Centuries had passed since the last breath of Arthur Pendragon. The world continued to turn, the sun continued to shine. Though Camelot did not fall, most forgot those primitive days.
The modern Camelot was all that mattered, securely protected by the Council of Sorcerers. It was they who, late in the night, dragged a thrashing, bound woman through Camelot's gates.
Ezekiel was awake. He found that on certain nights, he simply couldn't relax his mind to sleep. With arms on the windowsill looking upon Camelot's main courtyard, he was on high alert for any sorcerers. The Council had specific expectations from Merlin's last living descendant, far greater than that of any other sorcerer.
To be caught awake and alone at this hour would only lead to trouble. When a hand landed on his shoulder, Ezekiel froze.
"What on earth are you doing here, Zeke?!" The voice belonged to Adam, Ezekiel's best friend, and one of Arthur's descendants.
"I couldn't sleep," Ezekiel answered, turning to face his friend's mischievous grin.
"Sure, couldn't sleep," Adam rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I came upon you!If you'd been caught out here alone..."
"I know, I know," Ezekiel sighed.
The two young men fell silent as grunts of exertion and muffled, unknowable sounds reached their ears. Adam jostled in next to Ezekiel, and the two peered out the windowsill.
Several High Council sorcerers were wrestling with an obviously restrained young woman. She was gagged, but also had magic-killing shackles around her wrists. Despite her frenzied, near mad movements, it was in vain. They were moving her via spell, almost as if they didn't think they could contain her otherwise.
Before the two men's eyes, she was guided into the jailer's tower, obviously meant to be housed in the dungeons below.
"We must see what's going on!" Adam exclaimed in an excited whisper, voice vibrating with delight.
"Not until tomorrow night," Ezekiel shook his head. "Security will be too tight right now."
"Alright," Adam let out a thoughtful exhalation. "Let's return to our chambers. After dinner tomorrow, that's when we go."
Ezekiel nodded in consent.
The pair took care returning to their rooms, managing to avoid the various security patrols.
For the whole of the next day, neither man could think of anything but their upcoming evening activity. Each of them carefully completed the day's tasks but right before dinner, Sinbad, the man-at-arms to the duo, summoned them.
"Solomon wants to see you both in the jailer's tower," He explained. The men exchanged glances.
Sinbad led them to the tower, stopping only when they'd arrived, and leaving them to enter on their own.
Solomon was a rather imposing figure. A large man composed of only muscle, he had thick eyebrows, a permanent serious expression, and a well cared for beard. He was also the most approachable member of the High Council. When the men entered, Solomon rose from his seat.
"Ah, boys!" He boomed in deep baritone. "The Council has decided to entrust you both with a rather, shall we say, unprecedented situation. Follow me." There was no time for questions or protests, as Solomon had already begun the descent to the dungeons. The males had no choice.
The stone steps were slick and damp, humidity soaking the three travelers through their clothing. A musty smell pervaded every atom of air. Finally, they reached the bottom. Only one cell was occupied - by the beautiful woman from the previous night.
When they first saw her, her eyes were closed. As they approached, her eyes snapped open, and fixed on them. Dark purple bruises had surfaced on her neck.
"Stay away from me, savage," she hissed in a scratching voice that was painful to even hear. Her gaze was fixed on Solomon, no attention set on Ezekiel and Adam.
"I've told you before, girl, that was an accident." Solomon shook his head. She merely sneered.
"This is..." Solomon sighed, focusing on the two men. A frown flickered briefly on his face before he cleared his throat. "This is a vampire." Both men reevaluated the captive with shock.
"No way," Adam muttered.
"Yes, well," Solomon cleared his throat again. "She is also a sorcerer." Ezekiel's eyes snapped to her. The ethereal, deadly beauty caged before him was not only a bogeyman of Camelot, but some sort of sorcerer?
"What's your name?" Ezekiel asked, stepping closer.
"Don't speak to it, boy!" Solomon grabbed his arm. "It will only lie to you."
"Well," Ezekiel turned away from her with reluctance. "What is her name then? Solomon's face reddened at the question, and she let out a harsh laugh.
"My name is Cassandra," she stated in her broken voice. "You're man there wouldn't know that." her eyes met Ezekiel's and she smiled at him. "You're of Merlin. Then you, and only you, may call me Cassie."
Adam nudged Ezekiel hard in the ribs, as if the significance of her words hadn't occurred to him already.
The Hellcast and the Fallen pt1
No matter if it was night or day, the screams never ended. There was no option to be alone with ones thoughts as the damned begged for mercy. Too little, too late.
Even with the pillow jammed over her head, Felial could hear them. How had it come to this? she wondered on those sleepless nights. No answers could ever be found.
Sighing, she peeled the pillow away from her head, and sat up slowly. Phantom feelings in her back stretched out, as if free from being bound. Then, those nerves shrieked in pain as the lack of her wings was remembered. That never ended either, merely dulled before returning full force.
The Spire wasn't a pleasant place, but far preferable to the rest of Hell. it was a towering, skinny conglomeration of sharp metal, dead wood, and glass shards. The mid levels were all of the dormitories, all housing the staff, the only ones who had freedom in Hell besides the nobility.
Her dorm room was a silvery gray, and impeccably clean. Felial was no neat freak, but had no possession save for her clothes. Hell was not her home. Nor was Heaven. She hadn't been on earth long enough to have feelings about it. On the nights when the screams kept her awake, she pondered what things might have been like had she stayed on earth.
She shook her head. Those thoughts would get nothing.
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she nimbly gained her feet, but only shuffled to her door. Even after slipping from her room and shutting the door, the screams emanated in muffled tones. A sigh of relief escaped her. Better than nothing.
Unlike the rooms, the hallways of the dormitories were all stark white, plain. Each door was identical, the same shade of pain. It was a workable situation as all of the staff were hellcast angels or fallen. Their memories were nearly perfect, remembering their rooms was no trouble. As long as no lesser demon rose to staff, it would work.
In her turquoise scrubs, Felial felt distinctly apart from the cold surrounding her. She strode quickly down the hall, turning down carious corridors -right, left, left, right, left- then it was a straight show down the hall until she reached Vitus' door. She rapped her knuckles on it twice, rapidly.
There was the sound of rustling and a clattering bang before the door opened, revealing a rather disoriented Vitus.
While Felial was fallen, Vitus was hellcast - an original supporter of the initial revolt. The two had formed a strange friendship, a mutual knship based on their personal logic and curious natures. Thus far, the two were normally paired for security work, a pair of bodyguards who complemented one another nicely.
"Fel! I didn't expect to see anyone this late," he said, brushing a hand through his shaggy blonde hair as though embarrassed. "What's going on?"
"Can't sleep," Felial replied, shrugging her slim shoulders.
"Well, that's no good! Come inside, come inside." Vitus pulled back from the door and beckoned Felial closer. She slipped inside of his room, paying no mind to the general mess of the place.
Even with the pillow jammed over her head, Felial could hear them. How had it come to this? she wondered on those sleepless nights. No answers could ever be found.
Sighing, she peeled the pillow away from her head, and sat up slowly. Phantom feelings in her back stretched out, as if free from being bound. Then, those nerves shrieked in pain as the lack of her wings was remembered. That never ended either, merely dulled before returning full force.
The Spire wasn't a pleasant place, but far preferable to the rest of Hell. it was a towering, skinny conglomeration of sharp metal, dead wood, and glass shards. The mid levels were all of the dormitories, all housing the staff, the only ones who had freedom in Hell besides the nobility.
Her dorm room was a silvery gray, and impeccably clean. Felial was no neat freak, but had no possession save for her clothes. Hell was not her home. Nor was Heaven. She hadn't been on earth long enough to have feelings about it. On the nights when the screams kept her awake, she pondered what things might have been like had she stayed on earth.
She shook her head. Those thoughts would get nothing.
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she nimbly gained her feet, but only shuffled to her door. Even after slipping from her room and shutting the door, the screams emanated in muffled tones. A sigh of relief escaped her. Better than nothing.
Unlike the rooms, the hallways of the dormitories were all stark white, plain. Each door was identical, the same shade of pain. It was a workable situation as all of the staff were hellcast angels or fallen. Their memories were nearly perfect, remembering their rooms was no trouble. As long as no lesser demon rose to staff, it would work.
