#is a large very very large building worn down and dotted with moss

[darkmatter-swordsman]

Marluxia dream

[silverpaintedstars]

How the Son of Shadows was Cast Out--Chapter 2!! Next chapter’ll get fun. I had fun with scenes here. @bookdragon1811 and i’m not sure who else wanted to be tagged lol. 

Prologue | Chapter One | 

Chapter Two: Cade’s Caravansary

Inside was a cacophony of what could be defined as chaos--but Elliot wasn’t quite sure. He followed Reaper around inside like a lost puppy--but he felt like one. 

The shack was wooden with few windows, and a set of old stairs led upstairs. There were tables scattered with no apparent order at all throughout, and a random company occupied the chairs, snippets of conversation floating towards Elliot’s ears. 

He pulled his dripping hood over his head, wanting to melt away from all this, feeling terribly uncomfortable. Reaper, however, seemed completely comfortable here, which didn’t surprise Elliot. He seemed like the type of person who would just--fit in anywhere he wished.

Unlike Elliot.

His cloak dripped onto the rickety floor as he walked through the door with Reaper. When he carelessly let the door slam shut behind him, everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and looked up at them. After a second of pure silence but the rain beating against the side of the building in the background, of being scrutinized by everyone, they were left alone again, just two more travelers to spend the night away. 

“Welcome to Cade’s Caravansary,” Reaper said to Elliot. “All permitting we can stay here until weather permits us to continue on.” He swept a look across the room. “Hopefully by tomorrow.” 

Elliot took a second to try and figure out whether that was the actual name, or simply another one that Reaper mused up, until he saw the sign posted on the wall. Long-ago scratched words on wood: Cade’s Caravansary. He didn’t know what a caravansary was, but he guessed it was here. 

Reaper walked up to the small corner desk where a man sat, boredly flipping through a large, weathered book that looked like some sort of logbook. Reaper stood in front of the man a second, before clearing his throat and getting the man to look up. 

“Reaper!” the man said, closing the book. He didn’t see Elliot yet, which was understandable, seeing as Elliot still had his sopping hood over his face and was standing behind Reaper. 

“Cade,” Reaper said, not quite matching the man’s level of hype, which Elliot got, seeing as they were tired. That could be their excuse. 

“Here for the night?” Cade asked, digging out an ink pen. 

Reaper took a second. “If there’s space available, I suppose we might as well, seeing as this storm doesn’t appear to be letting up anytime soon.”

Cade paused. “We?”

Reaper stepped aside, letting the pale light of the lantern on Cade’s desk wash over Elliot. 

“Ah,” Cade said, sweeping his oily hair over his forehead and opening the same book, running his finger over the messy writings. “We have two rooms on the third floor--small ones, but rooms nonetheless.” 

“That’s fine,” Reaper said, digging into a pocket and placing (NOT A COIN WE CAN DO BETTER) on the table. Cade scooped it up, placing it in a box with others. He then dug two wooden keys out of a drawer with tags attached and handed them to Reaper. 

“Enjoy your stay,” he said as Reaper turned and handed Elliot one of the keys. It was roughly carved, and the little worn tag read 46. 

“The rooms are upstairs,” Reaper said. Oddly enough he seemed like in some sort of hurry that Elliot didn’t understand. He only nodded, having barely said a word since arriving. As they walked across the room to the stairs in the corner, he kept his head low, avoiding eye contact with the others in the room, but as he moved his head, he locked eyes with one for a second.

A dark figure in the darkest corner, with a hood low over their face, but oddly enough, it seemed they had glowing eyes. That or they had a lantern in there. In that split second, Elliot felt a cold wash over him, like the person was reading deep into his soul. He broke the contact and dashed towards the stairs. 

The room was dark when Elliot swung the creaky door open. Reaper had gone straight into his room across the hall with barely four words and leaving Elliot alone. He couldn’t shake that strange feeling he’d gotten from that stranger downstairs. He didn’t really know what had happened, but whatever it was it had felt really--weird. 

The room was on the third floor, the highest one. Elliot crossed the room and opened the moss-eaten curtains where the dark, desolate landscape spanned across. He could see barely nothing, the shadow from the caravansary’s light going much further than the light did. He turned from the window and to the small table where a lamp and a small pile of matches were. He struck one and lit the lamp, letting the flame flicker and cast a soft glow over the room. 

Cade hadn’t been wrong, the room was small. Barely room for the single bed, an even smaller nightstand, the lamptable and an empty wooden shelf. Exhausted, he locked the door and took his damp cloak off. He ran a hand through his hair, sitting on the edge of the bed. He wasn’t really sure what to think or do. 

He could start with sleeping, but he knew that if he tried to, his brain would still lie awake. But he didn’t exactly have energy to think now. It couldn’t be that late, either, though there was no clock in the room to confirm that. A small part of him wanted to go ask Reaper questions in hope he had the answers, but he had seemed pretty tired, and Elliot didn’t want to disturb him if he was sleeping. 

So he sat there in quiet a few moments, rubbing his hands and looking around the room. Then the flicker of the lantern in a mirror caught his gaze. But he hesitated. Did he really want to see how his father had scarred him? Did he want to see his weathered, beaten self? 

The answer was yes, he wanted to see what others saw. Wanted to see what Reaper had seen that made him want to make sure he was fine. Wanted to see what others saw if they judged him. 

Gingerly he slid off the tall bed, his boots making the floor creak underneath. Crossing the room to the mirror, he didn’t look directly at it just yet--readying himself. 

Then he looked. 

A jagged scar now ran down under his left eye to his jaw, rough and healing. His eyes bore a new sort of pain and readiness that wasn’t there before--and oh, that old nervousness and scaredness was still there. But he seemed a tad more burdened now. His hair hung in damp clumps over his forehead, the reddishness more muted in the light. The peaks of his Elf ears could be seen under them. 

It wasn’t as terrible as he had been expecting--but it was, at the same time. It was different, and changes are always hard to navigate at first glimpses. But he doubted that scar would heal completely--it would always be there, a reminder of what had happened and that fatal day. It could have been yesterday--or a week ago, depending on how long he had been out. He did look more frail, but that could just be from strain. Or from not eating for a week or two. 

He shook these thoughts off and staggered back to the bed, flopping back down with a defeated sigh. It wasn’t a very comfortable bed, but it was better than cold ground. Before he really realized that he was, he had slipped into a deep sleep.

The light of dawn woke him early, lying on top of the bed in his dry-er clothes. Sun streamed through the window--the kind of filtered sunlight that comes after a storm, but sun nonetheless. Elliot groaned and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He felt rested, which was a good thing, he supposed. Sleep was supposed to do that. He slid off the bed and shook off the few last drops of water, the rest having dried overnight. 

Elliot walked over to the window and peered out, the lamp having burnt out through the night. The same landscape he and Reaper had come though in the wet last night was now sunlit and glistened with dew, a few low-lying clouds dotting the horizon. 

He heard a soft knock at the door and started, softly walking over to the door. “Wh-who is it?” he asked, not being able to see through the wood. 

“Reaper,” he heard through the door. It sounded like him, but Elliot grabbed a stray cane that had been left by the door and slowly opened it. 

Reaper pushed it open the rest of the way, walking through and closing it behind him. “You’ll need far more training before you can properly use something like that,” he said to Elliot, who was still holding the cane.

He set it down in confusion. “T-training?”

Reaper ignored the question, locking the door. “Well, today we go on to Holden,” he said instead. He wore the black eye mask again. 

“Right,” Elliot said, his tone not really excited or ready for that. 

“There are a few things you may need to know beforehand,” Reaper continued. “Do you recall what I mentioned before with people not quite sympathizing with elves?” 

Elliot nodded, perching on the bed close to the window. 

“Well, that is how it will be there. I would doubt we could find anyone to take us in if they knew. It is like that here, but luckily no one saw anything last night. You will need to conceal your Elvish features at all times.”

“Oh.” Elliot knew he needed to add more words to that sentence but he couldn’t quite find them. They couldn’t find some other place?

“And I would avoid anything to bring you--or me--to a place like that,” Reaper continued, “but you need somewhere proper to sleep and medicine in your condition, and we could only find that in Holden. So we’ll go there for now.”

“Will-will I stay with you there?” Elliot asked. 

“I do not have a house there,” Reaper answered, “but I would not leave you alone until you have figured out what you will do and how.”

Elliot doubted he would do that but he stayed silent.

“Now, we do need food, which they will have downstairs,” Reaper said, casting a glance around Elliot’s small room. “Do you have your cloak?” 

Elliot pointed to in front of the bed where it lay in a damp and messy pile. “Er, yeah.”

Reaper frowned, picking it up and shaking it out. “It’s dry enough and you’ll need to wear it,” he said, tossing it to Elliot who scrambled to catch it. He slid it on, and while it was dry, it had that strange smell cloth tends to pick up when it dries in a pile on the floor. 

“I think that was it,” Reaper said, placing a hand on the doorknob. “We will go downstairs to get food provisions and then we will leave.” He unlocked the door and opened it, pausing before stepping out and turning back to Elliot. “Are you ready?”

No, he wasn’t. That was the answer he should have gave, but instead he responded with a very unsteady “Yes”. 

Reaper nodded. “Alright then. Off we can go.”

Elliot followed Reaper out of the room, looking back at the room he spent one night in, his first night out of Orlem, free within limits. Then he closed the door and walked behind Reaper, down the hall. 

What he didn’t see, however, was a dark, hooded figure peering out of their own door. 

Elliot and Reaper walked down the stairs in silence, Elliot slipping his hood over himself before they entered the main downstairs, remembering Reaper’s words. He didn’t really want to experience firsthand the judgment and unfriendliness that he’d mentioned. That was one hand he could deal without. 

They walked out of the cramped staircase hall into the still-dim dining hall. It wasn’t as crowded as last night, but there were still a good bit there, considering it was half hour after sunrise. Reaper payed no one there any attention, briskly walking across the room and weaving around tables to the far side of the room, by Cade’s desk, where no one sat behind it at this early hour. 

“We get food--where?” Elliot asked, confused, clumsily following Reaper around. 

“At the back,” Reaper said, walking around the desk, Elliot following. There behind the desk was a small wooden shelf nailed to the wall with a few baskets of random assorted food. Apples, breads, and other messily packaged things. 

“Now, the reason we are up so early,” Reaper said as he threw things into a bag, “is yes, for the fact that we will arrive in Holden sooner, but also so that Cade does not witness us taking his food supply.”

“W-wait, we’re stealing it?” Elliot asked, looking around nervously.

“He’s lending it to us,” Reaper said, turning back to Elliot, drawing the bag closed. “And he doesn’t yet know it.”

Elliot wasn’t really sure how he felt about this, but he was hungry so he didn’t really argue. None of the few other peoples in the room payed them any attention as they stepped out from behind the desk and towards the main doors. Reaper tossed Elliot the bag of food, who fumbled to catch it as he opened the door and they stepped out.

There was that leftover smell of dampness that comes after a rainstorm, which Elliot didn’t mind at all. The ground was still wet and soggy, and squished under their feet as they walked, past the Caravansary in silence. 

Elliot opened the bag of food and dug out a slice of bread, nibbling at it. He’d half expected it to be stale or along the lines of that, but it was actually in edible condition. There wasn’t really any conversation between the two as they walked. 

About half an hour in, they stopped to rest on the crest of a hill, looking down into the valley, where through the mist that settled down there, could be seen buildings. 

“You see it?” Reaper asked, pointing down. “That is our destination. Holden.” 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Not like this.”

Hope you guys all have a great day :) 

Hijan was sitting on a patch of red moss staring out at the red sky over the distant volcanoes. A dull ache rose up in her carapace, though it was one she could mostly ignore. It was going to rain later, that much she could tell from the red of that distant sky.

Upon her lap lay a long spear chipped and worn with age, though its point was still as sharp as ever.

She heard the footsteps while they were still a ways away, below the bluff. SHe didn’t bother to look up knowing who it was…. The sentinel, her only son: Hasan.

He walked over to where she was standing, but did not sit with her.

She looked up mildly confused.

His face was somber.

“Hasan, is something wrong.”

He bowed his head to her, “Mother, there has been some… news.”

She stood, not liking the sound of this. Her joints were a little stiff, but she managed just fine, “What news?”

Hasan lowered his head, “Word was brought by messenger early this morning. The Drev counselor for the GA is calling the Drev war clans to arms if they would be willing to fight.”

He tapped her spear against the stone, “And how does this concern us?”  her son had always been a believer in the old ways, and was generally not interested in the outside politics of non-drev nations.

He lowered his head, “Mother… I… we received word. He’s dead.”

Hijan crossed her arms, a little habit she had picked up from her other son (adopted son) a human, “Who?”

“Tanan…. Uh…. Tsata, he’s dead.”

A quiet crept over them. Tsata: the name of that very same adopted human, the small helpless, squishy human she had helped turn into a warrior. 

“What?”

“They were attacked by an enemy called the Burg.His ship was destroyed, and he was lost.”

Hijan blinked, staring at her son. Something about this didn’t seem real. Perhaps it was the way that her son talked about the outsider, in a way of respect she had never seen. How he lowered his head at the mention of his name, “Was his death honorable?” She finally wondered.

The pause grew even longer and she saw the answer in his face before he spoke, “The burg tricked them. They distracted the rest and set up a machine to do the work for them….  Their tactics were dishonorable.”

Hijan felt her hands clench, but she did not go to move, instead stepping forward slightly. She rested a hand on the shoulder of her son, “Thank you for bringing this to me.” She said softly, “I know my love for him has always confused you.”

Hasan shook his head, “No mother, I understand .”

They didn’t say more than that, and hijan moved quickly back to her hut.

She stood in the open doorway for a long moment before moving inside and picking u her things, pulling on the old armor crafted for her by her father once long ago. She picked up her battle partner’s old spear and rested it against her shoulder before turning from the door and stepping outside.

The horizon was warm to the east, and she began to walk.

SHe was alone for only a few minutes before the clatter of armor followed after her.

She turned , surprised to find,rows of drev warriors following her from the village interior. Even the children came confused their heads turned towards the village.

She paused as Hasan walked over the stone looking regal in his armor, and powerful with the cape billowing at his back.

“What are you doing Hasan?”

“Taking up the call to arms.”

She shook her head, “But our village.” “Can be retaken.”

“Why?”

“They have killed a member of our clan, thus declaring war on us. We will answer the call.”

Hijan was quiet for a moment, then lowered her head in deference to her son thankful, and proud.

He walked past her towards the front fo the column and barked the orders to head out.

***

Eris floated absently from one room to the other. Voices echoed to her from all sides, and she based quietly in the glow of freedom. Floating, she let her hands trail out to the sides ribbons billowing at her back, dark hair rolling around her waist. She was letting it grow out, she thought it made her look nice.

“Give it back!”

“No!” “Its not fair!”

She cracked an eye and floated into the next room.

Glados and Hal were facing off against each other crouched low to the ground, now as big as large dogs, the two of them could cause some mess when they got into a fight.

“WHat is going on here.” She asked 

Hal turned, “She stole it and she wont give it back!”

She frowned turning to look at Glados hearing the choleric voice inside her head as she denounced her brother for being a tattle tail.

“Glados, give it back, you have toys of your own.”

“But i WANT that one.”

“We don’t always get what we want gladoes, and we certainly don't take from other people.” Glados sighed but gave it back apologizing only grudgingly when she was ordered to by Eris. Hal stuck out his tongue and scuttled away.

Eris shook her head, Glados was getting better, but her first year of life certainly had not helped her. Living aboard a ship, being raised by a dog, and a struggling human who wasn’t ready for parenthood could do that to a person. Of course, not to say that their father had been bad, he was just…. Young and inexperienced, too much love and not enough discipline for the young spiderlings.

She smiled at the thought. He would probably half freak out if he knew she considered him a father. She had never had one, and he was as good a man as any to pick. She didn’t ind that he couldn’t fulfil that roll, it was more about the knowledge that at least someone cared than anything else.

