soft-humming-moon

[soft-humming-moon]

THE DREAMCATCHER

July 2014. Approximately one thousand eight hundred forty days before the start. My gaze fixed to the symbol etched upon my bunk mate's wall. The symbol placed me within a curious trance which slipped away the misery of sleeping in the wilderness, nearly five hundred miles away from my own house.

My bunk mate had a pair of striped pajamas covering his being. Ragged blonde hair stretches down and past his shoulders. With my outstretched hand, I point to the symbol and loudly exclaim for the rest of the cabin to hear, "What's that?"

His attention shifts from the rapid conversation towards the etched symbol. A backwards N slants within the wooden frame as two dots cap the top and bottom of the diagonal slash. For a moment, he looks on to the symbol to prolong the time before he speaks.

"It's the Dreamcatcher," he spoke with a lisp, "It filters the nightmares when you fall asleep. A one way ticket granting you smooth sailing across the sea of dreams."

I was perplexed. His words—at the time—slipped away as his intelligent dialect precedes his age. Of course, I knew nothing of it then. As the years continued by, meshing together in fragmentations of both memory and fantasy, I found myself staring face to face with the symbol again. And again.

And again.

April 13th, 2024. One thousand seven hundred fifteen days after the start. A patchwork of symbolism weaves within my mind as my slumbering body plays within its tales. Stories of bygone characters dance around the vignette-tinted playground. My senses fall flat as I fail to recall the very faces staring me down. On their faceless heads is a detail which clings upon my senseless sight.

Two men stand out among the sea of visitors. Both identities bore scraggly hair which puffed itself into a sphere. The man on the left stood with dark-brown hair, while the other bore a lighter, yet dirtier blond-haired person. It wasn't them, I've never found myself dreaming of their exact features. Yet, it was. A simulacrum of my fears amalgamated in my distant peers.

The dream swiftly plucked itself away from my vision as a searing pain overtook my stomach. Every minute felt like misery—all I wished for was my water to quench my shriveled throat. My light-blue bottle sat farther away than I can reach. I freely kicked my legs at the edge of my bed as my body laid wide awake. Each moment strung on for hours—please, let me move.

My constant pleas pushed against my desires as I silently begged for freedom. Slowly, I disturbed my keeling pose and gripped against my bottle. Intuition informed me of how I yearned for water, but only for its feeling. As the small dribble sat within my mouth, I could feel my aching stomach return back to nothing.

4:50 AM. I sat at the foot of my bed with my eyes fixed on the light illuminated from my window. Dawn barely cracked upon my room as only a glimmer of blue sat above the horizon. The driveway remained black—empty of any unusual cars. Above all, I was expecting the same black truck to present an awaited visitor. Nothing, of course. The days are blurring together.

Before I returned to the senseless sea, I found a familiar symbol dimmed upon my blackened wall. The Dreamcatcher. The same reverse N with its unusual tittles. Nearly ten long years, and I found myself face to face with the unknown. Even as I returned to select a video to sleep to, I saw him at the top of my feed. Same man, same festival, same guitar, same channel. Wretched beast. Horrid switch.

"It's a redo," I muttered to myself. 8:20 AM. "Today is a better day because I allow it to be."

I didn't sleep in this time. Yet, my mind was racing. Amidst my morning routine, I pondered on the meaning of the Dreamcatcher. Was it there to taunt me? Remind me? It appears in fantastical coincidence; what dream does it catch? Fate? Love? War? Was the kid wearing a sleeping cap or a Phrygian cap?

10:30 AM. A wave of noise washed within the walls of the garage as I fixated on the same symbol hung on the load-bearing beam. Maybe there was nothing to it. A litany of artifacts and plaques lined the walls of the garage, displaying the very childhood of a life I've never lived. The Dreamcatcher was part of a collective in which I held no intention of deciphering. "The Snicker Award", "The Rattlesnake Award". These weren't mine, so why should it matter?

My mind focused on the important issues ahead. My hands swung in front of me to hit the bars of an instrument too small for me. I was having fun. The drummer gave us orders while his hand snaked around the shoulders of his lover—a visitor. The both of them sat on top the chair as I've seen before. Oh, the observer. To think, I may be the man in the midnight campground.

My friend—visiting from towns away—talked to us of his busy life. As we drove through Main Street, he told us of his usual day. His early mornings, arduous afternoons, and meaningless evenings. In his sixteen-hour days, he found no time to socialize or hang out. Loneliness was what he ran from. Every hour of his life was occupied to better his life, to escape the realization of where he sat in life.

Another friend—who I confide with my deepest secrets—listens with curiosity as he prods the visitor's life with questions that push the conversation along. Past the theater and approaching the drive-thru, he silences the air with a single inquiry, "Will your life change if you find a lover?"

"If," the visitor emphasizes, "I have no time or need for one."

There it is, graffitied on the road sign ahead. The Dreamcatcher. Sprayed in pure white is the work of a symbol which strikes meaning upon my soul. I can imagine the summer heat outside the car, where I stood amazed instead of aiding my bandmates. That was a distant time, of course. Ten minutes out there was a tenth of a second in the visitor's truck.

3:05 PM. One song in our set and I was already lost in the structure. The intricacies of the form and the style of the solos. Soon, my eyes glazed upon the digital eyes circling the gazebo like vultures. It struck me well my own likeness would appear outside where I could fathom its existence. The feeling was alien. Before, only one set of eyes focused on my being. And even then, their eyes hid underneath a bandmate's phone.

A familiar woman bestowed upon our band a coupon and a singular $100 bill each. As I looked down at her aged face, her complexities could only spark so much. It was a long shot, however, I could only identify the woman as the same observer who handed me a rainbow-themed pin with the words "MOM HUG" in bubbled letters.

Now, it was different. Handed to me was a slip of paper—a coupon—for a local restaurant. Inscribed in ink, beneath the printed words, was the same Dreamcatcher symbol etched on the slip. Of course, I left to claim the coupon whenever possible. The reappearance of this symbol continued to surprise me, it almost appeared at random.

4:50 PM. Our performance has long ended. Recent memories of familiar bonding danced in my mind as I sat in the sanctuary of the restaurant. The recurrence of the Dreamcatcher enamored me, its occupancy in my mind taunted me like a distant memory. My words quickly join the dancing thoughts, "It's a redo."

The answer overwhelms my expressions in a state of pure realization. My friends slightly eye me before I return to my neutral expression. I couldn't tell if they knew what I was thinking, but their conversation continued on to prove my hypothesis correct.

"It's best to let the reader figure out the meaning." The words of my English teacher push through my conspiring thoughts. Oh, Orphanmaker. "Let them find your meaning or let them find their own."

6:30 PM. My friends and I met at a granite table with a checkered pattern inscribed in the stone. As their conversation continued on about the future of the band, my eyes idled around the surrounding area as I scanned the crowd. In comparison to the earlier three hours, the park found itself crowded in people from end to end. They were here for the main course of the festival, of course. Their set list remained identical, but their members had changed.

Soon, my focus sat on the edge of the park. A wall of graffiti—more eloquently a mural—stretched from edge to edge as it covered the barren wall of a tan building in a colorful display. Most jarring of all was the Dreamcatcher, which blended in well to the mural. Why now?

"Who would win a game of chess?" The words of the pianist recall from my parallel memory. "Someone who can see the future or a mind reader?"

I fell asleep for that conversation. I heard it come on amidst a sea of one-sided discussion. Already, exhaustion had taken hold of my body that day as I fell asleep on the floor with nothing but my clothes. Oh, how the world rhymes.

Two kids—adorned with orange tails and animal ears—danced around the dormant fountain's design as they chased each other. I couldn't help myself but to watch the two run along the open space. This place was packed, I thought, how could they find the time? The Dreamcatcher—formed in the cracks and holes of the fountain—allowed such ritual.

9:20 PM. Anger overwhelmed my senses as I placed myself in an unwilling location. Never until now have I walked within the interior of a pub, and never have I performed among the same men which paved the path I walked. My rage flung itself from fear; control. Everything I yearned for needed to be right. Why wasn't it? My friends only added fuel to the fire. They spoke with confidence on an instrument they seldom knew, "It's right because I said it's right."

After I had situated my vibraphone atop the stage, all I could feel was regret. My rage-induced high mellowed out to the pits of regret as I recalled the words I used against them. I apologized—profusely. As I idly drank my cup of water, I recognized the song performed was off the album Headhunters; Watermelon Man. As soon as their performance concluded, our band picked up with another song off the same album; Chameleon.