In her turquoise scrubs, Felial felt distinctly apart from the cold surrounding her. She strode quickly down the hall, turning down carious corridors -right, left, left, right, left- then it was a straight show down the hall until she reached Vitus' door. She rapped her knuckles on it twice, rapidly.
There was the sound of rustling and a clattering bang before the door opened, revealing a rather disoriented Vitus.
While Felial was fallen, Vitus was hellcast - an original supporter of the initial revolt. The two had formed a strange friendship, a mutual knship based on their personal logic and curious natures. Thus far, the two were normally paired for security work, a pair of bodyguards who complemented one another nicely.
"Fel! I didn't expect to see anyone this late," he said, brushing a hand through his shaggy blonde hair as though embarrassed. "What's going on?"
"Can't sleep," Felial replied, shrugging her slim shoulders.
"Well, that's no good! Come inside, come inside." Vitus pulled back from the door and beckoned Felial closer. She slipped inside of his room, paying no mind to the general mess of the place.
The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
Monday, January 25, 2016
A lot of new books bother me.
A lot of these quotes being perpetuated in modern society, in pop culture, bother me.
There isn't any beauty in being messed up, mentally. People seem to think that being fucked in the head means you're automatically something more than others. Or that it grants you a special status.
But it doesn't.
What's beautiful, the part of it that actually matters and means something, is you. It's the strength. We've all been weak, been cowards - or maybe it's just me - but we don't stay that way. There is growth, and realization. Sometimes you cry, for hours, until your pillow is soaked. But sometimes you cry for a moment, then wipe away the tears, and get what needs to be done finished. This is beautiful.
The idea that sickness gives an individual beauty is...saddening. Being ill doesn't necessarily make a person "good". They can still be horrible to other human beings.
We all have a little heaven in us, and we all have a little hell in us.
I've never been called an angel, or a demon. But I've been both.
The personal sacrifices we make, when we are already so burdened by our own biological flaws, is angelic. The anger we unleash when someone we love and care about is hurting because of what someone else said, that is demonic. We are wrath and we are love. There is no separation between the two.
Yin and Yang? The idea is that they aren't actually darkness and light. They are merely opposite forces which balance one another. That's all we are. A balance of darkness and light, good and bad, and there are people who are unbalanced with greater qualities of one or the other.
Inside my own head, I can't say I think I have more good than bad. I don't act mean, not usually. I do everything I can to be a nice person, but sometimes my head is full of glass and nails and angry fog, and so even though I may look nice on the outside, inside I am hating. This isn't a mental disorder so much as a symptom of it. But I've never imagined what I could be without such feelings. I've never been able to comprehend what kind of person I would be without it.
My own mental drama is not who I am, but it is a factor in me as a whole. I can't say it made me a better or worse person, but I can say it has taught me what things deserve my feelings and what don't. It has taught me to be stronger than it is. It's given me a power, one that I didn't realize I had.
Maybe it isn't a worthy trade-off to suffer so deeply for such meager power, but if it's all I get, I'm taking it, no moping here.
I don't want to be lonely and sad, I don't want to experience days of happiness and wake up the next morning feeling worthless. I want to be "okay", not even good, not bad. Just okay. That's what I want.
In the end, we humans, no matter our personal mental state, are a marriage of heaven and hell. Normally, however, those of us with a personal problem mentally tend to be a bit stronger than the average person.
More angelic than devilish. It's the one thing a mental disorder can give, and even then, you have to embrace your strength, not abuse it.
A lot of these quotes being perpetuated in modern society, in pop culture, bother me.
There isn't any beauty in being messed up, mentally. People seem to think that being fucked in the head means you're automatically something more than others. Or that it grants you a special status.
But it doesn't.
What's beautiful, the part of it that actually matters and means something, is you. It's the strength. We've all been weak, been cowards - or maybe it's just me - but we don't stay that way. There is growth, and realization. Sometimes you cry, for hours, until your pillow is soaked. But sometimes you cry for a moment, then wipe away the tears, and get what needs to be done finished. This is beautiful.
The idea that sickness gives an individual beauty is...saddening. Being ill doesn't necessarily make a person "good". They can still be horrible to other human beings.
We all have a little heaven in us, and we all have a little hell in us.
I've never been called an angel, or a demon. But I've been both.
The personal sacrifices we make, when we are already so burdened by our own biological flaws, is angelic. The anger we unleash when someone we love and care about is hurting because of what someone else said, that is demonic. We are wrath and we are love. There is no separation between the two.
Yin and Yang? The idea is that they aren't actually darkness and light. They are merely opposite forces which balance one another. That's all we are. A balance of darkness and light, good and bad, and there are people who are unbalanced with greater qualities of one or the other.
Inside my own head, I can't say I think I have more good than bad. I don't act mean, not usually. I do everything I can to be a nice person, but sometimes my head is full of glass and nails and angry fog, and so even though I may look nice on the outside, inside I am hating. This isn't a mental disorder so much as a symptom of it. But I've never imagined what I could be without such feelings. I've never been able to comprehend what kind of person I would be without it.
My own mental drama is not who I am, but it is a factor in me as a whole. I can't say it made me a better or worse person, but I can say it has taught me what things deserve my feelings and what don't. It has taught me to be stronger than it is. It's given me a power, one that I didn't realize I had.
Maybe it isn't a worthy trade-off to suffer so deeply for such meager power, but if it's all I get, I'm taking it, no moping here.
I don't want to be lonely and sad, I don't want to experience days of happiness and wake up the next morning feeling worthless. I want to be "okay", not even good, not bad. Just okay. That's what I want.
In the end, we humans, no matter our personal mental state, are a marriage of heaven and hell. Normally, however, those of us with a personal problem mentally tend to be a bit stronger than the average person.
More angelic than devilish. It's the one thing a mental disorder can give, and even then, you have to embrace your strength, not abuse it.
From the Ends of the World
It started in the Garden of Oblivion…
…and ended at the Ocean of Faith.
Things had become confused, muddled and fuzzy. Aura no longer knew what she was doing, if she was in the right or the wrong.
From above, the Morningstar looked down, and sighed in his melodramatic fashion. His companion the Garden of Eden was nearing its end, just as Eden had. It was, in the end, merely a minor inconvenience and nothing more, but he had come to like Aura and Era. It was disappointing to see his creations reaching their crescendo so soon.
Aura smiled, her features lighting up like the sun from the expression. The kitten mewed pitifully at her, eyes locked as she lifted it gently in front of her face.
“For me, brother?” She asked Era.
“For you,” Era affirmed.
They had lived in the Garden for as long as they had existed, and knew nothing of the world beyond their garden. It was full of things that slithered and crawled, but they had never met a mammal before, and this little ball of fur had already stolen Aura’s heart.
Era knew better than to take strays into the Garden. The Morningstar had told him plenty of times before not to. The breaking of this rule was the herald of the end.
“But why? Have we not done as you’ve wanted, Master?” Aura asked, her eyes filling with tears as the Morningstar looked at her, apathy on his face. However, being faced with a woman’s tears was a new experience for him, and he was finding it difficult to maintain his carefully constructed façade of indifference.
“Your brother has not.” He eventually answered, once he regained his composure.
“What?” Aura’s eyes moved from his to Era’s, the tears now steadily streaming. “What does he mean, Era? What happened?”
The kitten meowed from its place on her foot.
“The cat, Aura,” the Morningstar answered. “I told your brother, no strays. This cat is a stray. Its presence has disrupted the Garden, and now I must ask you to leave. Well, I say ask, but I’ll force you if I must.”
With these words, Aura took her brother’s hand, and lifted her kitten to her shoulder. Then, after the kitten attained balance, Aura walked out of the garden, fingers entwined with Era’s. The Morningstar watched, more than a little impressed. A sort of sadness descended on him. He had rather liked his creation, the one named Aura. Her attitude, her strength, they were qualities he admired, and he wasn’t even sure how exactly he had given them to her. What he did know is that she would have made a wonderful demon.
The land was barren, gray and dark. The soil, ruinous. It was a mixture of clay and silt, entirely devoid of an ability for growing. So the siblings wandered. Their stomachs rumbled, hollowing out, ribs growing prominent. The kitten cried. Aura took to catching the small lizards they came across, and quickly killing them. Then, she fed the kitten. Sometimes, she would give the lizards to Era. She, however, did not eat. She sacrificed the shine of her hair and the softness of her skin for her brother and kitten.