She sensed rather than saw it coming.

She could hear the internal voice, feel it’s nervous sadness. She owned and made her way over to the facility door pulling it open well before their guests had arrived. She peered outside and as soon as the door was out from between her and the visitors, she froze in shock and horror.

Two people stood before her, a man with spiked green hair, and a tesraki, friends of their father’s, from the LFIL

“No…. no no, it can’t be true.”

The human reached out a hand and gently put a hand on her arm, “I’m sorry.”

“No… no…. He can’t be I… he just can’t.”

Hearing the distress in her voice hal and Glados came scuttling towards the door as did the other hybrids. Glados growled, knowing Eris was upset but not sure why. She put her head in her hands tears rolling down her cheeks, “No.” How was she going to tell them that he was dead? She didn’t believe it herself.

***

Krill floated high in the air.

He hated this, he hated this, he hated every single last moment of it. He hated the big tree things, he hated the animals, he hated the strong breeze, and he certainly hated the pack of roaming land shark things circling below him. Ten days on this planet, ten days in hell where he had been hunted, hounded, and nearly killed repeatedly and to his great and everlasting displeasure. He had looked for the commander but found no sign of him, knowing that it was more than possible they could have landed on different continents.

Krill was pretty sure he was going to die here, and that was not a thought that he particularly enjoyed, but was slowly resigning himself to. HE floated off in the other direction, leaving the circling predators wandering in confusion below him and moved off in another direction.

He was high up now, kind of towards the top of the trees, where he could see large red fruits dangling from their very tops. He had seen red debris on the ground below some of those trees, implying that to spread their seeds they dropped those massive fruits from a few thousand feet like a fruity nuclear warhead.

Not a great way to die, being smashed by giant space fruit in the head.

He sighed.

He was up there for a while before it happened, and watched as a small black dot broke off from the top of one of the trees, at first he assumed it was just something falling to earth, but when the thing picked up on a gust of wind and began heading towards him, he got a bad feeling.

He pushed in mid air doing his best to try and get a better look at whatever it was.

He didn’t like what he saw, as the giant razor beak flying creature winged all the way towards him. He hoped it wasn’t coming towards him ,but was proven wrong almost instantly. He turned around with shock and horror and began floating in the other direction.

It made a loud cawing noise.

It was getting closer 

Krill was ongoing to be able to outlast this thing. He turned to factit, watching as the massive creature grew larger in his vision. He was almost upon him now stretching out its talons.

Krill deflated his helium sack, plummeting out from between its grasp and towards the earth.

The creature flew in a  confused circle, and krill flailed as the wind shipped past him and the ground rose up to meet him. A sudden burst, and he inflated just before hitting the ground landing with panic and shaking looking around for preditors he was sure had come looking for him.

HE frozen in shock and fear, eyes wide.

***

I sighed and set the radio down. It had been more than  a long shot. The radio was pretty strong. Back on earth it could have gotten a message out from the middle of BFE, but it was unlikely to make it very far off an alien planet. I sighed and stowed the thing back in y bag. I knew it had been a long shot for sure, but a gun cn hope.

Besides, I had planned to come up here, on top of this hill anyway, to get a better look of the land. At my side, I carry a large stick, and at the head I have managed to slot a pretty well crafted spearhead into a slot.

It was the only thing Hian had been able to teach me to make.

As it turns out I am horrible at building things.

Like seriously.

I am super shit at it.

But a weapon was better than nothing. Spear in my hand, knife at my belt, and a backpack made out of plant material over one shoulder, I headed down the hill feet shuffling softly through sand. The plant matter slippers I had made weren’t great, but you now what sucks more than Biblical Adam’s wardrobe? 

Being stabbed in the foot by a rock.

I am still walking down the hill wondering just how much cancer I am going to have from all this sunlight on my bare chest and back when I hear it, a soft thudding noise, growing louder and louder by the second. I drop my pack and spin around spear at the ready. The ferns behind me rattle and sway, and a moment later a creature comes bursting through the trees heading straight for me.

A surprised scream breaks from my lips as I dive to the side.

The creature lets off a gurgling bugle noise and rushes towards me again. It ahs bright shimmering blue skin and a line of spikes down its back. Two large claw pincers hang at the front of it’s body, and it runs on two back legs. IT charges at me again, and this time I can’t run. It swipes at me with one of its claw things, but I catch it with the edge of my spear.

The wood sends a painful shock wave up into my arms.

It screams and I scream back kicking at it.

I catch it in the stomach and it jolts back, but that only seems to piss it off. It races for me again and I am just barely able to hold it off as it scrambles over sand. Dust is kicked up into the air around us.

I pull away and stab at it with the head of the spear cutting straight into one of its joints and pulling out with a sickening crunch. It screams and lunges for me. I slip on a fallen fern, my leg sliding to the side.

It catches me high on the chest, and a gout of fire seems to erupt from my torso.

 I scream in agony and hit my back hard.

IT jumps forward on top of me now its teeth snapping at my neck.

I stick the spear in its mouth.

Its back legs kick and beat my thighs gouging open my left leg.

A burst of agony rips through me. It backs up trying to get the shaft of the spear out of its mouth. In that time I reach down, grab my knife and sit up driving it once, twice, three times into the thing's neck. It staggers back and I leap forward tackling it to the ground and repeatedly stab it.

Over and over and over again.

My teeth are gritted.

I scream like an animal and continue to stab even long after it has stopped moving. Exhaustion overtakes me. I am lying on top of its corpse bloody hand still gripping the knife buried in its neck. My body begins to shake, I am breathing hard. The pain hits me in rolling waves as I look down at myself covered in blood.

I am gasping forehead now resting against its shoulder 

I am dead.

I know it 

I scream through the pain as I roll to the side leaving great drops of blood behind me. I grab my spear and my knife clawing my way to my feet. I am dragging the bag behind me.

I stagger over the stone.

Ten days

Only ten days.

I limp forward 

Trip to my knees blood dripping onto the sand. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

I look up at the sky my vision beginning to fade, and then when I look down my eyes go wide and my heart stops. 

[jasperwhitcock]

equinox | chapter 06 –– “open book”

here is chapter chapter six of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy​ posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag. but sometimes it doesn’t work. so. um.

the last time i wrote for this, it was BEFORE midnight sun came out. and now, midnight sun has been out for two weeks (oops...now FOUR weeks), i’ve finished it, i am miserable as a result, and finally, SHOOK. here’s why: in the last chapter, i mentioned esme’s aversion to having her floors ruined by rain. in midnight sun, edward mentioned that multiple times. MY MIND.

everyone reading this is thinking like, yeah, sure “your mind” OR you’re dumb and should not be finding any humor that your lizard brain came up with the same basic idea as smeyer, known racist. maybe esme was just written with hardly any personality so it wasn’t that difficult to end up concocting the same idea. and… okay, you’re right. but in those moments, let me tell you, i was really feeling something. smeyer, you reading this?

to catch up since i’ve been busy, i reread my other chapters. and i really need to go back and edit them. so thank u for being here & bearing with me. hehe

also… the beige… that’s for y’all.

just a lil baby warning: there are conversations revolving around religion in this chapter. i wanted to mention that as a warning for the sake of anyone who has had negative experiences with church/religion (like me!) whom this topic makes uncomfortable. the local doctor and his children are VAMPIRES. you have been warned. 

It was entirely unrealistic –– the possibility of running out of time –– but still, I expedited through the forest, the greenery blurring by me in long unfocused streaks. Although if I paid attention, I knew I’d still be able to see every microscopic detail. The fluffy moss growing along the trunks of the ground, the iridescent droplets of rain dotting the ferny leaves, the patterns in the wood of the trees. But I cared little to as I barreled forward, hurtling over uprooted trees and bounding over large pools of rainwater nestled in the muddy forest floor.

I lost a shoe leaping over the last fifty yard stretch of river, so I kicked the other off carelessly in midair. The shoe fell into the water with a powerful splash from the height. Alice could bite me later. I was in too great of a hurry to deal with her chastisement now. If she really cared for this pair of shoes, she could dive for it. Alice! The thought of my sister made me realize a reason I could actually be late. I needed a change of clothes.

As I fell back to the earth, reaching a hand forward to grasp onto a convenient branch, I focused, envisioning my arrival at the house, the flight of the stairs, and the knock on the door of her room. I pictured asking her my request, and though I had no intention of actually following through with these steps, I hoped the thought was enough for Alice to see what I wanted. It should be, because if it wasn’t, I’d have to go into the house anyways, but I really didn’t want to waste time.

I swung lightly onto the bough of another spruce, and nimbly travelled this way from branch to branch, juggling the journal all the while by throwing it into the air between trees and catching it again. I could run fast and delicately enough to avoid muddying my feet, but with how unfocused I was in my hurry, I didn’t want to risk needing to stop to wash off.

If they hadn’t been concerned already, now would really be the time that my family genuinely considered my descent into insanity, seeing me wildly and maniacally swing through the trees towards the house like Tarzan after having only melodramatically left hours prior.

I knew it wouldn’t last, but I felt somehow liberated by the realizations that I’d come to in my wintry jungle. After hours of considering the right way forward navigating my now complicated future, I’d decided to face it head on. To stubbornly confront the problem. I was tired of feeling unlike myself and feeling distanced from my family, though my new resolution might encourage the rift I’d only just mended with Rosalie. Even with my grievances, I still enjoyed this life, the strength I’d found in it. The sense of rightness and belonging that contrasted how I’d felt so weak and out of step as a human. I wanted to bask in that again. I wanted to take action.

I decided the best way to reattain that freedom was rather than leave the boy alone, I’d challenge the vision. Seek him out this morning. Return the journal to him. Sit beside him. And in my ability to do so, I’d then prove his irrelevance to me, his powerlessness over my self control.

And although it was still a ridiculous thought to entertain, if I did find in me some concern or care for him, then that’d be even better. It’d certainly be strange, but it’d also strengthen my resolve to leave him be with his own life rather than make any choices he couldn’t even be knowledgeable enough about to consent to. Then, once I’d done so, I could truly leave him alone for good. I’d toyed with completely ignoring him from the beginning as I said I would, but then I decided that outcome wouldn’t develop from inaction. I was far too headstrong to leave this alone without trying to face it.

I will admit that a part of me was curious about Alice’s vision, curious about a friend or even a partner in this life… But the thought of Edward as that partner made me recoil. He was too irritating –– not the ideal candidate to spend an eternity with.

He was smart, though. And kind too, I noted, thinking of the way he’d cheered up the girl in the hospital… But definitely irritating. I’d have endless time to decode what had made him so relentless and smart-mouthed, but once I’d made the discovery, what then?

I had spent hours turning the little brown journal in my hands over and over, studying the worn leather, the folds and creases, tempted to open it and uncover his secrets. During an hour where I’d been resolved to go forth with pretending he didn’t exist, I’d even considered sneaking back to his house and finding my way in to leave the journal by his side so that I wouldn’t have to give it back to him myself in person. But that –– and also privily reading it without his permission –– seemed indefensibly invasive.

I didn’t mind being a vampire if that’s what I was. But that didn’t mean I had any desire to fulfill some of the creepier of the tropes.

Once I reached the tree closest to the garage, I tightroped onto a thin branch. Then, cautious as to not break it, I gently pushed down and sprung off, diving like a swimmer seventy feet down, the journal clasped between my outstretched hands. The distance was very short, and I landed softly, focusing greatly on doing so in a cautiously tactile way that wouldn’t cannonball me through the building and barreling into the ground. I rolled like a bowling ball to a stop on the vegetative, vine-covered roof in a cluster of silky honeysuckle and tickling lavender wisteria.

Even now all these years later, I felt kind of giddy at the impossible physics of my body’s capability for control, so I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I even laughed a little more thinking again of how my family might see my behavior –– me laughing here in the flowers –– as lunacy in how drastically it differed from the darkness of the personal rain cloud I’d been carrying over me.

From the house, I heard a deep chuckle and the sound of a scoff, confirming that I did have an audience. It must be Emmett mocking the impressiveness of my nosedive. I smiled, feeling very much like myself again.

I hopped off the roof to the ground and entered the garage. Sure enough, Alice had laid out a small pile of clothes for me for the upcoming school day. I stripped, unceremoniously dropping the garments I was wearing into a pile on the floor and reached for the clothing. Then, I groaned.

“Alice!” I hissed her name like an expletive. I thought we’d moved past my sister’s insistence on using me as her personal doll, but it seemed this was her attempt for a revival. Maybe she was determined to punish me for the way I’d destroyed my shoes. Rather than a sensible sweater and jeans, Alice had taken advantage of my hurried need and elected to pick out a cropped turtleneck sweater and a mini skirt, both black. The sweater wasn’t awful in that the crop wouldn’t be exposing with the high waist of the skirt, but the bodycon fit of the skirt, the crocodile print of the polyurethane, and the ludicrous split up the side… Alice was deranged. This had to have come from her own closet.

She had the good sense to include sheer black tights to hide some of the disconcerting flawlessness and freaky whiteness of my skin –– not that that would matter much in how off-putting and contrasting I’d look in all black anyways –– but I’d have preferred converse over the matching black boots. At least the heel of the boot was more reasonable than I’d expect from her. Not more reasonable than converse, though.

I imagined showing up to Edward’s house. Hey, Edward! Here I am to drive you to school, pale and ridiculous. Also, I’m a vampire. Here’s your journal.

I considered the short run to my room in the house, but again, I was already running late…

I tugged the clothes on and hopped into the pearly white car, throwing the journal into the passenger seat. As I reversed out of the garage, I felt thankful for the engine upgrades Rosalie worked on that allowed for the instant rapidity of the acceleration.

I spun sharply, letting the car spin out with an obnoxiously loud screech until I was facing the long drive away from the house. In the rearview mirror, I watched as Rosalie entered the garage, her golden eyes shocked and her mouth open as I sped away.

My reckless driving only warranted a few irritated honks on my way to Edward’s house through the morning traffic –– one dark green Honda specifically gave me a long piece of their mind when I cut them off –– before I was whipping around the corner onto his street.

Just as I pulled in front of the lonely house, I watched as Edward casually jogged down the steps of his porch, his sleek backpack hanging carelessly off one shoulder and an apple in his hand.

His tangle of bronze hair was like a low burning flame against the muted monochromatism of the grey house and the grey sky and the grey pavement. Today, he wore a light tan turtleneck that clung tightly to his chest, slim beige trousers, and a long black coat that ended above the knees. His fancy belt, his long socks, and his suede boots were all black too. I didn’t particularly consider him to be someone who cared much about what others thought about him, but he seemed pretty meticulously dressed. I wondered if he dressed to impress others or dressed for himself. Neither decision particularly mattered, but it’d been so long since I thought about something so human –– the thought process of selecting what to wear and considering how you wanted to present yourself.

The clothes I wore ceased to matter long ago. I never particularly had an interest in fashion, so it was easy to allow Alice to select my wardrobe. And for the most part, she got it right. Only when I found her selections to be impractical, such as today, did I really care. But it was a rarity that she tried to push me too far out of my comfort zone anymore. She’d given up on me, or maybe she had just become more clever about finding the right opportunities to dress me in something absurd… I liked things that I could easily move around in.

Alice would approve of his outfit, I thought. Maybe if he liked fashion, they really would get along. But that didn’t matter because I had no intentions of involving Alice and her freaky little visions in my experiment.

Seeing me parked there, he froze for a moment, before his lips curved into a huge smile. Edward laughed, throwing his apple up in the air and catching it again. He half-jogged forward to meet me. I took a deep, clean breath full of the leather scents of the car’s interior and rolled down the window, leaning forward towards him.

Edward bent over so that his head could duck down to see my face through the window, and he shook his head again, chuckling.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Hello, Edward,” I smiled pleasantly, trying to play nice.

He eyed me suspiciously, but the glint in his pretty green eyes was teasing, the grin that lit them up never fading.