Even as I played, I could feel the presence of the Dreamcatcher. The warmth of the melodies. The embrace of the solos. My mallets sailed and struck against the vibraphone with precision and delicacy. Despite the ferocity and the passion, it felt calm. In the eye of the arpeggiated storm was a hug of passion.

"I worked for this," I assured myself across festivals, "I earned it."

The songs blurred by, as if I was asleep for it all. Stress eluded me as my mistakes sifted away through the crucible of passion. All good things must come to an end. Of course, I knew this adage well. 11 PM flashed by and signaled an end to it all.

Where was the Dreamcatcher? Two hours came and went as the paralleled rest. While I deconstructed my vibraphone to its transportable pieces, I tuned in to the overlapping wisdom bestowed upon our band by two varied sources. I took in what I could as I packed my mallets back into the crowded bag where it belonged.

Only as I slipped the two sticks inside did the Dreamcatcher reveal itself. Claimed in marker, the wooden handles held the very symbol I searched for. I've owned these mallets for so long—I thought—why did I only notice now? It slipped by my senses for an unknown amount of time.

How long have I carried the Dreamcatcher under my unknowing hands?

"Do you still love someone after the relationship's over?" My friend questioned. He focused on the midnight road ahead as the conversation pivoted to his question. "Even if it's not the same, is the love still there?"

April 12th, 2024. One thousand seven hundred fourteen days after the start. The question wedged itself within my thoughts as I listened on to the conversation. We were only a few minutes away from the gas station, after I've caught up in explaining my worst affairs with my greatest friend—the pianist. It felt wrong, worded fluffing padded my mouth as each word felt meaningless yet hurtful at the same time.

Regardless, the driver continued in a seamless thought, "I mean, I still love my girlfriend. There's nothing that can replace how I feel for her. But, out in the distance, I still feel something towards everyone else I dated before me—my exes."

"Well, yeah." The pianist placed his foot in the door of conversation, "But what about familial love? Platonic? Do you still love your mother while she's alive? Do you suddenly hate her when she's dead?"

Of course, you do. What good is it when you break the bonds you crafted with others?

"I can't speak on behalf of what romantic love feels like," he continues, "But it's weird when you no longer love someone after you stop talking to them. What about the memories? The time you spent together?"

Yes, but granted, something terrible must happen in order for that event to even occur.

Out of the blue—by a leap in conversation or time—the driver continues with a new question, "When was the last time you said I love you?"

Not since July.

In reaction, I spoke my thoughts out loud. I could see the pianist look towards me with a knowing expression. Similar to the revelation at the restaurant, all he could do is acknowledge my reaction and continue on.

The two's words blur together as I contemplated my own response. The phrase was sacred to me, it feels like I've reserved it for people who I can no longer say it to. It's a privilege to receive my love. No, it's a privilege to receive their love. How do you read the Dreamcatcher, if at all?

How many Leyes can you tell yourself before it all catches up to you?

[soft-humming-moon]

hey chat what if i just put an entire chapter of a book im writing underneath the cut? That would be pretty funny I th

CHAPTER 1: CHRYSANTHEMUM

001 - DREAM

Soft—my grasp around his body felt nothing but. With my fingertips gently grazing against the material of his clothings, I could barely stand to perceive myself as myself. For all I cared, I was nothing but a set of hands.

But he stood right on front of me; I could perceive him. At first I couldn’t stand to stare into his feline eyes. No living man holds natural yellow eyes; everything about him was wrong. Yet, here I was. My yearning body threw itself to siphon whatever warmth exists on him. Seconds pass, I weep into the crook of his shoulder. My arms tightly bend around his body while my hands idly brush against the fur of his tail. I can’t seem to figure out how I got in this situation, but one of his hands softly strokes through my hair. For what it was worth, he made my hair feel like fine silk.

There was something about how stagnant he was—I could explore to my heart’s desire. Any of my burning passions which weakened me from the inside were nothing but paint to his blank state. I can’t tell if he stares at me with apathy, sympathy, or any empathetic qualities. I’m not sure if he can tell how desperate I am as a person.

“What am I?” Words barely escape my mouth as I look up towards him. “Really?”

He doesn’t move—he doesn’t budge. While my hands delicately feel against his bony ribs hidden underneath his skin, I’m barely able to cause a reaction. When was this a game? No matter how hard I try, any attempt at physical touch is muted in response. I’m hopeless, mainly, but I’m greedy.

While my hand gently sifts through his hair, another hand holds up his chin as my tear-stained eyes lock on to his. Never before have I felt so comfortable looking directly at his eyes. I know he can read my thoughts—I see him softly shake his head as a thought comes to my mind, “No.”

I whine, I weep. Why can someone so moldable like him hold limits? Desperately, my hands stick in place as I push my body closer to his. In response, he only steps backwards to push space between us. I’ll never understand him. He waits until I exhaust every last tear from my disheveled body before he brings me in close with one of his hands rubbing against my back in circles.

“I’m sorry” I repeatedly stammer. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He lifts my head up, making sure he has my attention. He waits until I cease my sobbing and truly admire his face. The silence after was hell. Never in my life has the absence of noise been so deafening.

“I am your limit.” He speaks. “I only allow for you todo what you’ll do to yourself. Truly, do you write of the things you think?”

Louder—yet stagnant. Words fail to piece themselves together as a coherent thought departs with each mirage of hope. My hands are greedy, yet his grasp is stronger. After a while, I realize he never anticipated a vocal answer from myself. In all honesty, he waited for the thoughts to align in a way he desired them to.

He was perfect. I look up to him with lust—if anything. His slim body, his long and bushy tail, his soft face, his pointy fox ears. Sometimes, I can only salivate. Sometimes, I can only dream of what I could do to him.

“So, what are we waiting for?”

Me, Myself, and I. Always, and forever will be.

002 - PRELUDE

“Don’t you have your own bed?” he reminds me while twirling his own hair, “You’re paying more than me for all of the bills, I don’t see why you need to share the bed with me here and now.”

As he spoke, I sat on the edge of his mattress with both my hands and feet pressed against his blankets. While considering his words, my expression lightly soured while I kept my attention towards him. With a simple reposition, I fix my limbs to sit in a quadrupedal position.

Danilo softly scoffed at my display as he checked the curtains within the room. All of the windows were blacked out by an opaque curtain, preventing any moonlight from pouring in. After the observation, he would adjust himself underneath the sheets of his bed while speaking, “Are you having one of those nights, Dani? If it helps you sleep tonight, sure. Get in.”

I excitedly burrow within the bed as I hastily draped the bedsheets above me. While Danilo worked on fixing the mess I made with the sheets, I wrapped my arms around his body while resting my head underneath his chin. My legs quickly snake around his while I involuntarily let out soft whimpers and whines.

“Settle down, settle down…” he softly reassures me while sifting his fingers through my hair, “You’re gonna have to talk if you want to sleep with me tonight. I know you don’t want to, but I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Tomorrow…” I pleaded, “let me sleep now…”

“Tonight, tell me what’s up tonight. What happened? Did you have another bout of insecurity.”

“Yeah… I did.”

“Oh, come on. The whole world isn’t out to get you. You know that, right?”

For an extended period, I would look up to him with my undivided attention. I made sure to keep my glance focused with my extraneous motions held still—all for emphasis.

“Okay,” Danilo surrendered, “the town may completely turn on you, but you’re safe here. You always know that.”

After his reassurances, he continued to weave his fingers through my delicate hair as another hand reached over to gently rub against my back in circles. His exhales and inhales slowed with each breath while his eyes closed in concentration.

Meanwhile, I could feel my negative feelings melting from my body. My intense shaking—throughout my whole body—gradually diminishes while I focus on the warm touch of his skin. I couldn’t help myself but to softly rub my cheek against his chest.

“You know I care about you, right?” Danilo continued to sift his hand within my hair, almost as if he was searching for something. “I have my boundaries, you know that. I still go to work—but it’s all to protect you.”

“Are you saying that just to make yourself feel better?” I questioned, “or do you genuinely mean it?”

“What?” For a moment, Danilo halted with his motions while looking down towards me. “No, why would you think that? Do you think I get some type of reward for cultivating you?”

“That’s what I feel everyone does…”

“Come on—everyone? What about Laque? You two hang out together every week or so. You’re always coming back with something fun to say.”

“Well… you’re right. I don’t think he’d do all that to betray me.”

“And Cheese? You’ve know him since you were kids. Granted, he’s known you before you’ve had the curse, but you two are still friends as if nothing ever happened.”