Era did all he could to get her to eat, but until they left the wasteland place, she steadfastly refused. They needed it more than she did.
The Morningstar watched, and grew angry.
“What are you asking?”
“You know what I’m asking. Please, allow them to reach the Ocean.”
“How could you ask this of me? We are opposites, you and I. Your creations, anathema to
mine. I will not allow them to pollute my own vassals.”
“Oh, the vassals you purposefully manipulated into failure so that you could continue your great plan?”
“I cannot do this.”
“Do I ask much of you? No. I’m playing your universe’s villain, you’d think you could do me this one favor after I agreed to perpetuate the enemy.”
“Fine.”
Their feet had long ago become raw, then calloused. Their bodies stained with dust, the only clean one the kitten, whom Aura had taken to calling “Mea”. Era had gone from sad, to distraught, to his current state of numb. He numbly accepted everything about their situation, following Aura like a zombie. It was his fault, he knew, and he hated that.
When the taste of the wind became salty, he opened his mouth wider. The numb acceptance faded to be replaced by curiosity, and he deftly took the lead.
He led them to the Ocean, and it was there they found their new home. Already, a family lived there, but they were welcoming enough to the new arrivals. A man and wife, two children…
Yes, a new home indeed.
…and ended at the Ocean of Faith.
Things had become confused, muddled and fuzzy. Aura no longer knew what she was doing, if she was in the right or the wrong.
From above, the Morningstar looked down, and sighed in his melodramatic fashion. His companion the Garden of Eden was nearing its end, just as Eden had. It was, in the end, merely a minor inconvenience and nothing more, but he had come to like Aura and Era. It was disappointing to see his creations reaching their crescendo so soon.
Aura smiled, her features lighting up like the sun from the expression. The kitten mewed pitifully at her, eyes locked as she lifted it gently in front of her face.
“For me, brother?” She asked Era.
“For you,” Era affirmed.
They had lived in the Garden for as long as they had existed, and knew nothing of the world beyond their garden. It was full of things that slithered and crawled, but they had never met a mammal before, and this little ball of fur had already stolen Aura’s heart.
Era knew better than to take strays into the Garden. The Morningstar had told him plenty of times before not to. The breaking of this rule was the herald of the end.
“But why? Have we not done as you’ve wanted, Master?” Aura asked, her eyes filling with tears as the Morningstar looked at her, apathy on his face. However, being faced with a woman’s tears was a new experience for him, and he was finding it difficult to maintain his carefully constructed façade of indifference.
“Your brother has not.” He eventually answered, once he regained his composure.
“What?” Aura’s eyes moved from his to Era’s, the tears now steadily streaming. “What does he mean, Era? What happened?”
The kitten meowed from its place on her foot.
“The cat, Aura,” the Morningstar answered. “I told your brother, no strays. This cat is a stray. Its presence has disrupted the Garden, and now I must ask you to leave. Well, I say ask, but I’ll force you if I must.”
With these words, Aura took her brother’s hand, and lifted her kitten to her shoulder. Then, after the kitten attained balance, Aura walked out of the garden, fingers entwined with Era’s. The Morningstar watched, more than a little impressed. A sort of sadness descended on him. He had rather liked his creation, the one named Aura. Her attitude, her strength, they were qualities he admired, and he wasn’t even sure how exactly he had given them to her. What he did know is that she would have made a wonderful demon.
The land was barren, gray and dark. The soil, ruinous. It was a mixture of clay and silt, entirely devoid of an ability for growing. So the siblings wandered. Their stomachs rumbled, hollowing out, ribs growing prominent. The kitten cried. Aura took to catching the small lizards they came across, and quickly killing them. Then, she fed the kitten. Sometimes, she would give the lizards to Era. She, however, did not eat. She sacrificed the shine of her hair and the softness of her skin for her brother and kitten.
Era did all he could to get her to eat, but until they left the wasteland place, she steadfastly refused. They needed it more than she did.
The Morningstar watched, and grew angry.
“What are you asking?”
“You know what I’m asking. Please, allow them to reach the Ocean.”
“How could you ask this of me? We are opposites, you and I. Your creations, anathema to
mine. I will not allow them to pollute my own vassals.”
“Oh, the vassals you purposefully manipulated into failure so that you could continue your great plan?”
“I cannot do this.”
“Do I ask much of you? No. I’m playing your universe’s villain, you’d think you could do me this one favor after I agreed to perpetuate the enemy.”
“Fine.”
Their feet had long ago become raw, then calloused. Their bodies stained with dust, the only clean one the kitten, whom Aura had taken to calling “Mea”. Era had gone from sad, to distraught, to his current state of numb. He numbly accepted everything about their situation, following Aura like a zombie. It was his fault, he knew, and he hated that.
When the taste of the wind became salty, he opened his mouth wider. The numb acceptance faded to be replaced by curiosity, and he deftly took the lead.
He led them to the Ocean, and it was there they found their new home. Already, a family lived there, but they were welcoming enough to the new arrivals. A man and wife, two children…
Yes, a new home indeed.
Balancing Act
An explosion of color.
Dark and light.
The passion of Hell's ardor,
the bliss of Heaven's respite.
Soft and hard,
Strong and weak,
A balance sought,
A balance to keep.
Perfecting the form,
That was the difficulty.
but then, success!
A balance between the density and destiny.
A tide of red, slicing through,
constantly rushing forward,
forever onward.
Pulsating with the lifebeat of
Creation.
Thick white support for everything,
holding the world up,
support for the support structure within,
a combination of red and yellow inside the white.
Then came the soft;
the pink and gray,
the sickly yellow and pale blue,
the heat and warmth, the stickiness.
Glue to hold Creation together;
Glue to fuel Creation forward.
Soldiers and civilians,
Villains and victims.
White knights to banish ill,
Red peasants, hurt and overwhelmed.
A balance.
Slithering lengths of space,
Constant pressure,
lumps of red warmth,
black flushes of decay.
Creation.
If you wonder,
"How do you keep a body balanced?"
Just ask me.
After all, I created the damn things.
Dark and light.
The passion of Hell's ardor,
the bliss of Heaven's respite.
Soft and hard,
Strong and weak,
A balance sought,
A balance to keep.
Perfecting the form,
That was the difficulty.
but then, success!
A balance between the density and destiny.
A tide of red, slicing through,
constantly rushing forward,
forever onward.
Pulsating with the lifebeat of
Creation.
Thick white support for everything,
holding the world up,
support for the support structure within,
a combination of red and yellow inside the white.
Then came the soft;
the pink and gray,
the sickly yellow and pale blue,
the heat and warmth, the stickiness.
Glue to hold Creation together;
Glue to fuel Creation forward.
Soldiers and civilians,
Villains and victims.
White knights to banish ill,
Red peasants, hurt and overwhelmed.
A balance.
Slithering lengths of space,
Constant pressure,
lumps of red warmth,
black flushes of decay.
Creation.
If you wonder,
"How do you keep a body balanced?"
Just ask me.
After all, I created the damn things.
Going Back to the Greek Tragedy pt.1
Monday, January 18, 2016
It was the light drizzle that put her in a poor mood. She'd been in this suffocating city for weeks now, and it had taken its toll. Now, the rain; a concrete city made dourer by the overcast sky and wet seeping into everything.
How she loathed these damned mortals.
Immortals weren't much better in her book, but at least they chose comfortable locations in which to live. Mortals simply built their temples to human fallacy wherever there was space, worlds of concrete and steel, an attempt to obtain godhood.
She almost laughed at that. Godhood wasn't nearly all it was cracked up to be. It was the fact that the mortals were indeed immortal that created all of the problems. Unlike the many mythical monsters forged from twisted human minds, there was no special circumstance in which these immortals died. They would endure for all of time, and this had led to some of the most creative punishments the world across. While she didn't endorse the barbaric practices her family engaged in, she could do nothing for them. Despite her far superior power, she and her sisters had little sway with the Olympians.
Queasiness settled in her gut. It felt wrong to be hunting him. Yet the Olympians had demanded justice, and she was forced to oblige despite her misgivings. She would find him, she always found her targets, but she would take him to be tried by the court of Themis. Truthfully, Themis belonged to the small handful of gods she trusted. But she was still concerned. There was no doubt that the Olympians wanted him imprisoned with no questions asked, and so she was bothered with the idea that they might try something.
Her fingers tightened around the blackened chain she held close, wrapped up around one arm. If they did, they would receive a taste of her reputation for vengeance.
