rubies. The box was carved out of high-quality wood, sanded till smooth and painted a pristine white.

However, the girl found that the most interesting part of the box was its locks. There were four of those, two on each side. The girl reached back into her memory, trying to remember which locks she was supposed to open. She took out two bent paper-clips from the pocket of her shorts and went to work.

The locks were not that difficult to pick, really. It was just that she knew that two of the locks were actually locked and that two of them were not. The girl took a while to figure out which ones she was supposed to work on, but it was easier than the other jobs she had taken upon herself.

The girl had been warned that what was inside the box was not a thing, but a person who was aggressive and would most likely try to kill her once they were let out. She knew nothing else about the person, but she had been told enough. Once the box made a soft click, her hand went to the top of the lid and stayed there. The girl traced the gold designs of the box and ran her fingers over the cool gemstones for a while, admiring the decoration to soothe her beating heart. Then, she took a deep breath and opened the box.

She immediately stood up and backed away as green smoke billowed out of the tiny box, more than what it looked like it could contain. However, smoke kept pouring out of the box, sinking to the forest floor and making the leaves turn black and fall onto the ground as dry powder. The smoke started to take the shape of a pillar higher than the girl, towering over her and casting a shadow on her face. The girl gasped, made a motion to run, but she found that she could not take her eyes away from the spectacle, much less even move.

The smoke rose and fell, and the pillar started to take a more humanoid shape. The girl could tell that this was a teenager, probably just a few years older than her. The arms were toned and the chin looked sharp, and short curly hair adorned the head. She could see clothes forming, and they formed fast. A simple shirt with a collar and tight pants, but no shoes as far as she could tell. Colour started pouring into the figure from the feet to the head. It was similar to ink when it was dropped into water, but more... magical? The girl was not sure. She was not even sure if using this method of getting her possessions back was a good idea.

The process had only taken seconds to complete. Now before her stood a male, staring blankly at the sky behind her. The girl took a cautious step towards him.

The figure's eyebrows suddenly furrowed. The girl screamed when a hand grabbed her wrist so hard that it bruised, and her feet made deep tracks in the dirt as she was dragged forward, struggling.

A scream deafened her ears.

"Where is she?!" 

[knightlywriting]

Paradise

A boy was running through the quiet streets of London. That was the only movement he had been doing for several days now. His feet made no noise, and he did not show any sign of pain as he ran on the rough gravel of the road. Finding a dark street alley, he stopped. After making sure that no one was around and that the chalk drawing on the wall was correct, he went into an all-out sprint and made a turn into the alley, nearly tripping over his bare feet as he panted lightly.

Brick walls surrounded him on both sides, giving him the rare feeling that the place was closing in around him, that it was about to trap him in this place of brick and darkness. The place had little to no light; the only source of it was the moonlight coming in through randomly-placed wooden planks on top of the two-storey buildings. The boy nearly crashed into a towering stone wall that now rose before him, and he skidded to a halt. Silently, he carried a trash can that he had spotted a minute ago and brought it over to the wall, placing the metal object against it. He took off the lid, not at all repulsed by the pungent smell of rubbish inside. The boy looked inside the can, and finding it too empty for his liking, he started to pick up the litter around him and filled the can up. When he was satisfied, he replaced the lid.

He stepped back and looked behind him to see if anyone had followed. Seeing nothing but the yellow light of the street lamps far away, he allowed himself a little smile. Almost immediately, the smile disappeared, turning back into a stony-faced boy with lips set in a grim line and eyebrows furrowed, giving him wrinkles too early for his age. Slowly, he climbed onto the trash can. When this was done, he jumped and grabbed the top of the wall. Keeping a firm hold, he lifted himself up and placed his feet on the top without moving his hands much.

The boy looked back once again, and seeing no one, he grinned and jumped down into Paradise.