“Yeah, him too. I guess he’s not out for me either.”

“See? It’s your insecurities messing with you. I don’t think anything wrong about you, either. Although, I do find you a little strange at times.”

I furrow my eyebrows as I look back up to Danilo. Without any words, my expression quickly shifts to that of confusion as I try and understand his words. One of my hands lifts from his body as I purposefully pull his own hand from my hair. “What do you mean strange?”

“Well, don’t take it in a bad way,” Danilo continues, “I’ve never met anyone who purposefully acts like an animal and generates a suspicious amount of money through revealing images on the internet.”

“There’s an audience for everything!” I exclaim, “it’s not like anyone in the town can even pinpoint who I am. I’ve never shown anyone the interior of our house, and I conceal my face and any identifying marks. Don’t think you’ve got something to stand on just because you have a nine to five.”

After I spoke, a silence grips against the interior of the room as I watch Danilo’s face shift in contemplation. With his now free hand, he reaches over towards the side of the bed to grab a small, black remote. With his thumb idly combing over the multiple buttons spread across the stick.

“I never said that was bad,” he soon responds, “if anything, I find it interesting you use your curse productively like that. I don’t fully understand it, but I respect it.”

I return the same, puzzled stare back up at him as I did moments prior. “Are you saying the right words just to make me feel happy?”

“That’s never been my intention, and you know that.”

“Right, thanks, Danilo.”

“I’m your roommate for a reason. Do you want to watch a show to cheer yourself up?”

Almost immediately, I would scramble up from under the sheets to sit on top with my focus placed towards the screen in front of the bed. As Danilo repositioned himself to rest his back on the wooden back of the bed, I laid back with my head returning to lay on his chest.

While he repositioned his hand to resume his previous routine, he would simultaneously navigate through the television’s channels. With quick eyes, he read off the title of the shows and movies while flicking through the catalogue.

Against the television’s chaotic noise, I suddenly spoke aloud, “You’re still okay with what happened Saturday night, right? Are you mad or anything?”

“What?” He quickly broke his concentration to reply, “no, of course not. If anything, I enjoyed it.”

Once he finished speaking, I could feel my body sinking deeper into his blanket-covered body as his words echoed around in the front of my mind. The looping thoughts resounded with joy as my mind was put into a great ease.

While I was occupied with Danilo’s response, he would settle down on a rerun of a program we both watched together. Once he placed the remote back on the nightstand, Danilo reached his arm around my chest as he rested his elbow on top of my shoulder. All I could do now was gradually fix my focus to the show as his words floated around with no signs of stopping.

003 - PARTY

The night sky blinked with multicolored sparks, raining down its vibrant lights with a trail of smoke to follow. Chaotic bursts of noise scattered themselves among the plentiful stars—a distant cousin briefly staying in their celestial family’s residence. As these sparks fought for dominance against the dark clouds and chipped moon, they reigned supreme across the night sky.

December 31st, 20XX. The year of the animal was just around the corner. The final grains of sand slid through the top half of the hourglass. Twenty minutes of impending change. All of the houses illuminated their vibrant lights as the asphalts of the neighborhood streets were alight to the festive spirit contained within these houses.

Nested in the suburban sprawls of Normal was a chateau which reigned upon the upper middle class. Gates with a gem resembling a family crest locked the ordinary man from the loudest party in the city. Partygoers from around the Penumbran Strip gathered to celebrate the end of a simple era and to welcome in the joys of new beginnings.

And where was I among all this? Sat in the bustling mansion tucked away in the quietest spot of them all. A maid’s closet—that’s what I assume, anyway. Moments prior I stole a handful of unopened bottles of wine from the never-ending snack table placed in the foyer. What was a hassle for me was nothing more of a margin of error for the host.

Laque, the host. It’s not that I desire him, I cherish him as a friend. Sometimes, however, I don’t know when to say no. Every year, I find myself accepting an invitation to the largest party in the Strip. And for each party, I’m always within the closet kept to my own devices. I understand why he invites me—we’ve known each other for so long. In comparison to even the poorest guests, I reside as a stark outlier.

The taste of alcohol was present with each swig. Before, I would steal an equal amount of soda to held the taste. Now, I simply don’t care to hide the taste. It’s what I deserve—my punishment. Why trap yourself in the grandest social event in the area. Stepping outside was a dangerous game considering how glass windows stripped any and all privacy of the chateau’s interior.

The light in here was good enough. A fluorescent bulb kept overhang with a thin chain as a switch. This is as best as it gets, sometimes. I’ve nestled a blanket and pillow in here, sometimes. Somehow, it remains within the closet even after a full year. I highly doubt people check this closet. It’s just an extra room blind to the experienced workers of the manor.

And then, there was a set of knocks. My heart immediately jumped out of my chest as my hands scrambled to hide the alcohol among the cleaning supplies. Despite this, the door slowly creaks open to reveal a man staring down at me. It wasn’t just any man, no. With his recognizable yellow eyes and shaggy, brown hair; I could recognize his face from across the manor if the circumstances allowed.

“You know,” he starts, “I’m not surprised this is where you hide off to for these parties. I kind of forgot you’re on good terms with Laque.” My hands were shaking. While my fingers tapped away on the edges of the nearby shelves, my mind was racing to find any amount of words to say. Once the sentence formed itself in my mind—a perfect retort—I shoddily released the string of words in a trembling voice, “What are you doing at Laque’s party?!”

“I’m his cousin, remember?” He taps against his temple with his index finger. “Danilo Toru? Laque Toru? I’m nowhere near the fortune, but he still remembers I exist. Unlike his parents.”

After fumbling my own words, I quickly swiped my hands to the pillow stowed away within the closet. As I buried my face within the luxuriously soft material, I contorted the muscles in my face to hold back any tears. I hoped—I prayed—that the noise would quiet down into its muffled state. I awaited the sweet silence to return back to me. To hell with the destructive thoughts, it’s all I know.

A hand firmly grasped against my shoulder beyond my senses. As the noise outside quietened down to its muffled state, the hand would adjust itself upon my tattered shirt. Just in front of my pillow, his voice would pierce through the soft material, “You’re not gonna hide under your pillow all night long, you know.”

I slowly lowered the pillow down toward my legs after giving myself a moment to compose myself. Without another moment, Danilo would reach his other hand to press against my remaining shoulder. Afterwards, I was able to gain a glimpse at how he was standing. Both of his knees were on the ground as the legs down acted as support. With both of his hands grasped against me, he was able to lean forward a considerable amount.

“One step at a time,” he remarked, “Are you planning to hole yourself up in this closet until the sun breaks or do you want me to drive you home?”

For a moment, my mind quickly panicked. My hands left their grasp against the pillow as they wrapped around the wrist of Danilo’s arms. My body desperately conveyed its decision paralysis while my mouth remained silent.

Danilo would softly laugh at my display as he moved each hand off of my shoulder. While my wrists were wrapped around tight, he could still balance with his leaning position. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. But, I need to do a few things first.”

Immediately, I was confused. As my emotions calmed down, I mustered what words I could out from my mouth to respond, “What do you mean? How can you have errands at a party?”

“Well, I want to see the countdown at least. Laque’s down at the basement with his brother at the mini-bar. I certainly want to talk to him before we leave, but there’s not a lot of people either. If you’re comfortable with it, you can probably speak with him too.”

I slowly nod while I continue to listen.

“There’s no windows down there—you won’t have any contact with the moonlight. After we see the countdown, then we can leave. Sound good?”

Silently, I give a weak thumbs up before I push against the ground to stand back up. With Danilo’s help, we both push ourselves off the ground of the maid’s closet. While we’re both standing, he reaches one arm around my shoulder to keep me close as the remaining hand opens the door out to the rest of the chateau.

“Come on,” he reassures me, “I’ll always be here if you need anything.”

004 - SUMMARY

Work was exhausting. Every weekday starts before the sun rises and ends just as the natural light of the world fades upon the city. Most of my hours bleed away within the confines of a wholesale warehouse where I move boxes and direct customers and retailers alike. Nothing new happens within the scaffold-like walls, and sometimes I like it this way.

Personally, there’s a sort of satisfaction I get from the long hours. While my lineage prides itself on the inheritance of their hardly-working ancestors, I’ve broken that in a plea for satisfaction. Don’t get me wrong—I haven’t shunned myself from their generosity. I’d much rather gather my worth as a man by my own hands than what was provided to me. However, my name, Danilo, remains a part of me granted by my heritage.