Taking a deep breath - a mistake she realized as soon as the piss-reek of the alley filled her nostrils - she stood and waited. There was a steady pedestrian traffic seen from the mouth of the alley, many humans pushing and shoving one another out of the way, too impatient for their lives. But then, a bob and flash, and she knew it was him.
She darted out of the alley, immediately flowing into the stream of walkers. Though she could not see him, she could sense him. Her chain had tightened around her biceps, warming, something that occurred whenever she set eyes on the one she hunted. The clawed hand cover on her right hand was getting itchy, violence rippling under her skin. The power was flowing, and though she attempted to ignore it, stifle it, it had been so long since she had hunted...
He turned a corner, heading to a less populated area of the city, and she followed at a discreet distance. To her surprise, he ducked into a hole in the wall bar. She tentatively waited, then went in.
It was a sad little hovel, and the few patrons there at 6:00 pm were already sloppy drunk, staring into their glasses with dull eyes. It brought up emotions she never felt with her family; the depression of it all, the way she felt weary of it, how she felt bad for them and desired to help them. Then her eyes caught him. He was staring at her.
"Are you here for me?" He asked quietly from his place at the bar near the door, hand clutched around a foggy mug.
"You had to know it was coming," she said evenly.
"I suppose it was foolish of me to hope otherwise."
"Why did you do this?"
"What? Free him?"
She hissed in impatience, quickly striding to him, and pulled up short when she saw him cringe away from her.
"Yes. Why did you free him? You had to know the action would force me into this... I don't want to do this..." She hated the weakness in her voice, the obvious tint of pain.
He noticed it too, straightening slightly to peer at her face, a concerned expression overtaking his features.
"Why do you care?" He asked.
"Do you really have to ask?"
"No, no. You're right. You've always been rather humane when it comes to your jobs. Your existence, even. An oddity among the family."
"Why did you free him?"
"That again? Dammit, Tisiphone, why do you think?!" His voice had raised, and as it did, drunken heads perked up, slowed brain functions reacting sluggishly to the stimulus. He quickly cast his tone lower, trying to quiet himself. "After so many centuries, I couldn't stand it anymore. No other in this family has been hurt the way he has."
"Well..."
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I know you've... But you were freed. That's... I needed the screaming to end." He finished, a defeated man slumping down on a bar stool, mug in hand.
"Do you think I failed to hear it?" She asked, sliding onto the stool next to him. He looked at her in surprise.
"What?"
"My role is justice. Justice in the form of vengeance. Do you not think his screams reach me? I have to hold back every time I visit them on Olympus; my power wants to enact its role on them. I'd think the reason why is obvious."
"Why haven't you done anything then?"
"What do you think, Thanatos? I was bound once before... I don't know that I could make it out with sanity intact were I to go another round. Besides that, my sisters... I'm not stupid, they've been effectively hostages for centuries, not that either realizes it."
"You mean...?"
"Oh yes. They've been staying on Olympus for a long time. They are even taking their side now, calling me a vigilante. Trying to force me into jobs that make no reasonable sense. I didn't want this, certainly. Is it still a filial murder if what you're doing is a grace? Apparently, the Olympians think so."
A deep sigh left Thanatos, and he slowly let go of the mug.
"I'll go with you. If you have to hurt me, I--,"
"Idiot!" Tisiphone snarled, shoving off of her stool and kicking away from him. "What kind of person do you think I am? Truly? You should know that of all the people in the world, mortal and immortal, I could never hurt you." She turned her back to him, shoulders dropping and arms hanging limply by her sides.
"What did you intend, then?" He asked quietly, slipping off of his own stool.
"I was going to take you to the court of Themis. I trust her. Any verdict will be irrefutable even in the face of the Olympians anger. I don't think you would be found guilty."
There was a pregnant pause, and she could almost hear the mental gears whirring in his head.
"Okay. Let's go." He said, the suddenness of his hand on her waist startling her. But it was merely to guide her outside, back into the gray dim of the day. "What do I need to do?"
"Take my hand," she said softly. He complied, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. There was a sudden flash of darkness, and she heard Thanatos groan. She almost laughed, he could be such a wimp sometimes.
When she opened her eyes, they stood in the marble foyer of Themis' court. They stood for a moment before she realized their hands were still clasped, and quickly stepped back and away. His eyes caught hers, a curious glint in them, and she already felt dread welling up. If he asked her, she could only be honest, there was no way she could lie to him, but he had never realized it. Why would he realize it now, of all the ridiculous times?
"Tisiphone... Why is it, you said you could never hurt me?" Bastard.
"You know why."
"No. I'm not sure I do. I'm not sure I understand at all."
"Must we have this talk now? Themis is waiting!"
"Well, if I'm going to be sentenced in a non-positive light, then yes. Yes I would like to have this talk now."
"Why did you have to notice now?"
"Notice what?"
"That I love you, you dolt!" Her voice echoed loudly across the acoustic surfaces of the foyer. She cringed, taking steps back and away from him. How she hated herself in that moment.
"I... I don't... What?"
"I am well aware you don't view me in such a light, we can pretend this conversation didn't happen. May we proceed now?"
"Tisi..." The use of his nickname for her made her stomach twist into knots. Damn him. "Do you--, I mean... Are you sure? You never gave an indication before, are you sure this isn't some weird guilt thing?" The look she gave him would have left a weaker man huddled in a ball on the floor.
"How could you ask me that? You should be well aware that my affection towards the family is limited, and even those I interact with never touch me, and there's a clear reason for that. Just as it seems rather obvious why I would let you touch my hand for travel, let alone the past when you've hugged me."
"I didn't... It didn't seem possible, after...everything."
"Everything? What, you mean that time Zeus, Ares, and Poseidon took turns screwing me while Artemis, Apollo, Aphrodite, and Hera took turns torturing the shit out of me?" A harsh laugh left her. "It isn't possible for me to hold any affection towards but two true Olympians. You were never one of them though, were you? Your power is the same as mine."
"The greater power, Titan power...Yes. It is." He closed his eyes, his head hanging down. He scrubbed his hands angrily up and down his face, then straightened himself up and looked at her. "Tisiphone, if this doesn't go well, then I think I best do this now, so I won't regret inaction later." Before she could respond, he had taken her face in his hands and kissed her.
It wasn't a particularly long kiss, but it certainly was a special one, the culmination of centuries of secret feelings on both their parts, though he wouldn't admit that to her anytime soon. The god of death pining over a woman? It was mortifying to think of how she relentlessly she'd tease him with that.
Their lips drifted away, and she stared at him, seemingly lost for words. A moment passed, and then the doors to the main court opened, and they broke apart with incredible speed. Tisiphone's cheeks flamed red as Themis peeked at them curiously.
"Aren't you going to come in?"
"Of course," Tisiphone smiled, gesturing Thanatos forward. Themis turned, returning inside, with Thanatos and Tisiphone close on her heels.
Things had certainly gotten more complicated...
How she loathed these damned mortals.
Immortals weren't much better in her book, but at least they chose comfortable locations in which to live. Mortals simply built their temples to human fallacy wherever there was space, worlds of concrete and steel, an attempt to obtain godhood.
She almost laughed at that. Godhood wasn't nearly all it was cracked up to be. It was the fact that the mortals were indeed immortal that created all of the problems. Unlike the many mythical monsters forged from twisted human minds, there was no special circumstance in which these immortals died. They would endure for all of time, and this had led to some of the most creative punishments the world across. While she didn't endorse the barbaric practices her family engaged in, she could do nothing for them. Despite her far superior power, she and her sisters had little sway with the Olympians.
Queasiness settled in her gut. It felt wrong to be hunting him. Yet the Olympians had demanded justice, and she was forced to oblige despite her misgivings. She would find him, she always found her targets, but she would take him to be tried by the court of Themis. Truthfully, Themis belonged to the small handful of gods she trusted. But she was still concerned. There was no doubt that the Olympians wanted him imprisoned with no questions asked, and so she was bothered with the idea that they might try something.
Her fingers tightened around the blackened chain she held close, wrapped up around one arm. If they did, they would receive a taste of her reputation for vengeance.
Taking a deep breath - a mistake she realized as soon as the piss-reek of the alley filled her nostrils - she stood and waited. There was a steady pedestrian traffic seen from the mouth of the alley, many humans pushing and shoving one another out of the way, too impatient for their lives. But then, a bob and flash, and she knew it was him.