“I’ve come to bring you this, fresh from the scene of the crime––“ I grasped hold of the leather bound book in my hand, raising it up to wave it before setting it back down, “––and to offer you a ride to school. I’m sure it’d be a humbling experience for you to walk, but I felt bad about your pretty car being flattened like a pancake.”

“You’re not irritated with me?” Edward asked, slightly cocking his head to the side.

“Are you irritated with me?” I countered.

“Never,” he beamed.

“Well, then we can call a truce,” I half smiled. “You’re not curious as to why I’m forcing you to carpool, making your getting to school my business?”

“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business. But of course, I am curious.”  

“As usual,” I mumbled under my breath. Hesitantly, I breathed in. It was like pulling the chord on a hot-air ballon with the way his scent ripped my throat into flames. I was grateful for the distraction of someone grumbling to themself as they turned onto the street, because instead of spiraling, I was able to instead laugh as I realized who I had cut off a few traffic lights ago. I looked in the rearview mirror and sure enough recognized Sara, the sandy blonde, driving the ugly green Honda.

“Hmm… Well, I wouldn’t want to upset your girlfriend––” I bit my lip momentarily to keep myself from laughing, “––so I wouldn’t be offended if you said no.”

“Who?” Edward asked, but his smile had faded as his eyes watched my lips intently.

He looked back into my eyes after a second, blinking as he realized I was staring at him staring at me, then up at the car awkwardly pulling in behind me.

“Oh,” he chuckled as he realized who I meant. “I’ll be just a moment.”

I watched in my side-view mirror as Edward approached Sara on the drivers’ side.

“Hey, Sara,” he said as she cranked her window down.

“Hey, Ed,” she grumbled, kind of irritated. I should have felt guilty for disrupting her plan, but her irritation with Edward instead provoked my nerves. Also, the fact that she called him Ed bothered me too. “I guess you made it out alive. I’d have been here sooner, but Cullen cut me off. I got suck at a red light.”

“Did she?” Edward laughed. “Well, I’m really sorry, Sara. This is so nice of you, but Bella offered to drive me to school today. I’d cancel now that you’re here, but after she saved my life, I’d feel terrible doing so. Is it alright if I see you at school?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” she snapped, trying to seem unbothered despite the tightness of her jaw and the edge in her voice.

“I’m sorry again, Sara. I really appreciate that you came here,” Edward smiled a dazzling smile.

“No big deal. I’ll see you at school,” she lifted the corners of her lips once before turning away, her mouth in a tight line.

He sighed watching as she drove past me and away before a crooked smile reappeared on his face as he walked back to my car. I didn’t have time to wonder if he would have preferred to ride with her. It didn’t seem likely.

“…Ed?” I asked as he crossed back to the passenger side.

“You heard that?” Edward chuckled. He slid his backpack off his back, opened the door, and dipped his tall frame into the car. He picked up the journal before settling into the passenger’s side, adjusting the seat to make room for his legs and backpack. “I’m not particularly fond of that nickname. Or any, for that matter. My mother called me Teddy sometimes. I prefer Edward.”

“I do too,” I agreed, breathing in the potency of his fragrance. I clutched the steering wheel tightly and swallowed dryly.

“So,” he began once he was comfortable. “Are you feeling more open today?”

“No,” I answered as I began to drive towards the school.

Edward sighed, but he shook his head, amused. Clearly, he’d decided to play nice too. “Do you ever get tired of ambiguity, Bella?”

Yes.

“No,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “I enjoy being mysterious far too much.”

“Mysterious enough to keep me up at night,” he egged on.

“I’m sure you slept just fine.”

“How’d you sleep?” Edward asked. I looked over at him, ignoring the tingling of my tongue in anticipation of the taste of his sweet blood. I should have thought of a response, but I was too busy fighting off my instincts to think of a lie. His pretty eyes narrowed in thought as he analyzed my face and the dark circles beneath my golden eyes.

Suddenly, I froze, my muscles locking down as he reached forward, his hand gently touching my hair. I didn’t dare breathe as the heat of his skin enveloped me in warmth. His hand lingered for a moment before it pulled back, holding up a broken piece of fern.

“You had a leaf in your hair. How’d that get there?” Edward almost whispered, his lips curved into a half-smile.

A strange electricity throbbed through my body, and the sensation was so odd. Like my heartbeat should be thrumming loudly in my ears. Deafening. But my heart was frozen and dead, so I only heard the beat of Edward’s. We sat in silence for a moment as my mind spun in the dizziness.

“Maybe I should have accepted Sara’s offer,” he joked after a moment, laughing, but I wondered what he made of the affliction I was trying to hide on my face. Around him, no matter my attempts at subterfuge, it felt as though my face was an open book in which he could read all my secrets. I refocused my eyes on the road, too distracted by the warmth of his pale face and the prettiness of his green eyes as the forest flew by in the window behind him.

“Maybe,” I agreed, smiling softly, smiling sadly. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should jump out of the car and run before I accidentally kill you.

“But,” he mused gently, trying to keep the mood light and playful. “She probably doesn’t have heated seats.”

His effort to comfort the conflict raging within me that he didn’t even understand worked. I snorted.

I continued driving, thinking of ways to bring up the journal.

“You look lovely today, by the way,” he smiled, appraising me. “Which is not to say that you don’t on any other day, but you do look very pretty.”

I felt oddly incomplete as I waited for reactions my body was no longer capable of. Reactions I’d forgotten. There was another strange sensation in my cheeks as if they should be very warm.

My head whipped towards him in surprise, my eyebrows pulling up.

“What?” He immediately asked in shock, his heart beat picking up. My reaction didn’t totally alarm him though, because his lips were still pulled up at the corners. Edward seemed to always be smiling. Or maybe smirking was the better word. “Do you not get compliments often? I find that rather hard to believe.”

“No, it’s not that,” I relaxed my face. “I was just caught off guard. Lovely…That wasn’t particularly something I’d expect a seventeen year old boy to say.”

“Oh,” he relaxed, easily grinning again.

“Are you even seventeen?” I found myself smiling in return.

“Are you?” He countered.

My mood darkened as my lips dropped immediately, but I fixed the smile back onto my face so he couldn’t see how exposed I felt.

“You know, my mom used to say that I was born thirty five years old, and that I get more middle-aged every year.”

“Hmm…” Edward nodded, his eyes narrowed again as he scrutinized me. I wondered if this clarified some assumption he’d made about me.

I turned into the school parking lot. I saw the gleaming cherry redness of Rosalie’s ostentatious car and desperately hoped she was already inside one of the brick buildings.

“So,” he prompted, his tone mysteriously patronizing. “Did you read this?”

I glanced over to see the accusation in his eyes as he held up the journal, but he didn’t seem angry whatsoever. They were still light. Still playful.

“What? No, of course not,” I defended myself. But my voice was unpersuasive, the pitch coming out a little too high to give my words any credibility.

I parked beside Rosalie. The car was luckily empty, so I relaxed my grip on the steering wheel. Ha! As if my sister would have confronted me here, and I’d have driven away, effectively kidnapping Edward… I scoffed at myself. I clenched the hand Edward couldn’t see into a tight fist, concentrating all of my strength in my fight against temptation into the way my fingers dug into my palm.

I turned my face to look at Edward, whose face was condescending, his thick eyebrows pulled up in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Maybe I look guilty because I considered it, but I didn’t actually follow through.”

His face relaxed into a crooked smile. “Okay, I believe you. I’d have forgiven you anyways.”

“Does that mean if I ask you about the contents, you’ll share?” I asked eagerly. I’d read so many books in my life that this new mystery novel easily became just like another book I was dying to read.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head, chuckling. Edward reached for his bag, winking at me, and opened his door, ducking his head to get out. I swiftly undid my seatbelt and was out beside him probably much too fast, my backpack slung onto my shoulder. For a moment, I wondered if my siblings needed their useless backpacks too since we typically drove this car to school, but I figured Alice must have rescued them from the trunk after seeing my plans for this morning.

He blinked, looking down at where I suddenly appeared.

“Why?” I inhaled through my mouth, grateful for the influx of fresh rainwater and firs that helped dilute Edward’s scent.

His heart thrummed in his chest, and being so close to him, the sound was like thunder surrounding me as I listened, becoming attuned to it. The splash of puddles as tires hightailed through the parking lot, the slam of locker doors as students got their books, and the chatter of kids as they entered the school all seemed like irrelevant ambiance now.

“Because,” Edward breathed. His breath was shaky, but his face remained cool. The sweetness of the smell washed over my face, and I clenched my fist again. “That wouldn’t be fair whatsoever.”

“And why not?” I demanded.

“You expect me to entrust you with all of my secrets when you won’t trust me with just one of yours?”

He wasn’t wrong. But I couldn’t exactly divulge anything about the accident. I was already breaking too many rules. My own rules. My own promises I’d made to my family.

“How about…” I considered, though my thoughts were headed in a dangerous direction. “If you happen to have any theories, you can share one, and I’ll either confirm or deny it.”

“Just one?”

“Yes.”

“How is that worth the very much intimate documentation of my entire mind, Bella? That’s hardly sufficient.”

“Fine, I don’t care about your stinking journal,” I snapped, stubbornly poking my chin in the air a fraction.

He surprised me by actually throwing his head back to laugh.

“Are you done?” I asked.

“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?” he considered this for a moment, beaming. “Okay, I’ll accept these conditions. But later.”

“Later?” I demanded, feeling a sense of injustice as I froze in place. He continued forward and took a bite of his apple. The juice spilled out sweetly into the air, but the fragrance was unappetizing and certainly not as sweet as Edward’s blood.

“Thank you for the ride, Bella. I’ll see you in biology.” Again, he winked, walking backwards. He saluted me, waving once with the journal in his other hand and then turned around, clearly enjoying having the upper hand as he and temptation disappeared into the crowd of students.

I stood there, my mouth propped open. The sensation of being watched started to creep up on me and sure enough, I turned to find Rosalie ten yards away outside of the building to her first period. Her eyes were dark, cold, and fierce with betrayal. Guiltily, I looked away and headed off towards my first class.

Throughout my morning classes, I tried not to think about my family’s –– or rather, Rosalie’s –– opinions on my decision this morning. At this, I failed miserably. As I imagined explaining how really if I didn’t stay away from the boy, it would prove that I actually could leave him alone and exercise control against Alice’s visions, I started to find my logic extremely flawed and unbelievable. Maybe I was making a mistake. Maybe I was just too pigheaded. I tried not to think about this too.

Instead, I thought again about the secrets of his journal. Wasn’t this essentially the symbol of everything I’d been obsessing over? All of my wonderings and curiosities as for why he was so annoying and his eyes so perceptive could all be unraveled in that little book. I wondered if I’d be disappointed once the mystery was unveiled. Maybe the journal –– and by extension, Edward himself –– was not as interesting as I thought. I may have just been fixating on this because it was something different. But I told myself it’d be better for me to be disappointed. The sooner I could move on with my life.

Throughout the day, a couple of the braver students asked for details about the accident but became disappointed when I didn’t offer up the dramatics they were hoping for. I felt too shameful to discredit Edward’s accounts, so I irresponsibly dismissed the opportunities to ensure the accident yesterday hadn’t exposed anything unusual about me or my family. Eventually, as my monotonous account of the events spread through the tiny school, kids stopped asking.

I was impatient to get to biology, but before then, I’d have to face my siblings at lunch. When the bell rang after fifth period, I walked much too quickly to the cafeteria, dreading arriving but very much eager to get it over with. As I weaseled my way through the hallway –– which wasn’t difficult because even in the familiarity of the school, we were typically provided a wide berth –– I overheard the conversation of two other juniors. I froze in place as my plans shifted for the day. They discussed the difficulty of today’s biology pop exam, and I realized I wouldn’t have the hour of the day the school allotted to speak with Edward, the excuse I could provide my family in my defense. A freshman nearly rammed into me from behind, not expecting my sudden stop. Whoever it was recoiled immediately. 

Well, I wasn’t going to miss out on whatever explanation he planned to provide because of some trivial pop exam. I rearranged my lunch plans, appreciating the excuse to postpone another family confrontation. We could battle it out at the long oval table later if necessary.

I entered the cafeteria and was second in the lunch line, only selecting a glass lemonade bottle so that the emptiness in front of me wouldn’t be unnerving for Edward. I figured it’d be more disconcerting to leave a tray of food in front of me untouched. I headed to a round table in the corner that was typically empty. This wouldn’t surprise my family when they entered. Alice would warn them.

I sat waiting as students filed in, either joining the growing line or meeting at their usual tables with their friends. I avoided Rosalie’s eyes when she entered the room, but I could still feel the iciness of her stare. I listened for Edward’s deep and soft voice to indicate his arrival, then when I couldn’t find it, instead listened for Sara’s to see if she may be with him. Sara was a loud, babbling talker, so it was easy to find her voice in the crowd of the hallway. She seemed to have gotten over her irritation from this morning as she animatedly spoke about some research she’d done the night prior into some potential colleges she might apply to.

I found that although I may feel some irrational resentment of her ability to be so close to Edward, I liked Sara. Maybe we would have even been friends if I was a human. And if her proximity to him didn’t bother me. She was prattling on about her dream of becoming a veterinarian, and her goals seemed so sincere that I almost felt guilty finding any enjoyment in having stolen Edward from her this morning.

But that didn’t mean I didn’t have intentions to do so again.

As I suspected, when Sara walked through the double doors, Edward was by her side. He was actively listening to her words –– always so polite to anyone who wasn’t me –– but once inside the lunch room, his eyes immediately flashed to the table in which my siblings were settling into. His thick eyebrows pulled together in confusion –– and maybe even disappointment? –– at the realization he didn’t find me there.

I was impatient as he purchased his lunch. Once he’d left the line, he still hadn’t noticed me sitting here. Maybe he was less perceptive than I gave him credit for. I felt a moment of awkwardness as I thought about having to get up, walk across the cafeteria, and ask him to join me in front of my family. I would still have done so, but I was immensely relieved when Sara noticed me.

“Are you eating lunch with Bella too?” The sandy blonde asked, her tone suddenly indignant. This time, I felt no pleasure in my thievery. Sara was right to want to reserve Edward to her human world, but I was too entranced with the mystery of his journal and the mystery of his mind to care.

Edward looked up, searching. His sage eyes were bright and animated once he found me here at the table. He held his tray in one large hand while combing the other through his untidy bronze hair. The arrogant confidence in his face made me smirk, and I rolled my eyes, lifting my hand to beckon him forward twice with my finger as if I was reluctantly pacifying a child.

“I guess so,” he laughed a little as he sauntered forward towards the table, leaving Sara behind gawking. I braced myself for the onslaught, inhaling one last fresh breath of air. How habitual this was becoming.

“I’m being gifted your presence outside of our biology class twice in one day? What did I do to deserve this?” He teased once he’d arrived, standing behind the seat across from me.

“Nearly die. I guess that’s a fair enough price to pay for my company,” I played along. If only he knew how true that still was. He grinned, his perfect teeth white and shiny. “Oh, don’t look so smug. I’m only here to uncover a mystery.”

“As am I,” he reminded me. I winced.

“Are you going to sit down?” I asked. He still stood behind the seat, tall and lean, a giant like my brothers. Not quite as towering and much slimmer, but still, I felt small in my seat looking up at him.

Edward leaned down to carefully place his tray on the laminate before comfortably settling into his seat as if we’d done this before. I glanced at his tray, curious as to his selection. A bottle of water, a grilled chicken salad, and a bag of dried fruit. I stared at the food for a moment as if this would provide me any clues about his mind.

“So,” he began. I looked up to meet his eyes and though I knew he’d be looking at me, I felt a jolt pulse through me. He caught something about my reaction, and a crooked smile appeared on his face.

“So,” I continued. “You were going to tell me about your journal.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I believe we agreed on a condition, did we not?”

“We did,” I admitted. “Go ahead.”

“Hmm… I’m not sure I’m actually ready to, Bella,” he pondered, and I felt odd again hearing him say my name.