Normal—love this town. Everyone here prides themselves on the extraordinary fact that nothing differs in this town. Once, this town was named Celeste—based on the founder of the city. Of course, this recently changed in favor of a surprisingly active tourism scene. Traps and attractions all surrounding the novelty of normality sell themselves as a getaway to the towns around them. I mean, I can’t blame them. Where else would I go to get away from it all when there’s a federal-enforced barricade around the Penumbran Strip.

The roads are packed most of the time. I remember nearly fifteen years ago when the roads were newly paved with asphalt. The procedure was slow and methodical. My father once told me about a time in the town’s history when dirt roads snaked through the town to small grocery stores and underfunded amenities. Now, this place is different. Sometimes I envy my father for living in his time. Yet, it’s hard to place if my envy is on a cause of these roads or for something greater.

I hear an onslaught of chatter among coworkers and customers alike in my hours. Some customers drive all the way to Normal due to the price of the goods. Why spend your money in a grocery store barely surviving against the town’s mandated horror than to spend it in bulk in a town known for its relative paradise? This process of thought feels rational, yet I can’t help but shake the thought of inevitable instability. At what point will this town remain as the only habitable location?

I can relate to the pride the residents share with this town. Imagine waking up one day and learning the rest of the now-called “Strip” was affected with this mysterious affliction—and you weren’t. You would assume you just won the lottery. Fate and divine alike marked an unfathomable amount of men to a newly created Hell in America and here you are—a blindspot in its wrath. At the end of the day, all of this clamoring reduces itself to a game of superiority. “Fate favors the wealthy”; a phrase which many men place upon this town. God bless it.

This town has yet to be hit by the suburban plague. The lack of an infrastructure and a desire has left most of the towns within the strip as immune. Yet, plagues mutate. Idle conversations and local news segments discuss the benefit of suburban neighborhoods. We have the budget—they state—we can support a project like this. I can’t wait to imagine how they pull it off.

In the meantime, I’ll spend the foreseeable future in my small one-story house nestled in the haphazard sprawl of individualized homes. The exterior is nothing to write home about—bland colored walls with windows closed off from the inside. A mailbox awaits at the edge of the concrete driveway, leading to a garage where I park my two-seater car within the protection of the elements. Once I shade my only vehicle within the garage, the bulky, metallic door slides down to hide it away from the sins of the world.

Waiting in the small fridge next to the entrance to my house is a set of carbonated beverages ready to grab from a brightly-colored box. With my canned drink in hand, I snap open the thin cover to release a swarm of bubbles to the top of my drink. I wasn’t expecting much to change with the house—why should it? But, there’s always a nagging feeling that something should change. The same routine of unwinding from a long day at work.

Yet, nothing would change. The house remains in one piece. I can hear the distant noise of the television’s broadcast from the living room all the way from the exit from the garage. If there’s any type of noise in the house, then my roommate, Dani, is asleep. The inverse to this observation is true, as well. With this information, you can infer how unsurprised I was when I found her asleep on the couch.

It’s hard to summarize who Dani is through a brief synopsis. Firstly, she’s my roommate. The summary could end there. However, there’s a lot more to her that provokes some further explanation. The reason she’s my roommate is through the efforts of my cousin, Laque. Those two have been friends ever since elementary school; they’ve been through thick and thin. When he proposed the idea to me, I never really understood where he was getting at. Out of all of the people, why me? Why not let her live in the mansion if you believe it so?

Of course, this was Laque. Sometimes, he has a hunch on certain ideas and insists it’ll work out in the end. I don’t think I’ve seen a premonition of his that hasn’t worked well. That, or he really wanted to see us get along well because of our similar names.

Secondly, Dani has an unusual connection to everything outside of this town. She’s developed a name for herself as a “persona”. Which, subjectively, I don’t particularly care about. If anything, I’m a little envious on how her prospects online pays better than my grueling full-time job. At some points, she’s offered to cover some of my expenses so I can work a part-time job. I’ve declined this, of course. It feels like she’s a projection of my family—some distant relative that’s still influenced by their arcane touch.

Thirdly, she has no sense of fashion or anything beyond basic hygiene. Thankfully, she showers often enough. From what I’ve last checked, her pointed teeth are whiter than my own. Her dirtied brown hair throws itself into a cacophony of shapes, yet it all remains unnaturally curly. All of her clothes are a mixture of white t-shirts, some sweatpants and an occasional jacket or two. From her minimalist wardrobe, there’s this style to her that would allow her to fit in to the slums of a metropolitan city.

Her favorite shirts—above all—are esoteric in-jokes involving unfathomable words. She tells me they’re all designed by her friends. It’s nice—I adore the charm—but it feels too “avant-garde” for me. Most of these shirts are covered by an orange hoodie whenever she goes outside, so I don’t believe most of the town sees the shirt’s displays.

Fourthly—and most distressing—Dani’s very touchy. If there was any indication of heritage, it would be her nonverbal body language. She always reaches over for hugs when she’s happy. She always wants a high-five for something that excites her. It’s strange, really. I’ve hailed from a family where contact between each other was kept for situations where it couldn’t be avoided. With her, it’s a completely different approach.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate how she displays herself. It’s always an aspect of her that catches me off guard. Over the time we’ve spent together as roommates, we’ve kind of bonded together more of friends if anything. She always indulges about her life with me—what she does and the history behind it all. Admittedly, I don’t have much to share back. It’s nice to sit down and listen, though. I’ve grown to enjoy the simple act of mildly caring for her. Not in a familial way, but something that draws compassion from somewhere I never knew was there to begin with.

When she first moved in, I was a little concerned with the adamant usage of blackout curtains. Every window in the house has a set of its own, and she always draws them shut around 4 pm. She told me I could open them whenever I wanted, but she couldn’t be in the same room.

Over the years, these little things compounded on themselves in a noticeable pattern. The next idea that struck me odd was her sharp teeth. Once, we were both in the bathroom cleaning it out and she briefly stopped to check her teeth in the mirror. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Though this small detail slightly compounded.

Eventually, I realized how much she cared about eating meat. Dani had these specific preferences towards individualized brands, and there’d never be a deficit of any sort no matter the time of day. Alongside this, she always sleeps in her bed in a curled-up position. Obviously, the television inside her room would play a documentary of various subjects to keep her asleep.

It all compounded—the distaste for the night, the limited social gatherings, among others. Personally, I didn’t care. I’d be an ass of a person if I disliked how a functional adult lived their life. Over the months, I’ve debated with myself if I should even confront her about it. Especially now, she was very secretive about her external life. In contrast to her tendency to divulge every last detail of herself, it was the complete opposite when she first moved in.

One night, while we were both situated on the couch in the living room, I found myself unable to keep my eyes open while watching a familiar rerun of one of our favorite cartoons. As I sat myself up from the couch and yawned, I could hear Dani stuttering with her words for a little bit before sitting me down.

She disclosed the fact that she’s been meaning to tell me something for months. Dani planned out all of the reactions to what she was about to say—with her tidied bags, I admittedly thought she was going to move out soon and this was the heads up. But, she would bring up a question which completely blindsided me, “Do you know how each town has its own curse?”

I remember how puzzled I was at the question. Over the next minute, I thought of all of the curses each town had and how our town—Normal—was devoid of it. Within her shaking body and pre-planned words, Dani spoke about how she was the curse and how no one else in the town ever knew about it. The sharp teeth, hatred for the night, the fixation on meat—I was surprised how I didn’t catch on earlier. Fifthly, she was a werewolf.

In the moment, the information was a lot for me to process. While it had certainly replaced my views on this town and its stature, it would slowly dawn on me how significant the concealment of her secret would be. What if the town knew? They’d certainly ostracize her. Or worse, kill her. The damage she could cause on the town’s reputation was a palpable feeling, and it was clearly something on her mind behind her warm tears.

I couldn’t find myself sleeping that night. The next morning, I crammed as many caffeinated beverages within my system as my body could allow. But, throughout the night, I stayed awake to comfort Dani. With a blanket wrapped around her body and a box of tissues nearby, I could only assume this was what Laque meant when he wanted us to live together.

005 - AFTERMATH

It took me a few days. If anything, one part of the process was the ample amount of questions I had. While I was fine with the consequences of protecting the load-bearing resident of this town, I was still left confused and intrigued.

Once Dani calmed down enough, I was able to ask her a few questions regarding the information while I was unwinding from another day of work. “So, did Laque know about this beforehand?”

“Laque?” Dani questioned with intrigue. She would reveal her head from her room with her hands resting on the frame. “You’re the first person I’ve told about this…”

“Curse?”