She darted out of the alley, immediately flowing into the stream of walkers. Though she could not see him, she could sense him. Her chain had tightened around her biceps, warming, something that occurred whenever she set eyes on the one she hunted. The clawed hand cover on her right hand was getting itchy, violence rippling under her skin. The power was flowing, and though she attempted to ignore it, stifle it, it had been so long since she had hunted...
He turned a corner, heading to a less populated area of the city, and she followed at a discreet distance. To her surprise, he ducked into a hole in the wall bar. She tentatively waited, then went in.
It was a sad little hovel, and the few patrons there at 6:00 pm were already sloppy drunk, staring into their glasses with dull eyes. It brought up emotions she never felt with her family; the depression of it all, the way she felt weary of it, how she felt bad for them and desired to help them. Then her eyes caught him. He was staring at her.
"Are you here for me?" He asked quietly from his place at the bar near the door, hand clutched around a foggy mug.
"You had to know it was coming," she said evenly.
"I suppose it was foolish of me to hope otherwise."
"Why did you do this?"
"What? Free him?"
She hissed in impatience, quickly striding to him, and pulled up short when she saw him cringe away from her.
"Yes. Why did you free him? You had to know the action would force me into this... I don't want to do this..." She hated the weakness in her voice, the obvious tint of pain.
He noticed it too, straightening slightly to peer at her face, a concerned expression overtaking his features.
"Why do you care?" He asked.
"Do you really have to ask?"
"No, no. You're right. You've always been rather humane when it comes to your jobs. Your existence, even. An oddity among the family."
"Why did you free him?"
"That again? Dammit, Tisiphone, why do you think?!" His voice had raised, and as it did, drunken heads perked up, slowed brain functions reacting sluggishly to the stimulus. He quickly cast his tone lower, trying to quiet himself. "After so many centuries, I couldn't stand it anymore. No other in this family has been hurt the way he has."
"Well..."
"I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I know you've... But you were freed. That's... I needed the screaming to end." He finished, a defeated man slumping down on a bar stool, mug in hand.
"Do you think I failed to hear it?" She asked, sliding onto the stool next to him. He looked at her in surprise.
"What?"
"My role is justice. Justice in the form of vengeance. Do you not think his screams reach me? I have to hold back every time I visit them on Olympus; my power wants to enact its role on them. I'd think the reason why is obvious."
"Why haven't you done anything then?"
"What do you think, Thanatos? I was bound once before... I don't know that I could make it out with sanity intact were I to go another round. Besides that, my sisters... I'm not stupid, they've been effectively hostages for centuries, not that either realizes it."
"You mean...?"
"Oh yes. They've been staying on Olympus for a long time. They are even taking their side now, calling me a vigilante. Trying to force me into jobs that make no reasonable sense. I didn't want this, certainly. Is it still a filial murder if what you're doing is a grace? Apparently, the Olympians think so."
A deep sigh left Thanatos, and he slowly let go of the mug.
"I'll go with you. If you have to hurt me, I--,"
"Idiot!" Tisiphone snarled, shoving off of her stool and kicking away from him. "What kind of person do you think I am? Truly? You should know that of all the people in the world, mortal and immortal, I could never hurt you." She turned her back to him, shoulders dropping and arms hanging limply by her sides.
"What did you intend, then?" He asked quietly, slipping off of his own stool.
"I was going to take you to the court of Themis. I trust her. Any verdict will be irrefutable even in the face of the Olympians anger. I don't think you would be found guilty."
There was a pregnant pause, and she could almost hear the mental gears whirring in his head.
"Okay. Let's go." He said, the suddenness of his hand on her waist startling her. But it was merely to guide her outside, back into the gray dim of the day. "What do I need to do?"
"Take my hand," she said softly. He complied, and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. There was a sudden flash of darkness, and she heard Thanatos groan. She almost laughed, he could be such a wimp sometimes.
When she opened her eyes, they stood in the marble foyer of Themis' court. They stood for a moment before she realized their hands were still clasped, and quickly stepped back and away. His eyes caught hers, a curious glint in them, and she already felt dread welling up. If he asked her, she could only be honest, there was no way she could lie to him, but he had never realized it. Why would he realize it now, of all the ridiculous times?
"Tisiphone... Why is it, you said you could never hurt me?" Bastard.
"You know why."
"No. I'm not sure I do. I'm not sure I understand at all."
"Must we have this talk now? Themis is waiting!"
"Well, if I'm going to be sentenced in a non-positive light, then yes. Yes I would like to have this talk now."
"Why did you have to notice now?"
"Notice what?"
"That I love you, you dolt!" Her voice echoed loudly across the acoustic surfaces of the foyer. She cringed, taking steps back and away from him. How she hated herself in that moment.
"I... I don't... What?"
"I am well aware you don't view me in such a light, we can pretend this conversation didn't happen. May we proceed now?"
"Tisi..." The use of his nickname for her made her stomach twist into knots. Damn him. "Do you--, I mean... Are you sure? You never gave an indication before, are you sure this isn't some weird guilt thing?" The look she gave him would have left a weaker man huddled in a ball on the floor.
"How could you ask me that? You should be well aware that my affection towards the family is limited, and even those I interact with never touch me, and there's a clear reason for that. Just as it seems rather obvious why I would let you touch my hand for travel, let alone the past when you've hugged me."
"I didn't... It didn't seem possible, after...everything."
"Everything? What, you mean that time Zeus, Ares, and Poseidon took turns screwing me while Artemis, Apollo, Aphrodite, and Hera took turns torturing the shit out of me?" A harsh laugh left her. "It isn't possible for me to hold any affection towards but two true Olympians. You were never one of them though, were you? Your power is the same as mine."
"The greater power, Titan power...Yes. It is." He closed his eyes, his head hanging down. He scrubbed his hands angrily up and down his face, then straightened himself up and looked at her. "Tisiphone, if this doesn't go well, then I think I best do this now, so I won't regret inaction later." Before she could respond, he had taken her face in his hands and kissed her.
It wasn't a particularly long kiss, but it certainly was a special one, the culmination of centuries of secret feelings on both their parts, though he wouldn't admit that to her anytime soon. The god of death pining over a woman? It was mortifying to think of how she relentlessly she'd tease him with that.
Their lips drifted away, and she stared at him, seemingly lost for words. A moment passed, and then the doors to the main court opened, and they broke apart with incredible speed. Tisiphone's cheeks flamed red as Themis peeked at them curiously.
"Aren't you going to come in?"
"Of course," Tisiphone smiled, gesturing Thanatos forward. Themis turned, returning inside, with Thanatos and Tisiphone close on her heels.
Things had certainly gotten more complicated...
Worlds' Ends & Whales
Wednesday, January 6, 2016
This was it.
The edge of the precipice.
The end of the world.
Don't think me dramatic, for this is simple truth. My feet clenched on the grassy fall away, toes sinking into the sucking mud that was beneath the turf supporting me, until it made contact with the back of the galaxy whale. I cautiously leaned my upper body forward, eyes straining to see.
To see what?
Well, wasn't that the question.
The black was vast, seemingly never-ending. The only thing to break up the darkness was the faintly flickering stars. They had been dying for a long time now, and so the galaxy whale the earth sat on top of was sailing the planet through space. Even as it moved, stars blinked out of existence in its wake.
No one was certain there were any stars left to be found. The planet, the civilizations and countries and animals and plants, they might be nearing their end if no star was found soon. But still the galaxy whale swam, toward salvation or oblivion.
A sense of fear had settled in my guy, one I had become accustomed to. It was only natural. If you fell off the edge of the world...that was it. Lights out. No coming back, lost to the vast black. Just like the stars. I'd been raised on horror stories of those who had fallen from the edge. The numerous and ghastly manners in which people had perished. I didn't want to die like one of them.
An entire galaxy spread out before me, and I had been sent to look for stars that appeared to be in good health. So far, I had seen none, but still the galaxy whale moved, as if it knew where it was going. And maybe it did, but if the galaxy whale had a higher intelligence, no one had yet to be graced by its wisdom.
This was it.
The end of the world.
Maybe, even, the end of mine.
The edge of the precipice.
The end of the world.
Don't think me dramatic, for this is simple truth. My feet clenched on the grassy fall away, toes sinking into the sucking mud that was beneath the turf supporting me, until it made contact with the back of the galaxy whale. I cautiously leaned my upper body forward, eyes straining to see.