“Why not?” I demanded, restless. Of course I was interested in the book, but I was also definitely interested in his theories. I couldn’t believe it had only been yesterday that the accident occurred. It felt like a lifetime ago. The same way that first day in biology did.

“I’ve only been given about twenty four hours to come up with any explanations.”

“And have you?”

“Maybe, but I have a feeling you’ll be very firm on only allowing one theory, so I want to hold out for the theory I’m most confident on.”

I frowned, and Edward laughed.

“Don’t worry though. I’ll tell you about my journal anyways. As long as you promise–– no, that’d be letting you off too easily. As long as you swear to me that you won’t forget your end of the deal.”

“I swear,” I promised, smiling at the silliness of his command. I took this moment to breath in his powerful scent, to wrestle with my desire.

“Hmm… I wonder if it’ll upset you,” his forehead crumped in thought. My patience was wearing so thin that the inexorable cloud of lust for his blood had little impact in comparison to the sudden aggravation at his procrastination.

“Oh, Edward!” I groaned, exasperated. “Would you just tell me? What could possibly upset me?”

For whatever reason, Edward burst into laughter at my outburst and couldn’t seem to stop.

I glared at him, and he tried to choke back his humor unsuccessfully. The irritation in my eyes didn’t deter him or instill any sense of fear in him. Briefly, I wondered if he was mentally sound.

“Okay, well, you can just go eat lunch with your little friends, and I’ll stay here and talk to myself.”

“Don’t be mad,” he pleaded as another laugh escaped. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You’re just so impatient. And for what? My uninteresting little journal?”

“You’re annoying, did you know that?”

“Maybe, but you’ve chosen to sit here with me, so you must like me for some reason,” he pointed out. For some reason indeed. Once again, he was right on target. My mouth gaped open.

“Okay, I’m getting up––”

“No, please, Bella. I’ll behave myself now. I’ll tell you about my journal. I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” His smile was dazzling, and his eyes were fierce, sweet, and sincere. I was mesmerized, stuck in the seat across from him.

“Okay,” I said stupidly.

“My journal,” he began seriously, “is sort of a Bible.”

I waited for him to laugh again.

“No, really,” Edward did laugh but not as though he’d told a joke. “I know that’s kind of strange.”

Religion had never been a major facet of my life. A dozen memories flickered through my mind of the times as a human where my mother Renée had gone through impassioned phases where she attended church, trying on multiple denominations and religions for size. But just like the rest of her sudden and fleeting interests, her spiritual high wore off, and we never spoke about God or church again. Only when I became immortal did religion take a more permanent place in my thoughts. But it was only the proximity to Carlisle that made me consider spiritual beliefs, and even then, it was simply another topic to devote thought to in all the endless space in my head and all the endless time in which to fill it.

I didn’t know particularly what I believed nor if I cared much, but I did know that if Edward was religious enough to tote around a bible at school, he’d definitely not be pleased to know he sat across from an actual vampire.

“You carry around a bible?”

“Well, don’t make any judgments yet, alright? It’s not exactly a bible. It’s kind of difficult to explain.”

“I think I can keep up,” I said simply, feeling slightly awkward but still curious. I glanced down at his untouched food. “But you should probably eat.”

“And what about you?” He asked, eyeing my full lemonade bottle.

I unscrewed the tin cap for his benefit. Following my lead, he opened the plastic container of his salad. I waited impatiently as he slowly ate his food.

I watched him as he ate, but when his eyes flickered curiously up to me, I fixated my attention on the lemonade bottle, tracing the mouth of it with my pinky finger.

After a few moments, Edward spoke up. “What are you thinking?”

I looked up to meet his light green gaze and felt stuck there again, compelled to reveal everything.

“I’m trying to figure out what you think I am,” I admitted only one of my concerns, though even this was much too honest. I thought of the inspiration he could draw from his religious text. The second beast. The Nephilim. Cherubim. Demons. Even though I didn’t have a true understanding of the contents of the book, some of Carlisle’s paintings had provided me with enough of an idea.

“I’m not having much luck with that yet,” he answered.

I laughed, relieved. “Well, you have only been given twenty four hours.”

“What else are you thinking?” he asked again, sensing there was more.

I sighed, feeling uncomfortable under his analyzation. The weight of his watchful eyes was too penetrative.

“That a boy who carries around a bible probably wouldn’t like me very much.”

“Why? Are you a sinner?” He smiled teasingly, but his eyes were soft as he tried to pull me again from the gloominess that seemed to steal me away.

“Something like that.”

“Well, aren’t we all?”

“Not all dogs go to heaven,” I answered. He chuckled at how I butchered the expression.

“Hmm… I’m not sure if I absolutely believe in a heaven, but if I do, I think the prerequisites to make it in are much broader than the Christian faith teaches.”

“You carry around a bible but don’t believe in heaven?”

“I said I’m unsure. And I said it was difficult to explain, didn’t I?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I hardly understand what you mean the majority of the time either.”

We both laughed, and the synchronicity of the moment made me forget my intentions with bothering him in the first place. It made me realize that in a way, I actually did feel fondly of Edward.

“Here, I’ll explain. I’m done eating anyways.” He used a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth, then pushed it away on top of his lunch tray.

“My mother was very religious,” Edward began. “She wasn’t pious or bigoted or forceful about her beliefs. She was kind… devout. She believed in goodness. Her entire life had been dedicated to caring for other people. She wasn’t someone whose true intentions were to condemn others with the hope to save them from hell. Rather, she seemed more focused on saving someone from unhappiness. A lot of other believers have been known to connect with someone only for the end goal of forcing them to change the way they live for the sake of feeling as though they saved them. She had always been offended by this insistence to control another’s lifestyle, believing that any Child of God should truly only be concerned with loving others.

“I have pages of verses ripped out from her bible stuck throughout my journal. It may seem sacrilegious to destroy a bible in that way, but she’d read through it so many times that it had completely fallen apart. I tried to save it when she died, but there was no hope to. It was too dilapidated and tattered. So in my own journal, I have all these notes I’ve written on the notes she wrote in her bible. All these confusing erratic writings, these scribbles, I’ve been trying to sort out, just trying to figure out how to be a good person.”

At the end of his speech, my mouth dropped open. Quickly, I closed it again.

“So, do you believe in a god?” I asked after a few moments of silence.

“I’m not sure what I believe. If you don’t believe that all this world could have just happened on its own, which is hard for me to accept myself, then a god seems to be just as reasonable an answer as anything else. But I do believe in science as well. And once again, I don’t believe that any higher being who created the entire universe would be so particular and unyielding on such frivolous, harmless human matters as to what you do…or who you love… I’m hesitant to speak about god publicly, not because I fear any kind of persecution for my complicated beliefs, but because I know that the church has caused a lot of damage to a lot of people. And I don’t want anyone to think I support any of that harm. But for innocent believers, I see nothing wrong with wanting a reason to hold onto hope if that’s what religion is for them.”

“Neither do I,” I agreed, thinking of Carlisle.

“I think at the core of any religion –– and I definitely am interested in studying other religions as well –– is the same message. To do good by others and yourself. Of course, historically, religion has been weaponized as a means to take control over innocent people, but in considering people like my mother… I sincerely hope that there is a god. For her sake.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t worry.” Edward smiled his crooked smile. “I’m not about to try and sell you some religious propaganda. At no point will I sit you down and ask, ‘do you mind if I take a moment to speak about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ?’ That’s never been my mission. I’m not entirely certain whether or not I even consider myself religious.”

“So what is your mission then with the journal?”

“Perhaps this will sound a little pretentious, but it’s not so much that I’m curious about the chicken or the egg scenario… Evolution versus creation… I don’t care very much as to how we got here. I guess because my mother believed so profusely, and I consider her to be such a great person, I’m curious as to whether our morality is innate as people, or if all goodness is because we have some kind of spirit within us leading us to want to do right by other people. I think overall, it is innate. An atheistic individual can do wonderful things for the world just as someone who claims to love Jesus can do terrible things. I don’t think anyone who doesn’t believe chooses to do good for God, but I wonder if that innate sense of morality, sense of compassion is ingrained into us because of the fact we do have souls. So the question I’ve been trying to answer all these years is… do we? Does my mother die, fade to nothing, with her body? Or did she live on because she had a soul?”

“Those are big questions for a seventeen year old.”

“Those are big questions for anybody, no matter their age. And questions humankind has been trying to answer for thousands of years,” Edward chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t expect to be the one to stumble upon the answers. More so, I’m really trying to find some purpose in my mother’s life. I do want to honor her, and maybe if I can understand all the things she wrote about people and about God, then I can.”

“So what do you write?”

“I write my thoughts on what she journaled about. And I write about all the good things I see someone do. About the reasons why I think they did them… I study people a lot.”

“Do you ever feel creepy?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” he laughed. “I mean, it’s not that I’d be the type to watch someone while they sleep. But if someone comforts a friend, picks up a stray piece of trash off the ground, smiles at a stranger… I try to take notice. I want to notice people.”

Edward sighed. “I know this must sound arrogant, but I really do believe I’m very sensitive to the thoughts of other people. At least, I try to be. For example, I know Sara must not be very happy that I chose to ride with you this morning, or that I am sitting with you now. I’m not oblivious to her feelings for me. But it’d be very ungentlemanly of me to accuse her of those feelings if she prefers to keep them secretive, so I’ll define a boundary if needed to protect her feelings whenever she chooses to come forth about them. I’d like to retain our friendship, but I still make my own choices.”

“So…” I began, ignoring his point about Sara. “Let’s say we all did have souls. Could someone lose that soul by any chance?”

“Hmm…” he thought, his eyes intent, piercing into mine as though he were trying to read my mind. “Now, that’s a big question for a seventeen year old.”

I laughed along with him.

“Well, I’m not sure whether or not you can lose your soul –– if we have them, of course. Perhaps you could damage the integrity of it or compromise it somehow. Could it be lost in death? If there is something of a heaven, does that automatically imply the existence of a hell? What purpose does hell serve in torturing one’s soul for eternity? Justice? Do some people perhaps deserve that fate? I want to say no, but then you think of awful, malicious people who have done awful, malicious things. Murder. Genocide. Rape. Isn’t the losing of your soul in death, fading into nonexistence too easy of a punishment? Do those people warrant a judge, jury, and executioner? I would hope that there are consequences to evil actions, but I don’t understand the idea that if such a place exists for the most vile of humanity, nonbelievers and sinners would go to the same place as well according to the Christian faith. I would say on that front, the Bible must be profoundly off. That aspect has to be invented by man for a means of control. What creator would wish such a fate on someone so innocent as to simply be uncertain about a god? So does a nonbeliever or sinner simply cease to exist, therefore losing their soul? Or is there some kind of alternative? Like a purgatory in the Catholic faith. That too seems a cruel fate from what should be a loving God.”

I felt slightly uneasy, wondering what he would think of my non-life, if he would consider this to be the alternative for innocent sinners. I wondered if he would believe I had a soul.

Edward softened his expression at my discomfort. His eyes were gentle and kind.

“But I don’t think I believe that. Like I said, I think the division between good and bad, right and wrong, is less black and white than most religious people believe. I think it’s gray, and I think any higher power would realize that too. So if you’re making that face because you’ve sinned a little here and there or murdered somebody, maybe you can make a comeback.”

Edward winked, and I forced myself to laugh. 

“So would yesterday earn me some points?”

“Oh, definitely. You’ve practically merited an angel status.”

This time I did genuinely laugh at the thought of me as an angel.

“But again, as for what’s considered sin… I don’t subscribe to the majority of what’s considered biblical canon.”

“You don’t have to continue with the disclaimers. I believe that you’re not judging my sinful ways.”

“Correction, I don’t believe that God themself is judging you for your sinful ways. I never said anything about my judgment of you.”

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling at the smirk on his face. “I’m not at all surprised that you have a god complex. That seems about right –– you do come off like the type to be very judgmental.”

“I’m notoriously difficult to impress,” Edward half-smiled. “Are we continuing this conversation in Biology, or are you growing tired of the dark and the heavy?”

“Not yet,” I answered. “But I overheard that we have a pop quiz, so you’ll have to save your pretty boy disciple thoughts for later.”

He chuckled as I stood up from the table, reaching to grab my untouched lemonade bottle and cap to throw away, then stopped me.

“I’ve got it,” Edward placed the bottle on his tray to dump into the garbage. I watched curiously as he pocketed the bottle cap.

“I’d say thank you, but I know you’re only trying to win points in the eyes of God.”

“Anything to get into heaven,” he laughed.

* * *

y’all know i had to make edward a lil christian boy. u know edward is the i wanna church girl who go to church… and reaaaad her biiiible vine. i do want to clarify again… unlike stephenie mormon, i have no agenda in speaking about religion in this fanfic. i’m not particularly fond of labels, but i am more agnostic than anything so… i’m not tryna convert anybody to anything. it just seemed very “classically edward” as rosalie would say.

i hope u enjoyed! i also wanted to say i really, really appreciate the comments! i haven't replied bc... i'm shy but i read them & truly feel very flattered. ♡

[nika-the-hunter]

House of Mist [Ch. 11]

Central Seattle Ruins, Pacific Northwest. House Mist Territory +157 days 

Nicole and Rykis walked down the path that had been worn through the tall grass. The old road surface was clearly visible here under the dirt. It was cracked and crumbled, resembling gravel more than the flat concrete it had once been. The other trees, not the evergreens, were starting to get their leaves again, and were bringing brighter shades of green to the pale urban ruins. This was her first spring, and it was wonderful, everything was so full of life. 

 Her meeting with Fort Discovery had gone well; so well in fact that she was absolutely convinced that working with the House of Mist had been the right decision. She and Rykis had spent the remainder of the day walking around the small settlement named after the original park it was built on. There had been a fort there before at some point in ancient history, but its name had been lost to time. 

She met many Humans in the fort; over half of them had ties to the region that went back to before the Collapse. Those that had migrated over to Fort Discovery from elsewhere had interesting stories of the world outside the region as well. She had made it a point that return trips would be common for her. The children that her Ghost was entertaining followed him the whole time, trying to play tag with the mechanical ball. 

Pedro and Athena had ideas for expansion that Nicole could help with. They had been in radio contact with a group of people due east that were worried about a band of Fallen lurking around their town. The town had been cautious about Mist, but stories of the friendly Fallen out west had apparently made the journey to them. They were willing to move into Mist territory but had no way to do it without drawing the attention of the local Fallen crew. Pedro had planned to bring it to the Kell’s attention soon, but the campaign against the House of Devils had kept the Kell busy. Now that things were calming down, he would bring it up and suggest that Nicole help convince the others that Mist was extra safe. 

When Nicole finally left Fort Discovery, she found the Archon taking a video call with an Eliksni Vandal who wore a banner she did not know. Though there was a lot she did not know already. It was hard to tell the color of the armor with the screen glare from the angle they were at, but it looked green. Marakis had ended the call and turned to face the two who had approached. He briefly mentioned that he was speaking with the House of Exile, before asking about their tour. Later Rykis told her that the House of Exile was an Eliksni collective that lived up on the moon. Mist apparently had a trade deal with them regarding Ether. 

On the flight back to the Archons compound, they all talked briefly, Marakis was interested in how she and Rykis were getting along. He seemed really excited with a Guardian and Eliksni living together and seemed to read the subtext of what was really going on quite well. Sparing them the embarrassment of just saying it. 

The day was nearly over by then with the sunset lighting the sky in a bright gold. Their walk back towards downtown kept them in the shade already. Her Ghost spent his time orbiting around the two and occasionally flying off to scan something dangling in the old windows. The ruins were mostly empty, Mist Eliksni lived in the newer buildings that were further downtown. Those buildings were still old pre-Collapse construction, but they were in much better shape than the stone and steel skyscrapers that made up ninety percent of the city. Over the centuries after the collapse, those buildings had remained free of overgrowth and were still somewhat waterproof, unlike her hotel across the lake. 