“Yeah, but don’t call it that. I don’t like thinking this whole werefox thing is a curse.”

“Isn’t it a werewolf?”

“No—completely different. One’s a fox and one’s a wolf.”

“But they’re both canines.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s not really an excuse to lump them both together. Apples and oranges are both fruits, but they’re still different in taste and looks.”

“I guess so.”

Dani slowly rescinds back into her room as she inaudibly mumbles to herself.

“So would it be better to think of you as a pet in this roommate-situation or another resident.”

“What?!”

The question was enough for Dani to return back to her peering position on the door frame. Though, this time, she was a lot more agitated than before. Yet, I continued to speak, “I don’t know—feels like I need to accommodate for the information somewhat.”

“Like how?!”

“I mean, the meat-part’s covered. You’re practically potty-trained. Do I need to get you chipped just in case you run off? Do you still think like us; do I need to dumb things down? Will you suddenly get distracted when you see a chicken?”

“Do you hear yourself?! No! Nothing’s changing! I don’t need to get chipped. I’m just like everyone else. And I’ve never been distracted with a live chicken!”

“Wait, is the reason you get all pouty sometimes is because you’re holed up in the house most of the time? Do you want me to take you on walks?”

“You’re still not thinking of me as a normal person!”

“Right, sorry.”

Eventually, the air of hostility would die down as I returned back to the idle show on the television. Dani retreated back into her room as she shuts and locks the door behind her. I didn’t hear much back from her for a while.

A few minutes later, she would hastily swing her door open while darting directly towards me. Part of me flinched as she reached her hand over, but none of me expected her to grab my hand. With a strong yank, she pulls me off of the couch while grumpily giving me orders, “We’re going on a walk now, and I don’t care if you get tired.”

At first I was taken aback, but eventually I would accept the demand while walking over to my jacket hanging near the front door. “You could’ve just asked for something like this, but sure.”

006 - BRUNCH

An afternoon at the Toru Estate sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to everyone else—but to me, it’s an average Thursday. Every lunch, Laque always invites me and Danilo out to join him and his family for dinner. And after lunch, he indulges us on the amenities stored away in the nooks and crannies of the estate.

Laque always enjoys spending the afternoon with us—even if it’s for a few hours. I’m sure he doesn’t mind the mess that’s left from the weekly get-togethers, but I try and stay as cordial within reason.

The chateau is always as immaculate as an advertisement. With all of the servants working underneath the family’s rule, it’s rare—if not impossible—to find a smidge of dirt or grime left behind for any outside or indoor reason. At the point in his life, I believe Laque’s grown numb to the pristine. If I brought him to my house, he’d faint upon entrance.

“Glad you could come this week!” Laque cheerfully thanked us between each sip of some exotic wine, “The week’s been tough—with all the tourists and all. Honestly, I’m a little surprised you two made it on time! I was expecting some sort of mild delay.”

Danilo—seated on the opposite side of the table—was hardly swayed by the extravagant aesthetic laid out by the mansion. The gold and marble rooted within the various materials and fabrics barely held an effect to his mannerisms. Even in his words, he spoke as if he was home, “We left early. Dani was finishing up with her work for the night, so it was a little bit of a crunch.”

Laque, on the other hand, was interested in the small explanation Danilo gave him. Not that he assumed it was a lie—no. Every facet of any of our lives as something the aristocrat enjoyed hearing about. “Ah! I don’t suppose you two see each other much, no? You always work while the sun’s bright while Dani’s wide awake at midnight! What do you say you do again, Dani?”

“Online content creation,” I recited, “I can work whichever schedule I want, as long as it stays consistent on the other side.”

“I envy her a little bit.” Danilo waited until he finished with his current bite off his plate before continuing with his thoughts. “I had to fight to shift my hours on Thursday—switch from starting in the morning to the afternoon. Her? She just has to make sure whatever she needs to do is prepared.”

While none of what Danilo said was a lie, it was still sugarcoated to a small degree. As easy as his explanation sounds, the work required isn’t simply adhering to a schedule. Right now, I didn’t want to focus on the full logistics with my food still in front of me. I kept myself silent as the two cousins reconnected.

“You know, you’ve never really spoken about why you left your family,” the aristocrat moved on to a new topic, “You don’t have to answer this—of course. I’m just a little curious. Is it all really because you didn’t want their protection?”

Even with the question, Danilo wouldn’t budge in emotion. From his expressions, what was seemingly a touchy subject wasn’t much of an issue with him. He responded with a collected tone, “I just don’t want to live out the rest of my days without some sort of struggle.”

A confused expression overtook Laque as he heard Danilo’s response. “Our ancestors did the hard work for us, you know. I mean, if I bog myself down in needless strain, there’ll be less time to enjoy life in the moment. You know?”

“That’s what my coworkers think. Why am I—a descendant of wealth—working a nine-to-five at a warehouse? It’s like they’re staring directly at a descendant of European royalty.”

Laque didn’t seem to be affected by Danilo’s words. He would still listen on, but he would finish his plate while allowing his cousin to finish.

“I’m just not suited for this type of lifestyle. I mean, sure. We both graduated from the same prestigious private school near the Strip. But that felt like our parents just handed the school money to claim we’re up to standard with the curriculums. Graduating from that school was enough of a credit to where I didn’t need to search far for a job. I didn’t work for anything in life—I don’t like that.”

After his winded spiel, Danilo took a moment to recompose himself. While I silently cleaned what little crumbs remained off my plate, I scanned my head back and forth to look back towards the two. From Danilo’s scathing words, I expected Laque’s demeanor to shift from jovial to grave.

Despite my assumptions, he seemed to be happy with the response Danilo gave. “Well, I can’t really tell you how to live. At least you can live a normal life in this town. I’d hate to juggle a full time job while in fear of some shapeshifting beast, you know?”

“Hm,” Danilo muttered out, “You could say that.”

Once I finished my plate, I would leave all of my used silverware on top as I silently departed from the table. I couldn’t muster any words to announce that I was leaving. While Laque didn’t seem to notice, Danilo slightly turned his attention toward me before returning his gaze to his cousin.

“Well, hey!” Laque continues, “You know of one of my friends—right? Mute, pink tips with thin, round glasses? Last I got in touch with them, they were defending their family from the town’s undead infestation.”

While I snuck off, I continued to eavesdrop on the conversation while putting my attention towards Danilo’s slight movements. I watched as he adjusted his position in his seat at the mention of Laque’s friend. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”

“It can’t get worse than that, right? We live in the greatest city in the Strip, and I’m sure you’d do the same to protect your lifestyle if there was some issue with this town. Probably not some loyalty to the town—I could be wrong—but just to keep some normalcy in your life!”

The rest of the conversation devolved beyond a point where I could handle it. With shaky hands, I navigate down the flight of stairs to the basement where I take my residence on an expansive sofa. My emotion melted away at my insides as I confined myself within my own thoughts.

Even through layers of left-around blankets, my skin felt cold to the touch as I failed to focus on any of the details beyond the nearby coffee table. Part of me desperately yearned to reach for my phone—to grant myself some escape from my overwhelming emotions. However, a louder half forced me to remain curled up on the sofa, shivering.

The passage of time slipped away from my thoughts. What was once a laser-focus on each passing second gave way to more pressing priorities. Could I really drive home in this condition? How long do I need to keep this secret from Laque? The logical part of my thoughts knew the frenzy of emotions held no reason to shake me to this level. It was an off-handed mention, he wasn’t talking about me. Nonetheless, the simple realization wasn’t enough to break through the fog.

Suddenly, I felt a warm grasp on both of my hands. As my fingers curled around each hand, I haphazardly looked up to see Danilo standing right in front of me. While my focus would swiftly snap to his yellow eyes, I slowly sat up on the couch with my grasp tightening around his hands.

“That bad?” he questioned, “I know what he said—I didn’t think it was that bad. But, I can’t really dismiss it. Are you okay?”

I barely managed to push out any verbal response to him. Before I could try at a second attempt, Danilo lifted one of his hands off from my grasp. His freed hand pulls the blanket around my head off to my shoulders to reveal my frayed hair. With gently strokes, he softly combs through my hair without breaking his attention.

“I have to go to work, but if you really don’t want to stay any longer, just say you have to leave to grab my missing bag from the house for me. Is there anything you need?”

Danilo’s words were a softer in tone than they were at the dinner table. I’ve already recognized why, yet his quietened voice hadn’t lost its charm. With a tight pull, I wrap both of my arms around his body while pressing my exposed face against his clothes.