To see what?
Well, wasn't that the question.
The black was vast, seemingly never-ending. The only thing to break up the darkness was the faintly flickering stars. They had been dying for a long time now, and so the galaxy whale the earth sat on top of was sailing the planet through space. Even as it moved, stars blinked out of existence in its wake.
No one was certain there were any stars left to be found. The planet, the civilizations and countries and animals and plants, they might be nearing their end if no star was found soon. But still the galaxy whale swam, toward salvation or oblivion.
A sense of fear had settled in my guy, one I had become accustomed to. It was only natural. If you fell off the edge of the world...that was it. Lights out. No coming back, lost to the vast black. Just like the stars. I'd been raised on horror stories of those who had fallen from the edge. The numerous and ghastly manners in which people had perished. I didn't want to die like one of them.
An entire galaxy spread out before me, and I had been sent to look for stars that appeared to be in good health. So far, I had seen none, but still the galaxy whale moved, as if it knew where it was going. And maybe it did, but if the galaxy whale had a higher intelligence, no one had yet to be graced by its wisdom.
This was it.
The end of the world.
Maybe, even, the end of mine.
Timelessness
Thursday, December 17, 2015
Four brothers. Timeless.
It was different than being endless, because their existence was guaranteed as long as the earth continued its meandering rotation around the sun. When this ceased...then the concept of time would also be gone, and the Timeless would end just as the earth did.
There were many Timeless; the sisters of the oceans, the keepers of the continents, the spirits of the holidays...it goes on and on. But without a doubt, the most powerful were the four brothers who kept the seasons.
The eldest brother was William, the keeper of winter. He was a man with silver hair, and intense, light gray eyes. His skin was pale and unblemished, his features in sharp definition. Always, the presence of cold, piercing wind surrounded him. One could say he was the most responsible of them all, one could call him the sternest... But these things did not make him who he was; he had a deep love of his brothers, a comfortable camaraderie with the other Timeless. His heart was, despite all outer appearances, warm.
Frederick was the keeper of fall, and the youngest of the brothers. With a decidedly mild temperament, he always seemed to have his spirits up, if not in a good mood in general. Auburn hair and dark green eyes seemed enigmatic, but his intrinsic joy was infectious to those around him. With skin neither pale nor dark, skin that just was, it made sense that Frederick was just Frederick, and that's all there was to it.
The middling brothers were twins. They were almost opposites in nature.
Samuel was the keeper of spring, and his twin's senior. Prone to mood swings and unreasonable fits of sadness and anger, he was most certainly the most expressive of his brothers. Most often he switched between cautious optimism and melancholy. His hair was such a light brown as to almost be blonde, and his eyes were an unflinching hazel. There was a certain fragility to his gestures and features, and often times his brothers were rather over-protective, even Frederick who was younger.
Then his opposite, Simon, kept summer. Simon was over-flowing with life. Strawberry blonde hair and dancing blue eyes kept he and William as contenders for most handsome brother. While normally one would say Simon had merely average features, they were enhanced by his mischievous, joking nature. There was no doubt that despite Frederick's perpetual good mood, Simon was truly the happiest of them all.
Together, the four brothers kept the seasons across the world on track. Their actions and presence managed growing seasons and heralded the advent of holidays. Of all the Timeless, they were the most active, and upon closer inspection, the most powerful.
They were not endless, but they were indeed Timeless.
It was different than being endless, because their existence was guaranteed as long as the earth continued its meandering rotation around the sun. When this ceased...then the concept of time would also be gone, and the Timeless would end just as the earth did.
There were many Timeless; the sisters of the oceans, the keepers of the continents, the spirits of the holidays...it goes on and on. But without a doubt, the most powerful were the four brothers who kept the seasons.
The eldest brother was William, the keeper of winter. He was a man with silver hair, and intense, light gray eyes. His skin was pale and unblemished, his features in sharp definition. Always, the presence of cold, piercing wind surrounded him. One could say he was the most responsible of them all, one could call him the sternest... But these things did not make him who he was; he had a deep love of his brothers, a comfortable camaraderie with the other Timeless. His heart was, despite all outer appearances, warm.
Frederick was the keeper of fall, and the youngest of the brothers. With a decidedly mild temperament, he always seemed to have his spirits up, if not in a good mood in general. Auburn hair and dark green eyes seemed enigmatic, but his intrinsic joy was infectious to those around him. With skin neither pale nor dark, skin that just was, it made sense that Frederick was just Frederick, and that's all there was to it.
The middling brothers were twins. They were almost opposites in nature.
Samuel was the keeper of spring, and his twin's senior. Prone to mood swings and unreasonable fits of sadness and anger, he was most certainly the most expressive of his brothers. Most often he switched between cautious optimism and melancholy. His hair was such a light brown as to almost be blonde, and his eyes were an unflinching hazel. There was a certain fragility to his gestures and features, and often times his brothers were rather over-protective, even Frederick who was younger.
Then his opposite, Simon, kept summer. Simon was over-flowing with life. Strawberry blonde hair and dancing blue eyes kept he and William as contenders for most handsome brother. While normally one would say Simon had merely average features, they were enhanced by his mischievous, joking nature. There was no doubt that despite Frederick's perpetual good mood, Simon was truly the happiest of them all.
Together, the four brothers kept the seasons across the world on track. Their actions and presence managed growing seasons and heralded the advent of holidays. Of all the Timeless, they were the most active, and upon closer inspection, the most powerful.
They were not endless, but they were indeed Timeless.
Down the Rabbit Hole, pt.1
Friday, December 4, 2015
It ticked and ticked and ticked. Always, incessant, monotonous, mocking.
It ticked and ticked and ticked, and it was driving him insane.
Haigha was far more resilient than they'd counted on. How many operations had been administered? But still, he wasn't any closer to insane than when they began. A little crazier, perhaps, but not insane, and the difference between the two was an important distinction at this juncture.
"Ticktockticktockticktock..." He had been rocking back and forth in his cubicle for days, repeating the same phrase over and over again. No, he wasn't insane, but this was evidence for his particular craziness. Ever since she had left, he had become obsessed with clocks.
Mary Ann stood a few feet behind her Master, hands clasped stiffly behind her back, shoulders down and posture straight. Though she was officially his housekeeper, she often performed many other services for her Master, and lover. She had learned the hard way that leaving him to his own devices led to scenes just like the one before her.
From the one way glass, she saw the slow break down of the hare before them. Surely Hatta could have done better by now? In her eyes, he was incompetent. He was far too mad to be inducing madness in others. Yet her Master still chose him for the job.
"It's necessary. We have to get back," her Master said, as if he could read her thoughts. "If he is intact when she returns, it will inevitably lead to the same conclusion as before. I won't let that happen."
Mary Ann said nothing, simply stood there in silence.
Ticktockticktockticktock...
Alice stood in front of her mirror, and grimaced.
Sometimes, her memories of Wonderland and that damned looking glass felt like a crazy, hazy dream. A fantastical story dreamed up one day in the summer heat with Dinah and her sister. Then she would feel the weight of the pocket watch against her chest, the rub of the chain around her neck, and the promise it contained. It had all been real.
Sometimes, she thought of the one she loved and lost. Most days, she attempted to be a normal woman, a difficult affair for her. Ever since the incident with the Red King and White Queen, her complexion had paled considerably. Before she left, they had said it was because her powers were now fully in effect, but she didn't feel powerful. After all, she had been married off to a jewel maker, but the nights were cold and lonely, and she didn't love him nor he her. Her younger sister had been married, but her marriage had been to a duke and the two had indeed fallen madly in love.
Sometimes, that made her very jealous.
"Alice!" An angry shout sounded up to the second floor.
"A moment, dearest." Alice sighed. Straightening her hair, she readjusted her resigned posture to a proper lady's form, and carefully made her way down the narrow stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, her husband stared at her with angry, clouded eyes. The stranger on the threshold had yet to look at her, and Alice wondered who on earth it could possibly be.
"We have a visitor. He says he knows you."
"Oh?" Alice frowned. She couldn't think of any local man who would come disturb her husband by calling on her. His expression let her know that he would want to beat her later, but like always, she would stay his hand. She wasn't going to tolerate such vile behavior in a husband, despite their mutual dislike for one another.
"Set us up some tea, would you?"
"Yes, dear."