“So, are we headed back to the Kell to catch that truck back, or are we walking home on our own?” Nicole asked.

“No, the Kell gave you the choice of living elsewhere now. You’re not restricted to Baron Acskis’ outpost.” He replied. 

“So... where are we headed then?” He did not really answer her question. 

“We’re headed to where I lived before. I think that you might like it.” She could see the edges of his face move behind his mask in what she recognized as an Eliksni smile, then he shrugged. “If you do not, then we can go to your hotel tomorrow, or maybe somewhere else.”  

“Oh, alright. It’s been a while hasn’t it?” 

“Mm, not as long as you think, I visit it whenever you’re busy around Bellevue.”

Nicole nodded. “Well that’s good; I’d hate to keep you from home.”

There was a bleep from her helmet that was clipped to her belt. She looked down and saw something flashing on her visor. “Oh hey, give me a second.” Her helmet slipped over her head, but she did not activate the seal. 

The blinking icon opened into a list that took up half of the view screen. The word Quests was in bold at the top, with little icons and what she guessed were the quests themselves listed on it. There were only a few entries. The currently highlighted ‘quest’ had a graphic of one of the metro trains she had seen in the tunnel over a banner for Umic. Memory Troubles was the name with the description “Locate Metro Security Records.” 

The chirp of her Ghost sounded from the helmet’s internal speaker. “Hey! You finally checked out the Quest tab!” 

“What is this?” She asked. 

“Well, you seemed to be getting a lot of things to do, so I decided to put together some of my own quests for you. Usually these come from the Vanguard at the Last City but given how we’re not planning on going there any time soon, I’ll do it for you for now.” 

“Okay... why did it just pop up now?” she stopped Rykis. “Hold on for a second.”

“Well follow the marker and find out!” the Ghost replied, at the same moment a diamond shaped marker appeared. He sounded excited which was very unlike himself. 

Nicole nodded in the direction the marker showed and started to go. “Sorry Rykis. My Ghost found something he wants me to see. We gotta’ detour.”

“Then lead on, Neh-cole.” 

The marker led back and over one block, to the front doorway of a tall office tower. The building's stone facade was crumbling in places, leaving piles of rubble underneath the trees. Once at the door, the icon appeared again further inside. It stopped at a stairwell leading down into the dark. “Alright, we’re here. What did you find?” 

Her Ghost appeared from inside the doorway and played his flashlight over the remains of a sign hanging on the wall. The letters had faded but most were still legible. -Metro Transit Authority. Regional Security Office.

“I found the place!” He did a spin inside his shell. At first, she was not sure what he meant, but the name of the ‘quest’ connected the dots. The camera down in the subway tunnel had been looking right at where her body had been. It was still working and sending the data back somewhere and something was still giving it the command to record. Robust systems were still working somewhere. But if she wanted to find out what had happened to her, all she needed to do was go down and find the network hub. It was not a priority; she had actually forgotten about it up until now. The discovery of her cause of death was more of a hopeful curiosity than an actual objective. However, there it was... at the bottom of the staircase were some answers about her previous life. Under the helmet she bit her lip and gave it a good two seconds of thought. The answer was obvious.   

Down she went. Quickly at first, but immediately slowing for caution; the stairs were slick and covered in moss. That was something she was used to seeing out there. Buildings, trees, rocks, and even growing on the side of Eliksni crates that had been sitting just a little too long; moss was everywhere. The bottom step was submerged beneath a few centimeters of water and somewhere deeper in the basement she could hear flowing water.

At the far end of the large open space, Nicole could see dozens of blinking green lights hidden behind a window. The working systems were a good sign that this was the right place. She stepped into the ankle-deep water and apologized to Rykis. He was not wearing any sort of water-resistant footwear, but he followed her anyway without complaining. Sloshing through the water, Nicole noticed that people had died down here fairly quickly. A few had died at their workstations, leaving their skeletons collapsed over keyboards and left computers in stand-by mode.

The sign on the side of the door said that it was the data-storage room. It was exactly what they were looking for. The blinking lights were the status lights for over a dozen large computer racks. The hum in the room was loud, and the air was warm. The doorway was raised higher than the water, someone had some forethought when they built the place in the basement, so there was no water inside. Once inside with the door closed behind them, Nicole could not hear the water flow anymore.

Nicole had no idea how to search all this for what they wanted, so she waved to the machines. “Okay Ghost, do your thing.” 

He chirped and flew over to one of the stacks. “This might take a while. These cameras have been recording for centuries...” The Ghost flew from stack to stack, an optical beam connecting with each tower. “Just have to find the feed from your station and trace where it goes. It was Olympic... I think?” 

“Well take your time, Ghost. It’s not like Rykis and I can do anything.” 

After a few minutes scanning through the various racks, he had found the data. “I got it!” he exclaimed with all his fins expanding out from his core. “Well, are you sure you want to watch this, last chance.” 

Rykis looked at the Ghost, and then to Nicole. “What did he find, what are we looking for?” 

“Well he found the recording of how I died. The first time.” Nicole grimly smiled. “I'm hoping it’ll give me something to work with. So yes, Ghost, start it up.” 

He floated over to a dormant computer station and interfaced with the monitor. The screen flickered and flashed to life. The multiple camera feeds from across the station appeared. There was even sound. 

Olympic Park Station  -28 minutes

Umic Security Officer Nicole Walker rushed down the escalator leading into the chaotic subway station. Her heavy plasteel ballistic vest almost knocked her off balance in the shifting sea of Seattle citizens. Thirteen hours ago, she had thought that the vest had been overkill; her regular uniform had woven strands of sapphire wire which was good enough to stop mid-caliber ammunition. But as the day progressed, she no longer felt that way, and was grateful for the vest. 

Gunfire at the top of the stairs brought her around with her rifle, aiming the carbine towards the odd colored daylight streaming in at the top of the shaft. The citizens and refugees parted and dropped to either side, clearing a firing lane to the doors. At the top of the stairs her partner, USO. Keane, fired out the door and onto the street. An explosion rocked the shaft and people fell, more pushed deeper into the station. “I’m gonna’ close the doors!” Keane shouted. “Get in here now.” 

He fired again, Nicole tried to get back up the escalator, but the parted sea had closed and everyone that was up near the top was making their way down whether she was in the way or not.

A cluster of blue energy shots peppered the wall above Keane. A large group of people finally made it through the doors, and he slammed his fist into the switch on the wall. The station’s storm shutters dropped from the ceiling and bounced once off their rubber seals. 

They were locked in, and the bad stuff was locked out. 

Another explosion from outside shook the ground again, more gunfire erupted nearby, it was all muffled by the storm shutters. “Everyone downstairs.” Nicole ordered. People that had remained on the stairs, even after the crowds fled, slowly got to their feet, and moved down to the station. 

The trains were still running, “Thank the Traveler...”  Nicole muttered. There were casualties and moving the injured on foot down kilometers of tunnel was just not going to work. 

“Please form a line! Cue up at the marked positions!” A Transit cop in a high-visibility vest was directing the panicked people to where they could board the next subway car. “We’ll get you all out of here as fast as we can. The trains are running double-time and filling up at previous stations!” 

Nicole walked over to one of the small coffee shops along the wall that had its lights still on. The windows were smashed, but two of the original employees were busy passing out water and snacks to anyone who came for them. She grabbed two bottles of water and a small bag of sugar cookies. Downing her bottle in one go, she headed back into the space between lines where Keane was wiping the sweat from underneath his helmet. “You alright?” She offered him the other water.

Taking the water, he also drained it. “Yeah... uh... just glad those doors are doing the job.” He nodded over to a group of Seattle Police Officers talking on the other side of the next line. “They got working radios. Military’s been trying to get up here for hours apparently. Something is bogging down the roads, and the weather is just insane.” 

She nodded. “We could really use the help. A bunch of street cops and some deputized, heavily armed, and highly skilled, security guards ain’t going to help everyone.” Nicole smirked; trying to add some humor into the situation. 

Keane returned the look with a thin smile. “Yeah, doesn’t mean we can’t try.” 

The ceiling chimed. “Train approaching... train approaching.” 

At the front of the lines, the Transit cop checked his wrist pad. “Alright people, this train is only two-thirds full! Stay in line and wait your turn. We’ll all make it out, just don’t push.” 

The sleek subway train slid into the station and squeaked to a stop. The cars were packed, but apparently only part full. Once the doors opened, no one got off, and the lines began to squeeze in wherever they could. With a blow of their whistle, the crowds stepped back and allowed the Transit cops to get the doors sealed and sent the train on its way. “Next train arrives in... five minutes,” chimed the ceiling. 

Two more trains came and went, but the population count in the station did not seem to be decreasing. People were just spreading out now that there was more room. 

Nicole noticed a lone kid standing in the middle of the station clutching a stuffed animal. It was covered in dirt, but she thought it might have been an Orca. The little girl could not have been older than five, but she did not look scared or sad. Nicole walked over and took a knee beside her. “Hey there kid, where are your parents at?” 

The girl looked at her and shook her head. “I dunno, mommy went to get daddy. She said to wait here.” 

“Well which way did she go?” Nicole asked. Hopefully it was not far. 

The little girl pointed the stuffed Orca up the stairs. “She went up there.” 

Nicole looked up that direction and frowned. That was not good. 

“Train approaching... Train approaching.” 

Unknown to Nicole, the station security system picked up a conversation going on down one of the maintenance corridors, coming towards the station. 

“Holy shit Sam, where did you get those?” Voice one spoke out, in audible surprise. 

“From nowhere. I ain’t telling.” Voice two was gruff, and noticeably angry. “Here, take it, it's loaded.”

Voice one huffed and had to hurry to follow “What the hell are we going to do with them?!” 

“We’re getting on that next train. I'm getting us out of this place.” A sharp click-clack sound was registered with the system. It was identified as the racking of a shotgun pump by algorithmic analysis. 

It would have alerted the authorities if there was anyone left to pick-up. There was not.

Back in the station proper, the next train was slowly gliding into the station. It was only one fourth full. Plenty of room for evacuees. The door in the backside of the station burst open and out rushed two men. One had an assault rifle, and the other in the front was carrying a large gauge semi-automatic shotgun. He fired it into the ceiling once. “Everyone fucking back off. We’re getting on that train, you hear me?” the man bellowed. Chunks of plaster fell to the ground around them.

People froze in place, some dropped to the ground. The traffic cops had their hands on their sidearms, but nobody drew their weapons; not with a threat like that in a crowd of civilians. “Hey now, there's plenty of space for everyone. Just put the guns down.” One of the cops motioned slowly.

“Nah, we’re going. Now. Get everyone out of the way.” The guy in front swept the gun across the station. “Stay the fuck back.”

Nicole eyed the gunmen, both the shotgun and the rifle had large drum magazines, however the guy with the rifle seemed put off by what was going on. That did not change the fact that he was still waving the gun around the crowd.

One of the cops that had been back near the coffee shop came around slowly and half crouched. He looked like he was going to try and tackle the shotgun wielder. If shots started flying, things would go bad very quick.

Nicole threw herself in front of the kid who was just out in the open, well in the line of fire. Too many potential targets had been behind the kid.  

The man with the gun reacted to Nicole's sudden movements and fired at her. Under normal conditions, if that shotgun had been loaded with buckshot, it would have just caused a few dents in her plate vest. However, that gun had been loaded with high-velocity solid slugs. 

At the range they were at, there was nothing that could be done. The slug smashed into the center of her plasteel plate, causing it to deform beyond its threshold. Her chest cavity was crushed. The plate had stopped the bullet, but not in any manner that would have saved her life. 

Central Seattle Ruins +157 days 

Nicole watched her original self crumple to the floor and die. The others, who she did not know or recognize, took down the men with the guns. They tried to revive her, but it was no use, she was already gone. Her fellow security guard was visibly distressed and started to kick the guy who had shot her while he was detained. However, the officer in the bright yellow vest pulled him off and shoved him away. The girl was loaded onto the train with the Umic guard and sent away almost immediately. 

The people that remained in the station pulled her body far out of the way, moving it to its final resting place on top of the mezzanine above the tracks. One of the people that helped carry her body placed her arms on her chest and draped a tablecloth from the store over her. He seemed to say a prayer and leave, but there was nobody else up there to witness it.

“Well there you have it.” Her Ghost blinked. “There is more to the recording near the end, but that's how you died.” The video sped up and the station eventually emptied, leaving her body sitting alone on the platform. Nobody else entered the station after the last train zipped down the track. “Huh...” She had expected some firefight with the cause of the collapse, not getting shot by fellow Humans. It did not change anything though, she had hoped that when she found the video of her death it would unlock the memories of that past life, but nothing came from them. No insight into who she was, or any of the people they had known. It felt almost like a wasted trip; the question of how she died was answered, but there was no extra reward. “I can tell you're disappointed. If you thought that it would help your memories, I could have told you that it wouldn’t.” The Ghost replied to the look on her face. “This bit at the end though might cheer you up a little.

Nicole sighed as the video clicked and moved on. With no movement it switched to an ‘extended event monitoring’ mode. There were only subtle indications on how fast time was passing in the station; a steady drip became a flood of water down the tunnels, drowning the track.  Dirt piles slowly grew across the floor from the corners, eventually enough for plants to grow and sprout under the steady station lights. Her body rapidly deteriorated on screen, becoming food for moss and other things that made the station their home.

The video would briefly slow when the occasional animal triggered the cameras, or some big event like part of the roof caved in. The system timestamp degraded into error symbols before the first lightbulb went out. 

When the station was looking similar to how it was when she was revived, the camera slowed down back to real time. Movement appeared from the other side of the platform and an Eliksni scurried in looking around the space. They were small and about the size of one of the Not-Dregs. 

Rykis made a sound behind her, like a squeak almost, but she continued to watch. 

The Eliksni on screen cautiously poked around the ruined metro station, digging through the shelves and boxes left in the cafe. They crossed out to the station mezzanine and came across the moss-covered remains of Nicole’s former life. The Eliksni knelt and picked up the old ballistic helmet, the skull still secured by the chinstrap. However now that it was disturbed the skull slipped free and fell to the ground with a loud thunk. A dull ache spontaneously formed on the back of Nicole’s head and then faded. 

Setting the helmet upside down, the Eliksni carefully returned the skull to its place on the remains. Then they pulled a backpack out from under the moss and ferns that laid beside her body. Digging through it, they pulled out a tablet and what looked like a small stack of notebooks. They put the notebooks back into the pack and threw it over their shoulder but put the tablet into another bag. 

 The image froze in her head as the video went on. She had seen that bag before. It was so familiar, still covered in paint brushes and other small tools. Her eyes slid over to Rykis watching from beside her. The same bag was slung over his shoulder, looking a bit smaller after all the years. If an Eliksni could look any more guilty, she doubted it. 

“Rykis is that you?” Nicole asked him. “Did you take my backpack?” She would not say he stole it; she was dead at the time after all.

Slowly, Rykis nodded. “Yes. that was me. Years ago.” His fingers tapped together nervously, and he seemed to think he needed to say more. “I still have your stuff; I was going to give it back when we got to my place.” 

Nicole raised her eyebrow. “Oh, really now? How’d you know it was mine before we saw this recording?” 

He nodded towards the screen showing the current status of the old station. “When we went down there on your third day. You stopped over where your body had sat for so long. I recognized it right away. Yours were the only bones in the station, and the only bones I had seen down there that day.”

“Well we just saw why. I hope that guy made it somewhere safe. We’ll never know though.” Nicole sighed and waved her hand in the air. “Alright, we found what we were looking for. It didn’t help me, but let's get out of this flooded basement. Rykis, lead on to your place.” “Yes yes.” he chittered. “Follow me.” 

They headed back up to the surface and into the early hours of night. The occasional streetlights continued burning brightly through the trees that grew around them. Some lights were still on in the various buildings, making the skyline an odd patchwork of light and dark. The walk only lasted a few blocks, not long at all. It was actually directly behind the Kell’s hall. Rykis had probably gone home after her last meeting there. She was mainly mentally exhausted, there was a lot that had happened today. 