“Don’t go,” I squeaked out, “Please.”

“I wish…” Danilo slowly stepped away as his hands returned to his side. “I’ll try and get home as soon as possible, okay? Sorry lunch turned out like this.”

As I accepted Danilo’s departure, I gave a small wave goodbye as he left up the stairs. After he left, I kept my attention to the closed door at the top of the stairs. What good was there but to stare? Eventually, I followed suit to return back to Laque. I felt better, no doubt. Even for a short moment, the brief time I spent with Danilo was enough to revitalize me for just a little bit longer.

007 - EIGHTH GRADE

With a cheerful wave, Laque recognizes my arrival from the basement as I sit back down at my seat at the table. Once I fully settle down, he leans forward with his arms pressing against the table to speak, “So, Danilo’s gone back to work. Can I get you anything? More food? A refill?”

“I’ll take a refill,” I answer, “And a bowl of crackers. I’m not that hungry.”

Without hesitation, the heir of the castle sits up from his seat to fulfill my task. There’s an air of tension—the feeling is unmistakable. From what I recall from the previous times, the both of us usually talked for an hour before one of Laque’s many servants gave me a ride back home. I knew Danilo’s excuse was something thought of on the spot. I’d need to find a backpack in the house and be given a ride to the warehouse he works at. It’s better for me to endure the pain.

Once the plate of crackers and filled cup arrive back at the table, I focus my attention towards the assortment within the bowl. Obviously, I was pulling my focus away from him. Each time I looked up to see his face, he was always looking down at my orange jacket with a solemn expression. I’m not sure if I caught him giving the same glances earlier, it wasn’t something I paid attention to when Danilo was around.

Minutes pass. I spend the time in silence munching away at crackers. Every once in a while, I’ll look up to see the same judgmental glare. I’m not sure how much time will pass until it stops, but I was ever-curious. “What’s on your mind right now?”

The question immediately took Laque out of his glances. If anything, it looked as if he was trying to find something appropriate to say. “Oh, the jacket. I haven’t really seen it on you since eighth grade.”

“It is a large jacket. I’ve kept it clean and tidy for more than five years.”

“I wonder why.”

The way Laque spoke—it was passively aggressive. It was enough to get me to raise an eyebrow.

“Well, it’s the jacket Chase gave you years ago. I didn’t know you still wear it.”

“It’s a good jacket.”

“You don’t really care about what you wear, do you? I guess you’ve thrown it on because it was the first thing you saw in your closet.”

“Are you still mad about what happened in eighth grade.”

Suddenly, Laque scrunched up his eyebrows as he wordlessly took another bite off of his plate.

I knew what he was thinking, he knew what he was thinking. Ever since the mention of eighth grade, I had a large suspicion on where the conversation would lead. I repeat my question, “Laque, are you still mad.”

“No. No I’m not.”

“Then why do you suddenly care about what I’m wearing? Not everything’s your business.”

“What? I don’t care about what jacket you wear. I’m just saying. Do you two still talk?”

“Laque.”

“What? I’m just saying. I still talk to him afterwards—we’re close friends.”

“Why would that matter? I’m not going to tell you if I still talk to Cheese or not.”

“You still call him that?”

“Laque!”

“I’m just saying! I care about my friends. He’s the one that came to me after the breakup.”

At this point, my free hand was pressed down on the edge of the table as I slowly eat crackers to pass the time. I still vividly remember the visceral rage on his face at his birthday party; how silence gripped the room in a tight hold. I spoke through my teeth, “You sure don’t care about what you say to me, though.”

“We all used to be good friends, you know? I don’t think there’s a time afterward where we hung out together. Maybe we can change that?”

“We both know why that doesn’t happen. If you never threw a tantrum because I was ‘ruining the friendship’, then we’d all be having lunch together.”

“We were kids!”

“And you’re still mad about it!”

Another round of silence washes over the dinner table. Laque’s face contorts in a plethora of ways. His eyes darts around the room while he clears his throat often.

I pushed myself up from the dinner table after leaving nothing but crumbs in the bowl. However, the glass of water was left more than half empty. As I adjust my coat, I finish up the conversation, “I’m heading home. I don’t know why you’re still acting like this, but I don’t want to talk to someone who’s this invested in my personal life.”

“Fine,” he replied back. I could’ve mistaken his faint remorse for isolation. “But you’re the one who’s still wearing the jacket.”

As I leave the castle and notify Laque’s chauffeur, I spend a moment of the downtime to take off Chase’s orange jacket. Once I finish wrapping it around my waist, I depart from the château back for my house.

[soft-humming-moon]

FAMILY BRUNCH

An afternoon at the Toru Estate sounds like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to everyone else—but to me, it’s an average Thursday. Every lunch, Laque always invites me and Danilo out to join him and his family for dinner. And after lunch, he indulges us on the amenities stored away in the nooks and crannies of the estate.

Laque always enjoys spending the afternoon with us—even if it’s for a few hours. I’m sure he doesn’t mind the mess that’s left from the weekly get-togethers, but I try and stay as cordial within reason.

The chateau is always as immaculate as an advertisement. With all of the servants working underneath the family’s rule, it’s rare—if not impossible—to find a smidge of dirt or grime left behind for any outside or indoor reason. At the point in his life, I believe Laque’s grown numb to the pristine. If I brought him to my house, he’d faint upon entrance.

“Glad you could come this week!” Laque cheerfully thanked us between each sip of some exotic wine, “The week’s been tough—with all the tourists and all. Honestly, I’m a little surprised you two made it on time! I was expecting some sort of mild delay.”

Danilo—seated on the opposite side of the table—was hardly swayed by the extravagant aesthetic laid out by the mansion. The gold and marble rooted within the various materials and fabrics barely held an effect to his mannerisms. Even in his words, he spoke as if he was home, “We left early. Dani was finishing up with her work for the night, so it was a little bit of a crunch.”

Laque, on the other hand, was interested in the small explanation Danilo gave him. Not that he assumed it was a lie—no. Every facet of any of our lives as something the aristocrat enjoyed hearing about. “Ah! I don’t suppose you two see each other much, no? You always work while the sun’s bright while Dani’s wide awake at midnight! What do you say you do again, Dani?”

“Online content creation,” I recited, “I can work whichever schedule I want, as long as it stays consistent on the other side.”

“I envy her a little bit.” Danilo waited until he finished with his current bite off his plate before continuing with his thoughts. “I had to fight to shift my hours on Thursday—switch from starting in the morning to the afternoon. Her? She just has to make sure whatever she needs to do is prepared.”

While none of what Danilo said was a lie, it was still sugarcoated to a small degree. As easy as his explanation sounds, the work required isn’t simply adhering to a schedule. Right now, I didn’t want to focus on the full logistics with my food still in front of me. I kept myself silent as the two cousins reconnected.

“You know, you’ve never really spoken about why you left your family,” the aristocrat moved on to a new topic, “You don’t have to answer this—of course. I’m just a little curious. Is it all really because you didn’t want their protection?”

Even with the question, Danilo wouldn’t budge in emotion. From his expressions, what was seemingly a touchy subject wasn’t much of an issue with him. He responded with a collected tone, “I just don’t want to live out the rest of my days without some sort of struggle.”

A confused expression overtook Laque as he heard Danilo’s response. “Our ancestors did the hard work for us, you know. I mean, if I bog myself down in needless strain, there’ll be less time to enjoy life in the moment. You know?”

“That’s what my coworkers think. Why am I—a descendant of wealth—working a nine-to-five at a warehouse? It’s like they’re staring directly at a descendant of European royalty.”

Laque didn’t seem to be affected by Danilo’s words. He would still listen on, but he would finish his plate while allowing his cousin to finish.

“I’m just not suited for this type of lifestyle. I mean, sure. We both graduated from the same prestigious private school near the Strip. But that felt like our parents just handed the school money to claim we’re up to standard with the curriculums. Graduating from that school was enough of a credit to where I didn’t need to search far for a job. I didn’t work for anything in life—I don’t like that.”

After his winded spiel, Danilo took a moment to recompose himself. While I silently cleaned what little crumbs remained off my plate, I scanned my head back and forth to look back towards the two. From Danilo’s scathing words, I expected Laque’s demeanor to shift from jovial to grave.

Despite my assumptions, he seemed to be happy with the response Danilo gave. “Well, I can’t really tell you how to live. At least you can live a normal life in this town. I’d hate to juggle a full time job while in fear of some shapeshifting beast, you know?”

“Hm,” Danilo muttered out, “You could say that.”