In the kitchen, she mused to herself, "who could that man have been? He refused to let me take a good look at him."
With everything prepared, she moved into the parlor, but when she saw who their visitor was, she nearly dropped the tray.
The White Knight, Geoff, stood by the mantle, his eyes fixated on the portrait of Alice and her husband that had been done shortly after their marriage. There was a look of distaste on his features, visible revulsion. However, when he heard her entry and saw her, he smiled.
After returning home from her time in Wonderland, she had eventually calculated that he had to have been in his 30s. Now he stood before her in his 50s. Time had not made him any less handsome, but it had indeed aged him. The joyful smile he gave lessened the age of his face, making him look young again, like so many years ago.
"Alice, m'lady, so good to see you once more," he greeted formally. Quickly, he took the tea tray from her, and balancing it on one hand, stooped to grasp her hand and bestow a kiss on the back of it. Blush heated her cheeks, and she knew her husband had to be glaring at her.
"W-what are you doing here?" It wasn't often that Alice had difficulty finding words, but this was an unprecedented situation.
"A way has been devised to return you home." He said it so matter-of-factly. Home. It was, wasn't it? She was supposedly the true inheritor of the kingdom, owning the considerable power the position came with. She had only left because she couldn't bear to leave her mother and sister without even the faintest goodbye. Her love had helped her find a way back home, even though he knew it meant he may never see her again. That was love. It killed her to leave him, but she had to. She hadn't thought it possible to return. Could she? Truly?
"How?" She asked breathlessly. Her husband scowled.
"Alice!" He thundered. "What manner of nonsense is this?!" He staggered backward as the sharp tip of a sword was suddenly prodding his throat.
"Take care how you address her, sir. I would be rather put out to cut you down." By his tone, she knew he was lying. He would be rather pleased to kill her husband.
"You've yet to answer my question," she said softly.
"The rabbit, m'lady. He can open a gate."
She sucked in a breath. So the rabbit was back to his old machinations, was he? She had never disliked him, in fact she had become rather fond of him near the end, but she knew better than to trust his motivations when she wasn't around to monitor him.
"What do I have to do?"
"Just continue what you're doing now; stand there and look pretty."
Her husband spluttered angrily, but his loud words merely faded to background noise as Alice thought of her home.
"Is he alright?" Alice knew Geoff would immediately know who she meant.
"I...I'm not sure," he admitted, a bit ashamedly. "No one has seen him for a while now."
"Oh."
The silence turned to one of sadness as they waited. Then, the floor began to cave in, right in the center, but in a perfect circle. Once it had formed, well away from the three in the parlor who had stepped to the edges of the room, Alice peered down. It was the same as before! The rabbit tunnel seemed to go on forever and ever into darkness.
"After you," Geoff gestured. Alice nodded.
Then she took the leap.
When the gate finished opening, the rabbit sighed deeply. He went limp, slumping back in his chair, and relaxed.
It took a toll, coordinating and opening gates, and rarely did the right circumstances come together for such an event. The denizens of Wonderland were lucky. They needed their Alice, lest the magic of the kingdom die.
Mary Ann began to rub his shoulders soothingly.
Being the last Guide was such a busy way of living. He controlled the traffic to and from Wonderland, and when Alice had first arrived, he led her through the journey meant to ultimately prove her power over Wonderland. Resting his chin upon one furred hand, he closed his eyes.
"My dear..." He said softly.
"Hmmm?"
"Do you think our guest has been sufficiently broken?"
For the briefest second, Mary Ann's hands paused as she mulled over his question, then they went back to stroking his shoulders. "Yes. The hatter finally found the way to break him. He should be no trouble at all."
"Good," he sighed in relief.
Alright, so technically, he wasn't the last Guide. His cousin was a Guide as well, but the destruction of his mental faculties meant he would be unable to control his power. Power that was greater than the rabbit's own, and aggravated him to no end.
Their Alice would not leave again, the white rabbit made sure of that.
It ticked and ticked and ticked, and it was driving him insane.
Haigha was far more resilient than they'd counted on. How many operations had been administered? But still, he wasn't any closer to insane than when they began. A little crazier, perhaps, but not insane, and the difference between the two was an important distinction at this juncture.
"Ticktockticktockticktock..." He had been rocking back and forth in his cubicle for days, repeating the same phrase over and over again. No, he wasn't insane, but this was evidence for his particular craziness. Ever since she had left, he had become obsessed with clocks.
Mary Ann stood a few feet behind her Master, hands clasped stiffly behind her back, shoulders down and posture straight. Though she was officially his housekeeper, she often performed many other services for her Master, and lover. She had learned the hard way that leaving him to his own devices led to scenes just like the one before her.
From the one way glass, she saw the slow break down of the hare before them. Surely Hatta could have done better by now? In her eyes, he was incompetent. He was far too mad to be inducing madness in others. Yet her Master still chose him for the job.
"It's necessary. We have to get back," her Master said, as if he could read her thoughts. "If he is intact when she returns, it will inevitably lead to the same conclusion as before. I won't let that happen."
Mary Ann said nothing, simply stood there in silence.
Ticktockticktockticktock...
Alice stood in front of her mirror, and grimaced.
Sometimes, her memories of Wonderland and that damned looking glass felt like a crazy, hazy dream. A fantastical story dreamed up one day in the summer heat with Dinah and her sister. Then she would feel the weight of the pocket watch against her chest, the rub of the chain around her neck, and the promise it contained. It had all been real.
Sometimes, she thought of the one she loved and lost. Most days, she attempted to be a normal woman, a difficult affair for her. Ever since the incident with the Red King and White Queen, her complexion had paled considerably. Before she left, they had said it was because her powers were now fully in effect, but she didn't feel powerful. After all, she had been married off to a jewel maker, but the nights were cold and lonely, and she didn't love him nor he her. Her younger sister had been married, but her marriage had been to a duke and the two had indeed fallen madly in love.
Sometimes, that made her very jealous.
"Alice!" An angry shout sounded up to the second floor.
"A moment, dearest." Alice sighed. Straightening her hair, she readjusted her resigned posture to a proper lady's form, and carefully made her way down the narrow stairs.
At the bottom of the stairs, her husband stared at her with angry, clouded eyes. The stranger on the threshold had yet to look at her, and Alice wondered who on earth it could possibly be.
"We have a visitor. He says he knows you."
"Oh?" Alice frowned. She couldn't think of any local man who would come disturb her husband by calling on her. His expression let her know that he would want to beat her later, but like always, she would stay his hand. She wasn't going to tolerate such vile behavior in a husband, despite their mutual dislike for one another.
"Set us up some tea, would you?"
"Yes, dear."
In the kitchen, she mused to herself, "who could that man have been? He refused to let me take a good look at him."
With everything prepared, she moved into the parlor, but when she saw who their visitor was, she nearly dropped the tray.
The White Knight, Geoff, stood by the mantle, his eyes fixated on the portrait of Alice and her husband that had been done shortly after their marriage. There was a look of distaste on his features, visible revulsion. However, when he heard her entry and saw her, he smiled.
After returning home from her time in Wonderland, she had eventually calculated that he had to have been in his 30s. Now he stood before her in his 50s. Time had not made him any less handsome, but it had indeed aged him. The joyful smile he gave lessened the age of his face, making him look young again, like so many years ago.
"Alice, m'lady, so good to see you once more," he greeted formally. Quickly, he took the tea tray from her, and balancing it on one hand, stooped to grasp her hand and bestow a kiss on the back of it. Blush heated her cheeks, and she knew her husband had to be glaring at her.
"W-what are you doing here?" It wasn't often that Alice had difficulty finding words, but this was an unprecedented situation.
"A way has been devised to return you home." He said it so matter-of-factly. Home. It was, wasn't it? She was supposedly the true inheritor of the kingdom, owning the considerable power the position came with. She had only left because she couldn't bear to leave her mother and sister without even the faintest goodbye. Her love had helped her find a way back home, even though he knew it meant he may never see her again. That was love. It killed her to leave him, but she had to. She hadn't thought it possible to return. Could she? Truly?
"How?" She asked breathlessly. Her husband scowled.
"Alice!" He thundered. "What manner of nonsense is this?!" He staggered backward as the sharp tip of a sword was suddenly prodding his throat.
"Take care how you address her, sir. I would be rather put out to cut you down." By his tone, she knew he was lying. He would be rather pleased to kill her husband.