The building Rykis called home turned out to be the old Art Museum. She smiled at that, of course the local artist would choose to set up shop in an art museum. The windows had all been patched over with metal scrap, just like he had done over in her building, and the door was sturdy and weather-proof. He held it open for her to go in. 

“Anyone else live here?” She walked in and found herself inside a small tunnel made of hanging tarps. The light was provided by the warm Eliksni tube lights that stuck up from the floor every few meters. Her question was nearly answered by voices from behind some of the curtains that broke off from the tunnel. “Yes actually. Many of Mist’s more artsy Eliksni live in the building. But there is more than enough space that I can have this for my own,” Rykis replied. He closed the door behind him and latched it shut. 

Taking the lead again, he took her up the stairs and through a set of double doors, to a half sphere structure in the middle of a room. Tarps and string lights spread out from the structure which was attached to the walls and ceiling of the big room they were in. Nicole could see faded and water damaged paintings hanging from the walls which had to be old Human art. The dome structure was obviously Eliksni construction with heat and light pouring out into the cold building from behind the curtain. “Come in, this is my... uh... home.” He pulled the curtain open and gestured her inside.

"It looks very cozy." Nicole followed him through the curtain and into the space.  He had probably left it to warm up while he went to meet her. 

There was a mix of Eliksni and Human furniture inside. In the center of the space was a table covered in small jars and brushes; she could see a few unfinished canvasses sitting around it. It appeared that Rykis was quite good at traditional painting. 

Rykis had walked over to a locker leaning up against the wall. "Take a seat, let me see if I can find it..." He motioned for her to sit at the table with his lower arms.

Nicole sat where he pointed and watched Rykis dig through the locker. From there she was able to get at a better look at the canvases he had leaning against the bench. 

She recognized the scene in the painting. The looming Spiderwalker in the snowstorm. Nicole had been standing a meter to the right when this had happened. It was the battle at the Pass, when Rykis had charged the tank with a flare to alert the artillery on the ridge. 

One of the other paintings was of the interior of her hotel tower, after she had done some cleanup of the swamp, and made it more like a pond. The light was captured perfectly, and the colors were wonderful. Her art viewing time was cut short as Rykis brought her attention back to him when he placed a hard-backed case on the table. It looked just like the one from the video, just a bit cleaner.

“So, this was mine? From before?” Nicole picked it up and looked it over. The case was made from a slick stretchy material, and the edges cracked when she bent it too much. The straps had rotted away at some point and their remains dangled haplessly at the side. 

“Yes, it should be everything.” Rykis nodded, sitting across from her. “I was young and looking for salvage back then, I had tried to trade your tablet, but it didn’t work and wasn’t worth anything. I did like looking through your sketchbooks though.” 

“Sketchbooks?” Nicole pulled open the bag and heard the rubber seal peel apart, still holding strong over the centuries. Carefully, she emptied the bag and found an old data-pad, and a few notebooks. 

“Yes, there were some really old, stylized drawings that I think you did. Just take a look.”

"Well if you say so." Nicole opened one of the old notebooks and slowly paged through them. The pages were remarkably well preserved; they were filled with drawings of places and things, as well as some random animals and creatures she did not recognize. They were not as good as Rykis' drawings, but they were fairly good. If these belonged to her, Nicole wondered if she had retained those skills as well as her warfighting abilities.

While carefully flipping through the pages, a small rectangle fell out from between them. 

The piece of plastic material was a photograph; it was not even faded at all. Five people were standing in a semicircle, and they were posing with bright yellow guns which looked really strange. She saw herself near the middle of the group in a Umic hat and leaning up against a man wearing a vest with Mars Tactical stitched onto the chest. On the other end of the group was the other Security guard from the recording.  

She flipped the picture over and found that it was not actually a piece of paper, it was something more advanced. The back flickered and began to form words across its surface. "11th Quinquennial Intersystem Defense Technologies Convention. SimFire Combat 3rd place team. Hosted by Clovis Bray"

"Huh," Nicole muttered. "Check out me back in the day." She passed the photo to Rykis and put the sketchbooks back into the bag.

The data-pad looked to be in okay shape, but when she tried the power switch nothing happened. At the moment, it was not really worth her time. She figured she could get her Ghost to fix it, but she should probably save it for later. A lot had happened today, and her head was a little fried. 

Setting the data-pad back onto the table, Nicole ran her fingers through her hair and let out a sigh. "Well... This has sure been a day. Wanna take me to bed and call it a night with the newest member of Mist?" 

Rykis let out more of a purr than a chitter. "Mmm... Yes Guardian." 

He dropped the photo on the table and came over to pick her up. By the time they reached the bed on the other side of the room, her armor and her Ghost had made themselves scarce. Hopefully the neighbors did not mind the noise.

--

[thealfanator]

Dandelion’s Tales, Part 2 ~ Chapter 6

I slept like a baby last night.  After not sleeping from the sheer panic of that cryptic note the previous night, and the fact I had to play the lute in front of quite a lot of people, I think I needed it.  I cannot even remember hitting the pillow.  I reckon I snored loud enough too, but I didn’t hear that either!

However, I was rudely awakened by a muffled knock at my door.  How I couldn’t hear myself snore but I could hear this almost silent knocking, I’ll never know.  Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and struggling to light the candle, I stumbled to the wonky-looking door at the end of my bed chambers.  The door that led from my room to the hallway, then the pitch-black cold of the outside.  The sun was nowhere in sight and already there were visitors at my door.  With my door on the handle, the knocking continued, the pace, rhythm and volume strangely even each time.  I opened it.

Barging in, the little girl (the note-leaver and badass) pushed past me with little time to spare, suddenly rummaging through my drawers and cupboards like a snake in a devious plan.  There was little in them, though; I hadn’t been here long enough to build a collection in any of the empty sockets…

“Where is it?” she stabbed, not detracting from the wooden containers she flung across the room wildly.  I gently closed the door behind her and looked at her astonishingly.  What was she doing?

“Where is what?” I responded calmly and quietly, quickly getting the impression that if anyone heard what was happening in this very room, bad things would occur.

“The book.  The book.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Holding my hands in surrender, I prayed she did not look in that drawer.

“Oh, please.” She sighed, “Don’t lie to me, Dandelion.”  Her colourful, young hair flickered behind her as she dashed to the next drawer, pulling it out frantically.  No! Not that one…

“I’m not!”

“So, your witch-friend Yennefer just happened to conjure it inside this drawer then, did she?” For the first time since she came into my room, she looked me in the eye, holding up the scruffy leather book in her palm.

“How do you- “

“This is extremely important and even more dangerous.” She flicked rapidly through the pages, scanning the strange swirls and diagrams, which were useless to me…  “Thank you.” She got up, packed the book underneath her arm and headed for the door. Dashing to the door, I held it – preventing her from leaving.

“Woah, woah!  You’re just going to take that?  I don’t even know your name.”

“Yes, and you don’t need to know that.  Now move out of my way.”

“You can’t take that!” I replied, my whisper restraining my eager-to-shout voice.

“I’m on your side, sir.  Now, please move.”  Using some magical force, she hurled me effortlessly into the wall beside me, allowing her a clear path to the door.  Soothing my aching head, I caught her attention once more.

“Why are you helping me?” I could sense her aid.  She was most-likely trying to examine the notes to help me solve the Dune-case.  She left the note, advising me, and she warned me about the danger of this place. Surely, she was trying to help me, even if it didn’t seem immediately apparent.

“I’m not.  I’m just saving your life.” She stared at me, into my soul.

“Isn’t that the same thing?” She closed the door and left, leaving me in a silent, and very messy room.

***

The next day, Hunter caught me from within the thin crowd of the village.

“Dandelion, how are you?” he kindly tugged at my arm before patting my back. He’d just come back from his hunt, judging from the queue of corpses strung by his chest.

“I’m fine.” I lied.  He stared into the distance, sighing deeply.  I wondered what went through that head of his.  Whether he actually had an opinion on anything, but just didn’t say them aloud.  I guess you just get used to not talking much when you have to.  When you’re in the woods as silent as a mouse with a bow and arrow, hunting quietly…

“So, about last night…” Ah yes, I remember.  He wanted to show me something.  It’s all flooding back to me now.  The weight I’m carrying on my shoulders.  I briefly went through the current situation in my head; I was right, it’s pretty shit.  I’m far away from any familiar ground, Novigrad for one.  The person who led me here, Dune, was nowhere to be seen – means that I have little way of getting back to Novigrad, which is frankly fantastic. And now I need to uncover these riddles, to solve this strange shit.  The book full of scribbles, the blonde woman or sorceress, the supposed village tension being ‘not what it seems’.  Here we go…

“Uh, yes.  Yes. What’s the plan?”

“We head out.” Hunter pointed softly at the gate.  “There’s a building I came across.  Very small, but very interesting.  I thought you’d make better use of it than I.  So, you coming?” he smiled weakly, and I sensed where we were off to was something grave, and something not to be messed with.

“Absolutely.” I replied.  I couldn’t tell whether I was ready or not.  It was like oil and water.  One hot, one cold, and they don’t mix.  I needed to solve this once and for all, but it was possible – no, probably – dangerous.

“Wait!” someone called from within the crowd.  Someone young… the girl.  The girl with my book.  Of course. “Here.” She shoved the book into my side like a knife and lost herself back where she just came from.  I hid it, as if it were contraband.

“Who was that?” Hunter asked in a peculiar tone.

“Uh, no one.” I stabbed quickly.  Yeah, I handled that poorly.  I need to work on my smoothness in conversations, I know.

“Well, then?” he ignored.  “Coming?”

“Yes.” I walked with him.  He led me to the large gates, to which they opened gracefully by a couple of gatekeepers. I shivered as I exited with Hunter. This is the first time I’d been here since Dune was dying in my arms.  It seemed like so long ago now…

***

It was a church-like building.  It was tiny and overgrown from moss and vine-y grass gripping the stone roots of the structure.  It literally only stretched a few metres wide and long, in a rectangular shape, with an arch on one of the sides, marking the entrance.  It stood in the middle of a clearing, in the dead-centre of the woods, almost lost.  I tried not to get mud at the bottom of my already-worn trousers.  Hunter sheathed his bow on his back and led me to the entrance, like he was pushing me to look at something important.  And he was.

Inside sat an altar of sorts.  Smothered by plentiful candles, all lit carefully.

“I didn’t light those candles.” Hunter added.  Strange.  Someone’s been here and recently.  Dusty books littered the tiny, rocky floors.  At the base of the walls scrawled illegible words.  Prayers?  Strictures? Behind the altar, nothing. Perhaps a place to kneel.  But why would you kneel behind the altar?  “Look, Dandelion.” I was pulled from my thoughts as Hunter pointed up on the walls; higher – above me.  Hunter retreated from the building and back outside, keeping watch.  Though it was just him and I, I truly felt that there was someone else here…

Marks and shapes, scribbled in white chalk.  All over the walls, and only just visible via the helpful, dimly lit flames dotted around.  Holy shit. They were identical to the ones in the book!  The book I had tucked in my satchel.

It was quick to decipher.  I will spare you the details.  I’ll give you the overview: there were peculiar switches embedded around the interior, linked to the shapes in the book.  Thanks to the little girl, I was able to solve it.  Thank you.  I snapped the book shut and pressed the final, dirty and grimy switch.  Click. I was almost engulfed by the moving platforms beneath my feet.  Of course!  The blank space behind the altar was a trap door.  Stairs, leading to darkness.  This was exciting and terrifying and the same time…

“Hunter!  I think I’ve done it.”  He couldn’t hear me.  I shrugged it off; he was probably around the corner, chasing some rabbit or something. I walked down the steps.  Alone.

I saw it.  I didn’t know it at the time, but I was about to see the most terrifying thing I think I’ve ever seen.  It managed to explain so much, yet create double the amount of questions at the same time.  As I stumbled down the underground corridor, I felt like I was coming to a climax.  To a stepping stone to unveiling the truth. I turned the corner to be greeted with an old wooden door with a big, metal knocker and a rusty handle. Despite the condition, it felt like it had some force… like I knew the answer lie behind it yet I couldn’t face it. I was shaking.

I was inside.

Dune.  Holy shit. Dune.  He was lying at the table.  An operating table in the centre of the dark, cold room.  Alchemy ingredients in the corner.  Tomes spread across shelves.  Smoke protruding from various flasks.  He was almost naked, no shirt on.  Shapes and demonic symbols branded on his skin.  Oh, my – his eyes.  Solid black.  No white to be seen, like his pupils were pulled and stretched over all surface of his eyes.  He was breathing, but softly.  Unconscious.

“Holy shit, Dune.  What the fuck…” I trailed off, launching for his body.  From the darkness, a figure emerged.  The blonde woman.  The sorceress.  The motherfucker…  “It was you!” She remained silent and, before I could launch at her, she forced her hand out and blasted me back.  A force that I could not breach.  “What the fuck is going on?  Are you experimenting on him?”

“He was near death.  I had no choice.  Otherwise, he would have died.” She spoke calmly, holding me back.

“So you did all this?!  This looks like some sort of… of possession!  This is messed up-“ a glove layered my mouth and I was knocked on my collar bone, sending my body into tranquillity as I was led from the room and back up the steps where I came from, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  The blurry Dune faded as I was dragged away.

I was brought to the fresh air.  A crowd of guards surrounded the building.  I thought they were bandits at first, but that was before I saw Cebri approach.  The warm glove let me breathe and I spat at her feet.

“This was your idea!  You knew! You all knew!” I shouted.  I was furious.  I struggled from the person who gripped me, but it was useless.  Cebri stared me down, heartless.

“I was afraid about this.  I’d hoped it had never come to this.”  I saw Hunter now.  He was like me – bound.  Cebri continued, “come on, we’re heading back.”

***

I struggled as I was forced up the wooden steps.  The crowd gathered around the platform.  Hunter followed.  Then the little girl…  After we stood on our stools, the ropes caught our neck.  The girl and I, about to be hanged.  Well, shit.  The crowd finally spoke true; cheering on our humiliation, and death.  Cebri stood next to us, her wrinkly fingers gripping the wooden stand beside her, ready to kick the stools and send us away.  I needed Geralt right now, but unfortunately he wasn’t just going to appear out of nowhere.  I was trapped.  We were trapped.  Hunter stood just as pale-looking as I, but he wasn’t being hanged.  Of course he wasn’t.  He committed equal to I, but the village needed their precious food… No, I shouldn’t be like that; It’s selfish, but I was feeling the rope tug at my neck…

How in the world was I going to get out of this one?

[moons-rising]

OVERGROWN WARDENS — A Light Flight Subspecies

BREEDS: Any (Imperial, Pearlcatcher most common)

EYES: Any (Light most common)

COLORS:

Primary: Murk, Moss

Secondary: Murk, Moss

Tertiary: Buttercup, Gold

GENES:

Primary: Cherub, Falcon, Giraffe, Jaguar, Jupiter, Savannah

Secondary: Peregrine, Hex, Rosette, Saturn, Safari

Tertiary: Glimmer

NOTES: XXY and XYZ acceptable.

STATUS: Endangered

BREEDING PAIR: Harsa & Carthaan

HISTORY & BACKGROUND

Ages ago, long before the awakening of the slumbering Eight and the creation of their offspring, the region now known as the Sunbeam Ruins to dragonkind was heavily populated, its inhabitants building vast cities and elaborate structures spanning from the beaches of the Inner Sea to the rough edge of the Outer Ocean. Over the decades and centuries and millennia following the annihilation of all life at the end of the Second Age, these once great buildings, now abandoned, deteriorated into crumbling ruins dotting the sun-soaked landscape like the gargantuan bleached bones of long-forgotten giants.

The most famous of these ruins are now known as the Mirrorlight Promenade, the Sundial Terrace, the Hewn City and the Beacon of the Radiant Eye, though there are a myriad of smaller ruins dotting the endless rolling plains of golden sunbeam rotala and vast redwood forests, some still recognizable as the houses and temples and towers they used to be, others little more than a handful fragmented walls worn down by the weather and the passing of the time.