Once I finished my plate, I would leave all of my used silverware on top as I silently departed from the table. I couldn’t muster any words to announce that I was leaving. While Laque didn’t seem to notice, Danilo slightly turned his attention toward me before returning his gaze to his cousin.

“Well, hey!” Laque continues, “You know of one of my friends—right? Mute, pink tips with thin, round glasses? Last I got in touch with them, they were defending their family from the town’s undead infestation.”

While I snuck off, I continued to eavesdrop on the conversation while putting my attention towards Danilo’s slight movements. I watched as he adjusted his position in his seat at the mention of Laque’s friend. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him.”

“It can’t get worse than that, right? We live in the greatest city in the Strip, and I’m sure you’d do the same to protect your lifestyle if there was some issue with this town. Probably not some loyalty to the town—I could be wrong—but just to keep some normalcy in your life!”

The rest of the conversation devolved beyond a point where I could handle it. With shaky hands, I navigate down the flight of stairs to the basement where I take my residence on an expansive sofa. My emotion melted away at my insides as I confined myself within my own thoughts.

Even through layers of left-around blankets, my skin felt cold to the touch as I failed to focus on any of the details beyond the nearby coffee table. Part of me desperately yearned to reach for my phone—to grant myself some escape from my overwhelming emotions. However, a louder half forced me to remain curled up on the sofa, shivering.

The passage of time slipped away from my thoughts. What was once a laser-focus on each passing second gave way to more pressing priorities. Could I really drive home in this condition? How long do I need to keep this secret from Laque? The logical part of my thoughts knew the frenzy of emotions held no reason to shake me to this level. It was an off-handed mention, he wasn’t talking about me. Nonetheless, the simple realization wasn’t enough to break through the fog.

Suddenly, I felt a warm grasp on both of my hands. As my fingers curled around each hand, I haphazardly looked up to see Danilo standing right in front of me. While my focus would swiftly snap to his yellow eyes, I slowly sat up on the couch with my grasp tightening around his hands.

“That bad?” he questioned, “I know what he said—I didn’t think it was that bad. But, I can’t really dismiss it. Are you okay?”

I barely managed to push out any verbal response to him. Before I could try at a second attempt, Danilo lifted one of his hands off from my grasp. His freed hand pulls the blanket around my head off to my shoulders to reveal my frayed hair. With gently strokes, he softly combs through my hair without breaking his attention.

“I have to go to work, but if you really don’t want to stay any longer, just say you have to leave to grab my missing bag from the house for me. Is there anything you need?”

Danilo’s words were a softer in tone than they were at the dinner table. I’ve already recognized why, yet his quietened voice hadn’t lost its charm. With a tight pull, I wrap both of my arms around his body while pressing my exposed face against his clothes.

“Don’t go,” I squeaked out, “Please.”

“I wish…” Danilo slowly stepped away as his hands returned to his side. “I’ll try and get home as soon as possible, okay? Sorry lunch turned out like this.”

As I accepted Danilo’s departure, I gave a small wave goodbye as he left up the stairs. After he left, I kept my attention to the closed door at the top of the stairs. What good was there but to stare? Eventually, I followed suit to return back to Laque. I felt better, no doubt. Even for a short moment, the brief time I spent with Danilo was enough to revitalize me for just a little bit longer.

[soft-humming-moon]

ADDENDUM: AFTERMATH

It took me a few days. If anything, one part of the process was the ample amount of questions I had. While I was fine with the consequences of protecting the load-bearing resident of this town, I was still left confused and intrigued.

Once Dani calmed down enough, I was able to ask her a few questions regarding the information while I was unwinding from another day of work. “So, did Laque know about this beforehand?”

“Laque?” Dani questioned with intrigue. She would reveal her head from her room with her hands resting on the frame. “You’re the first person I’ve told about this…”

“Curse?”

“Yeah, but don’t call it that. I don’t like thinking this whole werefox thing is a curse.”

“Isn’t it a werewolf?”

“No—completely different. One’s a fox and one’s a wolf.”

“But they’re both canines.”

“Well, yeah. But that’s not really an excuse to lump them both together. Apples and oranges are both fruits, but they’re still different in taste and looks.”

“I guess so.”

Dani slowly rescinds back into her room as she inaudibly mumbles to herself.

“So would it be better to think of you as a pet in this roommate-situation or another resident.”

“What?!”

The question was enough for Dani to return back to her peering position on the door frame. Though, this time, she was a lot more agitated than before. Yet, I continued to speak, “I don’t know—feels like I need to accommodate for the information somewhat.”

“Like how?!”

“I mean, the meat-part’s covered. You’re practically potty-trained. Do I need to get you chipped just in case you run off? Do you still think like us; do I need to dumb things down? Will you suddenly get distracted when you see a chicken?”

“Do you hear yourself?! No! Nothing’s changing! I don’t need to get chipped. I’m just like everyone else. And I’ve never been distracted with a live chicken!”

“Wait, is the reason you get all pouty sometimes is because you’re holed up in the house most of the time? Do you want me to take you on walks?”

“You’re still not thinking of me as a normal person!”

“Right, sorry.”

Eventually, the air of hostility would die down as I returned back to the idle show on the television. Dani retreated back into her room as she shuts and locks the door behind her. I didn’t hear much back from her for a while.

A few minutes later, she would hastily swing her door open while darting directly towards me. Part of me flinched as she reached her hand over, but none of me expected her to grab my hand. With a strong yank, she pulls me off of the couch while grumpily giving me orders, “We’re going on a walk now, and I don’t care if you get tired.”

At first I was taken aback, but eventually I would accept the demand while walking over to my jacket hanging near the front door. “You could’ve just asked for something like this, but sure.”

THE SUMMARY OF DANI TORIMOSA

Work was exhausting. Every weekday starts before the sun rises and ends just as the natural light of the world fades upon the city. Most of my hours bleed away within the confines of a wholesale warehouse where I move boxes and direct customers and retailers alike. Nothing new happens within the scaffold-like walls, and sometimes I like it this way.

Personally, there’s a sort of satisfaction I get from the long hours. While my lineage prides itself on the inheritance of their hardly-working ancestors, I’ve broken that in a plea for satisfaction. Don’t get me wrong—I haven’t shunned myself from their generosity. I’d much rather gather my worth as a man by my own hands than what was provided to me. However, my name, Danilo, remains a part of me granted by my heritage.

Normal—love this town. Everyone here prides themselves on the extraordinary fact that nothing differs in this town. Once, this town was named Celeste—based on the founder of the city. Of course, this recently changed in favor of a surprisingly active tourism scene. Traps and attractions all surrounding the novelty of normality sell themselves as a getaway to the towns around them. I mean, I can’t blame them. Where else would I go to get away from it all when there’s a federal-enforced barricade around the Penumbran Strip.

The roads are packed most of the time. I remember nearly fifteen years ago when the roads were newly paved with asphalt. The procedure was slow and methodical. My father once told me about a time in the town’s history when dirt roads snaked through the town to small grocery stores and underfunded amenities. Now, this place is different. Sometimes I envy my father for living in his time. Yet, it’s hard to place if my envy is on a cause of these roads or for something greater.

I hear an onslaught of chatter among coworkers and customers alike in my hours. Some customers drive all the way to Normal due to the price of the goods. Why spend your money in a grocery store barely surviving against the town’s mandated horror than to spend it in bulk in a town known for its relative paradise? This process of thought feels rational, yet I can’t help but shake the thought of inevitable instability. At what point will this town remain as the only habitable location?

I can relate to the pride the residents share with this town. Imagine waking up one day and learning the rest of the now-called “Strip” was affected with this mysterious affliction—and you weren’t. You would assume you just won the lottery. Fate and divine alike marked an unfathomable amount of men to a newly created Hell in America and here you are—a blindspot in its wrath. At the end of the day, all of this clamoring reduces itself to a game of superiority. “Fate favors the wealthy”; a phrase which many men place upon this town. God bless it.

This town has yet to be hit by the suburban plague. The lack of an infrastructure and a desire has left most of the towns within the strip as immune. Yet, plagues mutate. Idle conversations and local news segments discuss the benefit of suburban neighborhoods. We have the budget—they state—we can support a project like this. I can’t wait to imagine how they pull it off.

In the meantime, I’ll spend the foreseeable future in my small one-story house nestled in the haphazard sprawl of individualized homes. The exterior is nothing to write home about—bland colored walls with windows closed off from the inside. A mailbox awaits at the edge of the concrete driveway, leading to a garage where I park my two-seater car within the protection of the elements. Once I shade my only vehicle within the garage, the bulky, metallic door slides down to hide it away from the sins of the world.