"You've yet to answer my question," she said softly.
"The rabbit, m'lady. He can open a gate."
She sucked in a breath. So the rabbit was back to his old machinations, was he? She had never disliked him, in fact she had become rather fond of him near the end, but she knew better than to trust his motivations when she wasn't around to monitor him.
"What do I have to do?"
"Just continue what you're doing now; stand there and look pretty."
Her husband spluttered angrily, but his loud words merely faded to background noise as Alice thought of her home.
"Is he alright?" Alice knew Geoff would immediately know who she meant.
"I...I'm not sure," he admitted, a bit ashamedly. "No one has seen him for a while now."
"Oh."
The silence turned to one of sadness as they waited. Then, the floor began to cave in, right in the center, but in a perfect circle. Once it had formed, well away from the three in the parlor who had stepped to the edges of the room, Alice peered down. It was the same as before! The rabbit tunnel seemed to go on forever and ever into darkness.
"After you," Geoff gestured. Alice nodded.
Then she took the leap.
When the gate finished opening, the rabbit sighed deeply. He went limp, slumping back in his chair, and relaxed.
It took a toll, coordinating and opening gates, and rarely did the right circumstances come together for such an event. The denizens of Wonderland were lucky. They needed their Alice, lest the magic of the kingdom die.
Mary Ann began to rub his shoulders soothingly.
Being the last Guide was such a busy way of living. He controlled the traffic to and from Wonderland, and when Alice had first arrived, he led her through the journey meant to ultimately prove her power over Wonderland. Resting his chin upon one furred hand, he closed his eyes.
"My dear..." He said softly.
"Hmmm?"
"Do you think our guest has been sufficiently broken?"
For the briefest second, Mary Ann's hands paused as she mulled over his question, then they went back to stroking his shoulders. "Yes. The hatter finally found the way to break him. He should be no trouble at all."
"Good," he sighed in relief.
Alright, so technically, he wasn't the last Guide. His cousin was a Guide as well, but the destruction of his mental faculties meant he would be unable to control his power. Power that was greater than the rabbit's own, and aggravated him to no end.
Their Alice would not leave again, the white rabbit made sure of that.
A Ghost Girl's Shoe
Thursday, December 3, 2015
It took several days for anyone to notice.
She wasn't particularly disliked by anyone, but she had gotten used to a status of "invisible" a long time ago.
The first to notice was her English teacher. His star student's grades were suddenly dropping with no explanation, and then he checked the attendance: she hadn't been there in a week, a week with two essays due, and no explanation of her absence. Her other teachers looked at their own records, but it was more of the same. Their best student was slipping with no explanation but for not being in class for a week. The principal was alerted.
A phone call to the parents did nothing to assuage the school's concerns. The parents were surprised to hear this, and ventured into their daughter's room for the first time in seven years. It wasn't that they didn't care, but they didn't always have time for her - she had long ago become self-sufficient, used to making her own meals and doing the chores of the house, not that her parents would ever admit such a thing. Her room was in pristine condition but for the building layer of dust. The police were notified.
General unease had invaded the police department. A girl had gone missing and her parents hadn't noticed! At first, it seemed a standard runaway case, at least until they discovered she had perfect grades and test scores, had just aced her SAT and ACT. There was no obvious reason for her disappearance, no incriminating evidence on her computer or in her room.
Then he found the shoe.
Detective Monroe gingerly held the size 8 1/2 black high-top sneaker. Carefully turning it over in the light, he detected blood smudges and smears. The whole thing was a stroke of luck he had difficulty fathoming. The only reason he was here on the forest service road was to speak with some park rangers. No one thought it could be foul play,t here was no reason to think so, and so it was assumed she had gotten lost. He had meant to arrange a search party with the rangers, but after leaving his truck, had tripped over the shoe. The blood on it, the size, the oddity of the placement... It seemed it must be the missing girl's. This certainly hadn't been left by a bear or mountain lion, they didn't leave perfectly preserved shoes behind. It wasn't dirty as if dragged through the dirt, it wasn't torn or ripped up. No, this shoe had been knocked off of her foot, and left behind. Maybe the abductor hadn't noticed. Or maybe they hadn't cared.
After all, a whole week before her parents noticed, and on accident.
He pulled an evidence bag from his truck and carefully enclosed the shoe. Then, he called it in and headed back to the station. This screamed of something foul.
There was a line for entering in evidence. He took a seat in one of the old, brown department chairs, and waited. Sitting slightly forward, legs apart, he rested his forearms on the top of his thighs and took a close look at the shoe in the bag.
Was she scared? He wondered if she knew how long it would take for her absence to be noted. He wondered about the girl who seemed to be a ghost in her own life. Did she know her abductor? Did she think no one would find her? Where was she?
He wondered who she was as a person. Though the evidence of her life indicated a quiet, no-nonsense type, the few friends of hers they had managed to track down were adamant that she was funny, smart, loyal, and could be trusted with any secret. When asked why they hadn't noticed her disappearance, the shame was evident on their faces. If she had called for assistance, they would have dropped everything and come to her air, but she hadn't. They were too caught up in their own lives to notice.
Was she sassing her abductor now with back talk and wit belaying her teenage status? Was she gagged and bound?
His turn at the window came. As he handed over the paperwork and shoe with a strange reluctance, one last question came to mind:
Was she even still alive?
She wasn't particularly disliked by anyone, but she had gotten used to a status of "invisible" a long time ago.
The first to notice was her English teacher. His star student's grades were suddenly dropping with no explanation, and then he checked the attendance: she hadn't been there in a week, a week with two essays due, and no explanation of her absence. Her other teachers looked at their own records, but it was more of the same. Their best student was slipping with no explanation but for not being in class for a week. The principal was alerted.
A phone call to the parents did nothing to assuage the school's concerns. The parents were surprised to hear this, and ventured into their daughter's room for the first time in seven years. It wasn't that they didn't care, but they didn't always have time for her - she had long ago become self-sufficient, used to making her own meals and doing the chores of the house, not that her parents would ever admit such a thing. Her room was in pristine condition but for the building layer of dust. The police were notified.
General unease had invaded the police department. A girl had gone missing and her parents hadn't noticed! At first, it seemed a standard runaway case, at least until they discovered she had perfect grades and test scores, had just aced her SAT and ACT. There was no obvious reason for her disappearance, no incriminating evidence on her computer or in her room.
Then he found the shoe.
Detective Monroe gingerly held the size 8 1/2 black high-top sneaker. Carefully turning it over in the light, he detected blood smudges and smears. The whole thing was a stroke of luck he had difficulty fathoming. The only reason he was here on the forest service road was to speak with some park rangers. No one thought it could be foul play,t here was no reason to think so, and so it was assumed she had gotten lost. He had meant to arrange a search party with the rangers, but after leaving his truck, had tripped over the shoe. The blood on it, the size, the oddity of the placement... It seemed it must be the missing girl's. This certainly hadn't been left by a bear or mountain lion, they didn't leave perfectly preserved shoes behind. It wasn't dirty as if dragged through the dirt, it wasn't torn or ripped up. No, this shoe had been knocked off of her foot, and left behind. Maybe the abductor hadn't noticed. Or maybe they hadn't cared.
After all, a whole week before her parents noticed, and on accident.
He pulled an evidence bag from his truck and carefully enclosed the shoe. Then, he called it in and headed back to the station. This screamed of something foul.
There was a line for entering in evidence. He took a seat in one of the old, brown department chairs, and waited. Sitting slightly forward, legs apart, he rested his forearms on the top of his thighs and took a close look at the shoe in the bag.
Was she scared? He wondered if she knew how long it would take for her absence to be noted. He wondered about the girl who seemed to be a ghost in her own life. Did she know her abductor? Did she think no one would find her? Where was she?
He wondered who she was as a person. Though the evidence of her life indicated a quiet, no-nonsense type, the few friends of hers they had managed to track down were adamant that she was funny, smart, loyal, and could be trusted with any secret. When asked why they hadn't noticed her disappearance, the shame was evident on their faces. If she had called for assistance, they would have dropped everything and come to her air, but she hadn't. They were too caught up in their own lives to notice.
Was she sassing her abductor now with back talk and wit belaying her teenage status? Was she gagged and bound?
His turn at the window came. As he handed over the paperwork and shoe with a strange reluctance, one last question came to mind:
Was she even still alive?
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