Even now, millennia after dragonkind first appeared, many of these ruins remain forgotten within the depths of history. Most are known only to the handful of locals living in their vicinity, serving as waypoints or makeshift travel and hunting shelters, while even others are entirely forgotten, ancient sandstone and marble waiting patiently to be rediscovered one day. Even now many of these ruins contain hidden treasures, artefacts of great power and valuable records of knowledge passed on by a people long dead and forgotten.

When the Eleven first created the dragons a small number of the Lightweavers first children, the Imperials, were chosen as wardens of the most important of these ancient ruins. These dragons were imbued with an eternal light, enabling them to illuminate even the deepest depths of whichever crumbling temple, dungeon or tower they chose to guard.

Over the centuries, dragons of all breeds and elements joined the ranks of the Wardens, drawn by a common calling to guard the knowledge and wisdom of ages past and protect it from dangerous and careless misuse. As they watch over the ruins these dragons become covered in the moss and ivy that covers the surrounding walls as well, giving them the look of living ruins themselves. If they stand entirely still they can blend into their surroundings so well that many a dragon has had the scare of their life, mistaking them for a large, moss-covered statue in passing.

Some clans claim the Wardens are immortal, forever bound to their ruins, more spirits than dragons, while others believe them to simply be another subspecies, with a new generation replacing the old as time goes by. The Wardens themselves remain mysteriously silent regarding this matter. Whatever the truth may be, no one can deny the blessing the Lightweaver has placed on these dragons, the warm glow emanating from their bodies at all times a clear sign of the deity's favor.

Much like a Guardian with their Charge, a Warden binds themselves to whichever ruin they are guarding, though they are not eternally bound to it like a Guardian is. In the event that the treasures and relics of a ruin are destroyed or removed, a Warden leaves their post to wander until they come across another ruin to watch over. Natural disasters, magical accidents or merely the passage of time can destroy the valuable artefacts, and there are dragons that delve into these ruins to steal their precious contents for their own purposes or simply to sell them later.

Rarely however it has happened that a Warden has deemed a wanderer worthy of the knowledge they guard, allowing them to take a priceless ancient artefact or document with them from the ruin. How the Wardens choose which dragons are worthy is a mystery to all, but a curious strain of good luck and fair weather seems to follow all who managed to gain the rare favor of these mysterious guardians of knowledge.

PERSONALITY & DETAILS

The Wardens are few in number, making them little more than myth and legend to most dragons outside the Sunbeam Ruins. Among Light clans many have tales and stories of mysterious dragons watching over a nearby ruin, though very few know more about these secretive beings than what history has revealed thus far.

For Light dragons, coming across a ruin guarded by a Warden on one's journey is a good omen and a sign that one is on the right path. Wardens are peaceful creatures, silently watching wanderers passing by on their travels. Though not many dare to actually enter the ruins they pass along the road it is relatively common knowledge among most Light clans that a Warden will let strangers roam unscathed as long as they honor the silence and peace of the place and do not attempt to remove anything from within the ruins. Violent and rude intruders on the other hand are fought off with the entire array of physical and magical attacks at their disposal

Wardens are far from talkative and to most dragons who have encountered them they have remained entirely mute. The few that have managed to strike up a short exchange of words with these dragons (allegedly by posing a question they cannot resist answering) report that they speak with a pleasantly echoing quality to their voice, as if someone sang a melancholic ballad within a vast, sun-flooded hall. Their words are wise as if they soaked up the very wisdom hidden within their ruins, though often cryptic and hard to understand. Many times their puzzling phrases seem to reveal themselves as visions of future events, though whether the Wardens are genuinely able to see the future or if they've merely hoarded enough knowledge and common sense to guess things very well is unknown.

There have been attempts made to scientifically study these dragons, though the findings of these studies remain speculative at best. It remains unknown if the Wardens are immortal spirit guardians of knowledge or descendants of ancient ruin dwellers, but at least their link to the Lightweaver cannot be denied. Especially on dark nights, when the moons are new or blocked by rare clouds, their inner glow illuminates the ruins dotting the landscape, serving as guiding beacons for traveler in air and on foot.

Outside of the Sunbeam Ruins the Wardens are a curious tale occasionally regaled during Brightshine Jubilee celebrations all over Sornieth, drawing comparisons to local beings of a similar kind, dragons chosen by the deities and imbued with divine elemental energies.

[kingdoms-of-fate]

Mordak

Setting:

Mordeadus - this is one of several campaign settings I run

Country:

Mordak

Population:

Human

Terrain:

The region is mostly dark pine forest.

The area is often dense with fog, that can rise from nowhere and often stays for days.

Within the woods, howls and groans can often be heard but rarely a source can be found. Note: The sounds are usually magical in nature, deriving from old curses and often emanate from nothing.

The sky is stuck in perpetual twilight and night, and the sun has not risen in known memory. Note: Again, this is magical in nature, and outside the borders of the nation the sun will still rise. Most likely a curse from a God or ancient demon.

Settlements:

Few cities exist as the region is mostly small towns and villages.

The roads within the settlements are lined with jack-o-lanterns as well as the outskirts of the towns and villages.

The faces on the jack-o-lanterns are believed to ward off spirits, the twisted faces of flames bringing fear to the supernatural. Because of this, jack-o-lanterns are carved daily and replaced as needed, each family unit responsible for the area around where they live. It is also not uncommon for homes built within he woods to line their property with  jack-o-lanterns.

Architecture Style:

Homes are built with black stone.

Buildings are never built with windows as the people of Mordak believe leaving holes in a building will invite evil spirits and the fact that there is no sunlight leaves little point.

Shelves are cut into the outside walls and lined with candles. Due to the constant dark, the light is meant to scare away the dark. The people of Mordak believe once true darkness descends on them, it will never leave.

The walls on the outside of the houses will often be thick with old wax left on as the people Mordak believe it is good luck since the wax has been blessed with light.

Iinside, the homes are covered in candles, dozens filling every room, and fires roaring at all times in the hearth. The people of Mordak never for a moment let the dark overtake them. Note 1: Consider most inhabitants having a phobia of the dark. Note 2: If at anytime a player is caught in true darkness, consider having ghosts or undead start manifesting.

Clothing Style:

The people wear mostly black wolf or rabbit furs gathered from the woods.

Because of the dangers of the dark, every citizen of Mordak travels with a bandolier of candles across their chest and many more in pockets, belts or sacks throughout their body

Religion:

There is no central religion as the people are more into superstition than Gods.

Black cats are bad luck. Mirrors can trap and release souls and most keep trinkets of cold iron in their pockets or as necklaces.

Government:

Lead by a monarchy that has little control outside their city, each town or village is instead controlled by an elder or a powerful baron.

The leadership is indifferent and usually bands together for survival than for anything benevolent.

Economy:

The region is mostly poor and struggling with little in the way of nobles and powerful merchants.

They use standard coin as their currency.

Their main import is animal fat to make candle wax; being such a necessity it is not uncommon for towns to sell off loved ones or even give up their remaining food for wax, preferring to starve than face the dark. Because of this, merchants across the borders will often overcharge for animal fat with Mordak having little option other than to pay.

Issues:

The hags

They are more spirit than physical, capable of flying, passing through solid surfaces and materializing at will. Wearing tattered flowing rags, they are gangly female forms with long black hair, white faces and large black eyes. Standing 8 feet tall, they have oversized fingers and toes. They feast on the souls of the living, flying through the pine forests far from the light of candles and jack-o-lanterns. They will often wait underground and drag their victims into the dirt, suffocating them before absorbing their essence, leaving only a dry withered corpse. Note: When figuring out the hags' stats, they are considered ghosts or wraiths.

The witch covens

Deep in the pine woods, living within overgrown cottages are covens of witches from 1 or 2 to dozens. They are female, their bodies aged and twisted, their faces wrinkled with crooked noses and skin patches with hairy moles. Being spellcasters, they mostly use illusion and charm spells to lure victims to their layer with a disguise of a good looking man or women in distress, then using their charm to seduce the victim. Once brought to their lair, the witches descend upon the victims like wilds dogs, eating their flesh while the person is still alive, then boil down their fats and organs into spells or wine. Their cottages are often decorated with bones, their walls layered with dried skins and stinks of rot. In the center of every cottage is the iron cauldron where the witches cook, create potions and wine. Some using their disguise will wander into towns and sell their potions or wine – healing, flight, etc, - in exchange for things they may need or to eye new victims. Unfortunately for the buyer, it isn't till too late do they realize what they have been drinking. Note 1: The drinks or potion will work as described -healing, flight, etc, despite its disgusting and macabre ingredients. Note 2: When figuring out the witches' stats, they are considered undead human spellcasters.

Pumpkin heads

Roaming the pine woods are packs of leathery humanoid creature with jack-o-lanterns heads. They can run on all fours and will often do so howling and growling form their pumpkin heads. They are always hostile, almost mindless,  attacking with sharp claws, breathing fire from their pumpkin head or biting with bone like teeth growing within its pumpkin head mouth. Considered demons, their numbers are small, from only a couple to now more than a dozen, but increase as it gets closer to a full moon till the countryside can be filled with 1000s. During the full moon, most people in settlements hide barricaded within their homes and all life stops while the moon begins to wane. No one knows where they come from or why the moon plays an effect, they just know the saying, “When the sky is bright, get out of sight, when the woods groan, hide in your home.” Note 1: The pumpkin heads are demons and come from deep in the earth, drawn to the magical nature of the moon only to return back to the earth to slumber during the darker nights. Note 2: When figuring out stats for a pumpkin head, they are considered demons. With the more powerful ones being larger and older than the ones with lesser stats.

The dark farmsteads

A large region Mordak's is covered by an area known as the dark farmstead. This was a region of rich farmland long ago before an unknown ancient blight cursed the grounds. Now the farms long since abandoned are in a state of perpetual decay. Old corn is always withered and dry, never growing, never dying. Undead pigs, cows, horses still graze the fields and live within dilapidated stables. Homes and windmills have fallen into disrepair but never collapsing. The wood has turned black and rotting, doors are rusted closed and vines and moss often net entire buildings. Animated scarecrows wonder the fields, killing anyone who enters, then uses the dead as feed for the undead livestock. Note 1: When figuring out stats for an animated scarecrow, they are considered golems with only two orders: kill all who enter, feed the remains to the animals. Note2: When figuring out stats for the undead animals, they are considered zombies. No one is sure why the area is in a state of decay or when it happened, but some believe it is an undead God slumbering beneath the once fertile fields or that the Gods have forsaken the place all together with the very lands itself being cursed to be undead.

The grave fields

Near the northern borders of the country exist long stretches of graveyards some centuries old. 10s to 100s or 1000s of graves dot the area and are rumored to be from a massive war once fought on the continent, although little record can be found in history. Note: The graves are from a massive war with most records being destroyed long ago. Many graves are worn and long since pillaged of their valuables with others still unopened, holding enormous tombs consisting of entire dungeons going deep into the earth. The area is extremely magical, flowing with natural necromatic energies and anything that dies in the region, soon comes back as undead. Because of the energies, massive amounts zombies are always rising from the graves, from a few dozens to hordes in the upper 1000s. Usually the zombie mingle mindless in the northern border, seldom leaving their gravesite, but when a horde forms, they begin to wander. Some make their way across the border, becoming someone else's problem, while others go south, wiping out entire settlements of Mordak with every thrust. Although effort has been put in place to dug up the graves and burn the dead, little has changed and every few months to years hordes continue to rise. Every horde has been dealt with so far, but at a cost and every generation of Mordak is smaller than the one before it with some believing there is only a generation or 2 left before they can no longer stem the tide. In addition to the zombie swarms, necromancy cults have come to the area, taking advantage of the natural necromantic energies that linger within the graves. Hoping to gain favor with their particular Gods, some come for power, some to cause chaos, but all have exacerbated the problem by enriching and strengthening the necromantic energies in the area, causing the undead to rise in accelerated numbers. Now what was once a rare occurrence has become common with some necromancers reporting that certain cemeteries have an almost unstoppable flow of undead rising from graves. Note: While the hordes will not be the only problem a character may face while in Mordak, the zombie swarms should always be at the forefront of their survival, a dark cloud always looming.

[ecotone99]

[FN] The Color of My Soul

I always marveled at her beauty, standing silhouetted against the trees, with her white-washed walls and light blue shutters peering down the long dirt path towards the main gate at which I stood. As with many other plantations, the great gallery of oaks lined the dusty lane towards Longmarsh, with each one perfectly angled across from another, their roots protruding from the earth and sometimes crossing the road like snakes crawling from one side to another. And dotted alongside the massive trunks on the left stood a row of tiny cabins, each with its own chimney, but far too riddled with termites and creaking floor boards to serve as living accommodations any longer. No, those days were long since gone, as were the people who once worked and lived on these grounds many years ago, toiling away in the hot summer sun and cherishing the few moments of respite from the heat those ancient oaks with their moss-filled canopies provided. I remember the days, and I remembered each step towards the great white house as I took them again this morning, the smile slowly fading as I passed each tree.

I was a young man when I arrived, and that was many, many years ago - well before the war came and then the aftermath. You see, being free was a blessing and yet a hardship at the same time. Imagine learning you will spend the rest of your days slowly dying in the sweltering heat and bug-infested swamp that is the lowcountry during summer, and you will spend that dawn to dusk sweating and bleeding through the tatters of what barely qualifies as clothes, only to finally “rest” in the evenings on a straw bed with no blanket, dreaming of a day when all this fades away. And then! As though in that very dream - it arrives one day. Oh, what happiness and good fortune has befallen me now that I am at once free to do as I please? But then, as the dream ends you become keenly aware that you are more lost than before. The hate and degradation is still present, and you could not so much as begin to carve out a living for yourself without others breaking your back and shoveling dirt on top of you at every turn. I was lost, and many were adrift with me, in the seas of reconstruction. Were it not for a hammer and nails and endless repairs to rebuild the homes and buildings around Charleston, I'm not sure where I'd be. As the saying goes, “things are worse before they are better”. In any case, I had much to be thankful for in the end.

The sun had just crested over the trees as I set my tools down on the lone rocking chair on the front porch and fumbled around for the key in my pocket, oblivious to the fact that the door was actually ajar. Not unusual, as I knew the house was on the market, left decrepit for years and in need of a kind soul and deep pockets. So it was likely a potential owner, but no matter to me, as I had a lengthy day ahead repairing some of the damage from a recent storm that had blown through, as well as simple interior jobs - all of which I was happy to take on. I needed the work, and perhaps whoever would buy this old wreck might require more in time. Inside, the furniture was dusty and showing signs of mold here and there, in desperate need of replacement. Years and years of emptiness and squatters had taken their toll, with nearly everything of value removed some time earlier. I recall that decades ago, setting even one foot inside this house would be met with brutal retribution. It's easy to remember, and yet impossible to forget the horror of simply existing in such a place, and around such hatred and scorn. Oh, that we live in better times, despite the hardships.

I immediately set out for the large gathering room on the right to fix some cornice work that had long since been in need of repair. The floor creaked from water-logged and warped wood as I made my way over to the corner and sturdied a small ladder to reach the upper walls. Not long after I began chipping away at the cornice work, I heard the front door open and close with a bang. Thinking nothing of it, I kept silent and about my work, diligent and focused - as long hours of meaningless toil and struggle had taught me to be. Moments later, the pitter patter of small feet prancing around in the hall caught my attention, and I began to wander if a deer or small animal had found its way in somehow. Climbing down the ladder and nearly slipping on a worn-out rug, I cautiously peered out the doorway, unsure of what awaited me. The hall was empty, save for a table and two chairs, some paintings, and a couple doors at the end, which ended before a large window that overlooked the grounds behind the house - and had fogged over some time ago. I took several steps down the creaking hall, accepting that the noise would likely scare away whatever animal lurked about. “WHOA!” I let out with a near shriek as I saw a small child dart from the last room on the right to the last room on the left, door to door, in a split second. It terrified me, and for a moment I was unsure of what had just happened. It was such a quick movement that while startled, I dropped the hammer in my hand - which crashed to the floor and a horrendous thud and echo rang throughout the hall. I saw a small, pale face peer out of the last door on the left, peeking down the hall. I took a few steps forward and waved hello, but without so much as a word the young child jolted back into the room and slammed the door with a loud bang, her blonde curls flying out of view. How odd! Did I startle her? Were my tattered working clothes so appalling that one would rather run away than return a simple hello? Confused, but with much to be done I picked up the hammer and retreated back to the great room a few doors down.

As the day wore on, I moved outside to complete some work around back of the house, having noticed several loose planks and busted corners as I inspected the afternoon's priorities earlier on when it wasn't so hot and the bugs had yet to find my mulatto skin a delicacy. It was now ferociously unbearable though, with little cover, as many of the trees surrounding the house had been felled for wood to repair carriages and fortifications during the war. And such was the heat that my worn and bittered white garments had become soaked and clung to me like glue. It was becoming uncomfortable, so I peeled my shirt off to allow drying time in the boiling sun, stretching it out over one of the many tree stumps nearby. Choosing to sit and rest for a moment, I drew water from the canteen I had brought, with the warm liquid moistening my lips and alleviating the momentary headache that had settled in. “HEY! Who’s there? You're not welcome here!” I heard from behind me, back towards the front of the house. Spinning around, I saw a seemingly middle-aged man with long flowing black hair and rather eccentric looking pants take several steps down the lane and call out in my direction, obviously agitated. “I'm doing some repairs around the house”, I said rather anxiously, wondering who this man was and if he thought me an intruder. And yet, I was under the impression no one had purchased the property, so confusion was in the air. As I finished that thought, he slowed to a stop and pointed to the gate some distance down the lane, and just over my shoulder. I turned in that direction and noticed a man who stood just inside the entryway and was clearly looking around for something or someone. Glancing towards the house, and catching on that he had been noticed, he backpedaled and slowly walked out the gate and began kicking up dust on the road as he ran. A potential burglar? Who knows. I spun around to properly greet the would-be owner but he had already begun a quick pace towards the house, nearly tripping over the wheelbarrow full of my tools, then angrily shouting as he kicked it over, spilling the contents all over the grass. Was I that unimportant that he couldn't even say hello? Was I not worthy of his time or pleasantry? I had many questions, but remembered that this was just a job, and I had no quarrel with anyone here, nor time for any foolishness. Frustrated and cursing under my breath, I flipped the wheelbarrow over and re-filled it, retreating back to the corner of the house and the work that still remained.

Many hours later, as the sun began to crawl and hide behind the tree line that formed a border with the next property - I found myself nearing the end of my list of priorities, and yet making another list of tasks for the second day - were I able to return. I certainly didn't feel very welcome though, and could only conclude that perhaps the sharp feelings of hatred that once permeated the property were still alive and outward in its new owners. And yet, work is work and I could scarcely complain of it, for fear that I would lose any connection I had with the property. I felt some sense of belonging, oddly enough. Though many horrid memories came flooding back each walk down that lane, I wondered if working here to repair and rebuild would somehow cleanse my mind and ease my soul. And maybe one day all of those evil doings would simply vanish from memory - as much as could be expected anyway. But for now, the day was at an end, and so I drove the wheelbarrow back to the side of the house, and then circled around towards the porch. The door was ajar again, so this time I slowly walked inside, and heard chatter in the dining room two doors down. Not wanting to cause a further scene, I collected my things and turned to exit, but slipped on the same ridiculous rug again, catching myself on the door frame quite loudly. The chatter stopped, and I glanced towards the dining room entryway down the hall. I expected any minute to see him come running out and toward me, yelling and ready to strike. I braced myself, but after a few moments no one entered the hall and there was only silence. I gently called out “Sorry, just leaving now”, then waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was likely only 5 to 10 seconds, and still no one responded. I began to grow angry - WHY was I being ignored? WHY? Here I am working on THEIR house, toiling away and sweating through my clothes while I'm ignored and barely acknowledged - which felt eerily similar to the scorn I had grown accustomed to while here in my youth. Times have changed, and some apparently refused to change with it. I don't know why I didn't just walk out the front door, slam it shut, and never return; but as before, I felt as though a part of me owned this building. I had put in too much of myself to allow someone to simply cast me aside as a nobody.

Angrily, I stormed down the hall and slammed my hand on the opening leading into the dining room, and stared at 5 pale and empty faces, which all turned to look in my direction. “Will you not say hello to a fellow man? Am I beneath you?” I almost shouted at them, frustrated and awaiting some sort of response. Nothing came - only blank, confused stares and eyes darting back and forth between the parents as they determined what to do next. Letting my emotions overcome me, and enraged that I wasn’t worth a single response, I stepped forward and swiped a salt shaker off the table, causing it to crash into the mirror on the wall, which shattered into thousands of pieces on the floor. In a rush, the parents leapt from their chairs and grabbed the children, rushing for the door without so much as putting shoes on. Nearly tripping over each other on the porch, then past the trees and down the lane, they ran towards the gate - as far as I could see out the window. I was still shaking, not realizing how upset this had all made me, and admittedly a bit ashamed of my actions. I bent over and picked up the salt shaker, turned toward the table to place it down and looked out the window. They were rustling around near the gate, and all I could see was dust being kicked up. With a growing sadness in all things, I turned slowly and walked towards the hall again, then out the front door, closing it behind me and standing for a moment on the porch to reflect on what just occurred.

Down at the end of the lane, the little blonde-haired girl turned back to look at the porch as I stepped out. I could see her staring at me, as though I was a criminal. I wish she could see the hurt in my eyes, the sadness in my heart, or even a person at all. Instead, as the car pulled away there was a great emptiness on the porch, and I began my slow but steady walk down the lane, eager to be rid of this place until the morrow rang and another chance at redemption arrived. The dust kicked up as they sped away, and as it cleared - the little girl looked back once more, and there was nothing for her to see but the color of my soul.

submitted by /u/iamwilliamwit [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2FJHQxX

[ecotone99]

[MS] The Color of my Soul

I always marveled at her beauty, standing silhouetted against the trees, with her white-washed walls and light blue shutters peering down the long dirt path towards the main gate at which I stood. As with many other plantations, the great gallery of oaks lined the dusty lane towards Longmarsh, with each one perfectly angled across from another, their roots protruding from the earth and sometimes crossing the road like snakes crawling from one side to another. And dotted alongside the massive trunks on the left stood a row of tiny cabins, each with its own chimney, but far too riddled with termites and creaking floor boards to serve as living accomodations any longer. No, those days were long since gone, as were the people who once worked and lived on these grounds many years ago, toiling away in the hot summer sun and cherishing the few moments of respite from the heat those ancient oaks with their moss-filled canopies provided. I remember the days, and I remembered each step towards the great white house as I took them again this morning, the smile slowly fading as I passed each tree.

I was a young man when I arrived, and that was many, many years ago - well before the war came and then the aftermath. You see, being free was a blessing and yet a hardship at the same time. Imagine learning you will spend the rest of your days slowly dying in the sweltering heat and bug-infested swamp that is the lowcountry during summer, and you will spend that dawn to dusk sweating and bleeding through the tatters of what barely qualifies as clothes, only to finally "rest" in the evenings on a straw bed with no blanket, dreaming of a day when all this fades away. And then! As though in that very dream - it arrives one day. Oh, what happiness and good fortune has befallen me now that I am at once free to do as I please? But then, as the dream ends you become keenly aware that you are more lost than before. The hate and degredation is still present, and you could not so much as begin to carve out a living for yourself without others breaking your back and shoveling dirt on top of you at every turn. I was lost, and many were adrift with me, in the seas of reconstruction. Were it not for a hammer and nails and endless repairs to rebuild the holmes and buildings around Charleston, I'm not sure where I'd be. As the saying goes, "things are worse before they are better". In any case, I had much to be thankful for in the end.

The sun had just crested over the trees as I set my tools down on the lone rocking chair on the front porch and fumbled around for the key in my pocket, oblivious to the fact that the door was actually ajar. Not unusual, as I knew the house was on the market, left decrepit for years and in need of a kind soul and deep pockets. So it was likely a potential owner, but no matter to me, as I had a lengthy day ahead repairing some of the damage from a recent storm that had blown through, as well simple interior jobs - all of which I was happy to take on. I needed the work, and perhaps whoever would buy this old wreck might require more in time. Inside, the furniture was dusty and showing signs of mold here and there, in desperate need of replacement. Years and years of emptiness and squatters had taken their toll, with nearly everything of value removed some time earlier. I recall that decades ago, setting even one foot inside this house would be met with brutal retribution. It's easy to remember, and yet impossible to forget the horror of simply existing in such a place, and around such hatred and scorn. Oh, that we live in better times, despite the hardships.

I immediately set out for the large gathering room on the right to fix some cornice work that had long since been in need of repair. The floor creaked from water-logged and warped wood as I made my way over to the corner and sturdied a small ladder to reach the upper walls. Not long after I began chipping away at the cornice work, I heard the front door open and close with a bang. Thinking nothing of it, I kept silent and about my work, diligent and focused - as long hours of meaningless toil and struggle had taught me to be. Moments later, the pitter patter of small feet prancing around in the hall caught my attention, and I began to wander if a deer or small animal had found its way in somehow. Climbing down the ladder and nearly slipping on a worn-out rug, I cautiously peered out the doorway, unsure of what awaited me. The hall was empty, save for a table and two chairs, some paintings, and a couple doors at the end, which ended before a large window that overlooked the grounds behind the house - and had fogged over some time ago. I took several steps down the creaking hall, accepting that the noise would likely scare away whatever animal lurked about. "WHOA!” I let out with a near shriek as I saw a small child dart from the last room on the right to the last room on the left, door to door, in a split second. It terrified me, and for a moment I was unsure of what had just happened. It was such a quick movement that while startled, I dropped the hammer in my hand - which crashed to the floor and a horrendous thud and echo rang throughout the hall. I saw a small, pale face peer out of the last door on the left, peeking down the hall. I took a few steps forward and waved hello, but without so much as a word the young child jolted back into the room and slammed the door with a loud bang, her blonde curls flying out of view. How odd! Did I startle her? Were my tattered working clothes so appaling that one would rather run away than return a simple hello? Confused, but with much to be done I picked up the hammer and retreated back to the great room a few doors down.

As the day wore on, I moved outside to complete some work around back of the house, having noticed several loose planks and busted corners as I inspected the afternoon's priorities earlier on when it wasn't so hot and the bugs had yet to find my mulatto skin a delicacy. It was now ferociously unbearable though, with little cover, as many of the trees surrounding the house had been felled for wood to repair carriages and fortifications during the war. And such was the heat that my worn and bittered white garments had become soaked and clung to me like glue. It was becoming uncomfortable, so I peeled my shirt off to allow drying time in the boiling sun, stretching it out over one of the many tree stumps nearby. Choosing to sit and rest for a moment, I drew water from the canteen I had brought, with the warm liquid moistening my lips and aleviating the momentary headache that had settled in. "HEY! Who’s there? You're not welcome here!" I heard from behind me, back towards the front of the house. Spinning around, I saw a seemingly middle-aged man with long flowing black hair and rather eccentric looking pants take several steps down the lane and call out in my direction, obviously agitated. "I'm doing some repairs around the house", I said rather anxiously, wondering who this man was and if he thought me an intruder. And yet, I was under the impression no one had purchased the property, so confusion was in the air. As I finished that thought, he slowed to a stop and pointed to the gate some distance down the lane, and just over my shoulder. I turned in that direction and noticed a man who stood just inside the entryway and was clearly looking around for something or someone. Glancing towards the house, and catching on that he had been noticed, he backpedaled and slowly walked out the gate and began kicking up dust on the road as he ran. A potential burglar? Who knows. I spun around to properly greet the would-be owner but he had already begun a quick pace towards the house, nearly tripping over the wheelbarrow full of my tools, then angrily shouting as he kicked it over, spilling the contents all over the grass. Was I that unimportant that he couldn't even say hello? Was I not worthy of his time or pleasantry? I had many questions, but remembered that this was just a job, and I had no quarrel with anyone here, nor time for any foolishness. Frustrated and cursing under my breath, I flipped the wheelbarrow over and re-filled it, retreating back to the corner of the house and the work that still remained.

Many hours later, as the sun began to crawl and hide behind the treeline that formed a border with the next property - I found myself nearing the end of my list of priorities, and yet making another list of tasks for the second day - were I able to return. I certainly didn't feel very welcome though, and could only conclude that perhaps the sharp feelings of hatred that once permeated the property were still alive and outward in its new owners. And yet, work is work and I could scarcely complain of it, for fear that I would lose any connection I had with the property. I felt some sense of belonging, oddly enough. Though many horrid memories came flooding back each walk down that lane, I wondered if working here to repair and rebuild would somehow clense my mind and ease my soul. And maybe one day all of those evil doings would simply vanish from memory - as much as could be expected anyway. But for now, the day was at an end, and so I drove the wheelbarrow back to the side of the house, and then circled around towards the porch. The door was ajar again, so this time I slowly walked inside, and heard chatter in the dining room two doors down. Not wanting to cause a further scene, I collected my things and turned to exit, but slipped on the same ridiculous rug again, catching myself on the door frame quite loudly. The chatter stopped, and I glanced towards the dining room entryway down the hall. I expected any minute to see him come running out and toward me, yelling and ready to strike. I braced myself, but after a few moments no one entered the hall and there was only silence. I gently called out "Sorry, just leaving now”, then waited for what seemed like an eternity, but was likely only 5 to 10 seconds, and still no one responded. I began to grow angry - WHY was I being ignored? WHY? Here I am working on THEIR house, toiling away and sweating through my clothes while I'm ignored and barely acknowledged - which felt eerily similar to the scorn I had grown accustomed to while here in my youth. Times have changed, and some apparently refused to change with it. I don't know why I didn't just walk out the front door, slam it shut, and never return; but as before, I felt as though a part of me owned this building. I had put in too much of myself to allow someone to simply cast me aside as a nobody.

Angrily, I stormed down the hall and slammed my hand on the opening leading into the dining room, and stared at 5 pale and empty faces, which all turned to look in my direction. "Will you not say hello to a fellow man? Am I beneath you?" I almost shouted at them, frustrated and awaiting some sort of response. Nothing came - only blank, confused stares and eyes darting back and forth between the parents as they determined what to do next. Letting my emotions overcome me, and enraged that I wasn’t worth a single response, I stepped forward and swiped a salt shaker off the table, causing it to crash into the mirror on the wall, which shattered into thousands of pieces on the floor. In a rush, the parents leapt from their chairs and grabbed the children, rushing for the door without so much as putting shoes on. Nearly tripping over each other on the porch, then past the trees and down the lane, they ran towards the gate - as far as I could see out the window. I was still shaking, not realizing how upset this had all made me, and admittedly a bit ashamed of my actions. I bent over and picked up the salt shaker, turned toward the table to place it down and looked out the window. They were rustling around near the gate, and all I could see was dust being kicked up. With a growing sadness in all things, I turned slowly and walked towards the hall again, then out the front door, closing it behind me and standing for a moment on the porch to reflect on what just occurred.

Down at the end of the lane, the little blonde-haired girl turned back to look at the porch as I stepped out. I could see her staring at me, as though I was a criminal. I wish she could see the hurt in my eyes, the sadness in my heart, or even a person at all. Instead, as the car pulled away there was a great emptiness on the porch, and I began my slow but steady walk down the lane, eager to be rid of this place until the morrow rang and another chance at redemption arrived. The dust kicked up as they sped away, and as it cleared - the little girl looked back once more, and there was nothing for her to see but the color of my soul.

submitted by /u/davebleedsblue [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/33PGT1m