Waiting in the small fridge next to the entrance to my house is a set of carbonated beverages ready to grab from a brightly-colored box. With my canned drink in hand, I snap open the thin cover to release a swarm of bubbles to the top of my drink. I wasn’t expecting much to change with the house—why should it? But, there’s always a nagging feeling that something should change. The same routine of unwinding from a long day at work.

Yet, nothing would change. The house remains in one piece. I can hear the distant noise of the television’s broadcast from the living room all the way from the exit from the garage. If there’s any type of noise in the house, then my roommate, Dani, is asleep. The inverse to this observation is true, as well. With this information, you can infer how unsurprised I was when I found her asleep on the couch.

It’s hard to summarize who Dani is through a brief synopsis. Firstly, she’s my roommate. The summary could end there. However, there’s a lot more to her that provokes some further explanation. The reason she’s my roommate is through the efforts of my cousin, Laque. Those two have been friends ever since elementary school; they’ve been through thick and thin. When he proposed the idea to me, I never really understood where he was getting at. Out of all of the people, why me? Why not let her live in the mansion if you believe it so?

Of course, this was Laque. Sometimes, he has a hunch on certain ideas and insists it’ll work out in the end. I don’t think I’ve seen a premonition of his that hasn’t worked well. That, or he really wanted to see us get along well because of our similar names.

Secondly, Dani has an unusual connection to everything outside of this town. She’s developed a name for herself as a “persona”. Which, subjectively, I don’t particularly care about. If anything, I’m a little envious on how her prospects online pays better than my grueling full-time job. At some points, she’s offered to cover some of my expenses so I can work a part-time job. I’ve declined this, of course. It feels like she’s a projection of my family—some distant relative that’s still influenced by their arcane touch.

Thirdly, she has no sense of fashion or anything beyond basic hygiene. Thankfully, she showers often enough. From what I’ve last checked, her pointed teeth are whiter than my own. Her dirtied brown hair throws itself into a cacophony of shapes, yet it all remains unnaturally curly. All of her clothes are a mixture of white t-shirts, some sweatpants and an occasional jacket or two. From her minimalist wardrobe, there’s this style to her that would allow her to fit in to the slums of a metropolitan city.

Her favorite shirts—above all—are esoteric in-jokes involving unfathomable words. She tells me they’re all designed by her friends. It’s nice—I adore the charm—but it feels too “avant-garde” for me. Most of these shirts are covered by an orange hoodie whenever she goes outside, so I don’t believe most of the town sees the shirt’s displays.

Fourthly—and most distressing—Dani’s very touchy. If there was any indication of heritage, it would be her nonverbal body language. She always reaches over for hugs when she’s happy. She always wants a high-five for something that excites her. It’s strange, really. I’ve hailed from a family where contact between each other was kept for situations where it couldn’t be avoided. With her, it’s a completely different approach.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate how she displays herself. It’s always an aspect of her that catches me off guard. Over the time we’ve spent together as roommates, we’ve kind of bonded together more of friends if anything. She always indulges about her life with me—what she does and the history behind it all. Admittedly, I don’t have much to share back. It’s nice to sit down and listen, though. I’ve grown to enjoy the simple act of mildly caring for her. Not in a familial way, but something that draws compassion from somewhere I never knew was there to begin with.

When she first moved in, I was a little concerned with the adamant usage of blackout curtains. Every window in the house has a set of its own, and she always draws them shut around 4 pm. She told me I could open them whenever I wanted, but she couldn’t be in the same room.

Over the years, these little things compounded on themselves in a noticeable pattern. The next idea that struck me odd was her sharp teeth. Once, we were both in the bathroom cleaning it out and she briefly stopped to check her teeth in the mirror. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Though this small detail slightly compounded.

Eventually, I realized how much she cared about eating meat. Dani had these specific preferences towards individualized brands, and there’d never be a deficit of any sort no matter the time of day. Alongside this, she always sleeps in her bed in a curled-up position. Obviously, the television inside her room would play a documentary of various subjects to keep her asleep.

It all compounded—the distaste for the night, the limited social gatherings, among others. Personally, I didn’t care. I’d be an ass of a person if I disliked how a functional adult lived their life. Over the months, I’ve debated with myself if I should even confront her about it. Especially now, she was very secretive about her external life. In contrast to her tendency to divulge every last detail of herself, it was the complete opposite when she first moved in.

One night, while we were both situated on the couch in the living room, I found myself unable to keep my eyes open while watching a familiar rerun of one of our favorite cartoons. As I sat myself up from the couch and yawned, I could hear Dani stuttering with her words for a little bit before sitting me down.

She disclosed the fact that she’s been meaning to tell me something for months. Dani planned out all of the reactions to what she was about to say—with her tidied bags, I admittedly thought she was going to move out soon and this was the heads up. But, she would bring up a question which completely blindsided me, “Do you know how each town has its own curse?”

I remember how puzzled I was at the question. Over the next minute, I thought of all of the curses each town had and how our town—Normal—was devoid of it. Within her shaking body and pre-planned words, Dani spoke about how she was the curse and how no one else in the town ever knew about it. The sharp teeth, hatred for the night, the fixation on meat—I was surprised how I didn’t catch on earlier. Fifthly, she was a werewolf.

In the moment, the information was a lot for me to process. While it had certainly replaced my views on this town and its stature, it would slowly dawn on me how significant the concealment of her secret would be. What if the town knew? They’d certainly ostracize her. Or worse, kill her. The damage she could cause on the town’s reputation was a palpable feeling, and it was clearly something on her mind behind her warm tears.

I couldn’t find myself sleeping that night. The next morning, I crammed as many caffeinated beverages within my system as my body could allow. But, throughout the night, I stayed awake to comfort Dani. With a blanket wrapped around her body and a box of tissues nearby, I could only assume this was what Laque meant when he wanted us to live together.

[soft-humming-moon]

THE SUMMARY OF DANI TORIMOSA

Work was exhausting. Every weekday starts before the sun rises and ends just as the natural light of the world fades upon the city. Most of my hours bleed away within the confines of a wholesale warehouse where I move boxes and direct customers and retailers alike. Nothing new happens within the scaffold-like walls, and sometimes I like it this way.

Personally, there’s a sort of satisfaction I get from the long hours. While my lineage prides itself on the inheritance of their hardly-working ancestors, I’ve broken that in a plea for satisfaction. Don’t get me wrong—I haven’t shunned myself from their generosity. I’d much rather gather my worth as a man by my own hands than what was provided to me. However, my name, Danilo, remains a part of me granted by my heritage.

Normal—love this town. Everyone here prides themselves on the extraordinary fact that nothing differs in this town. Once, this town was named Celeste—based on the founder of the city. Of course, this recently changed in favor of a surprisingly active tourism scene. Traps and attractions all surrounding the novelty of normality sell themselves as a getaway to the towns around them. I mean, I can’t blame them. Where else would I go to get away from it all when there’s a federal-enforced barricade around the Penumbran Strip.

The roads are packed most of the time. I remember nearly fifteen years ago when the roads were newly paved with asphalt. The procedure was slow and methodical. My father once told me about a time in the town’s history when dirt roads snaked through the town to small grocery stores and underfunded amenities. Now, this place is different. Sometimes I envy my father for living in his time. Yet, it’s hard to place if my envy is on a cause of these roads or for something greater.

I hear an onslaught of chatter among coworkers and customers alike in my hours. Some customers drive all the way to Normal due to the price of the goods. Why spend your money in a grocery store barely surviving against the town’s mandated horror than to spend it in bulk in a town known for its relative paradise? This process of thought feels rational, yet I can’t help but shake the thought of inevitable instability. At what point will this town remain as the only habitable location?

I can relate to the pride the residents share with this town. Imagine waking up one day and learning the rest of the now-called “Strip” was affected with this mysterious affliction—and you weren’t. You would assume you just won the lottery. Fate and divine alike marked an unfathomable amount of men to a newly created Hell in America and here you are—a blindspot in its wrath. At the end of the day, all of this clamoring reduces itself to a game of superiority. “Fate favors the wealthy”; a phrase which many men place upon this town. God bless it.

This town has yet to be hit by the suburban plague. The lack of an infrastructure and a desire has left most of the towns within the strip as immune. Yet, plagues mutate. Idle conversations and local news segments discuss the benefit of suburban neighborhoods. We have the budget—they state—we can support a project like this. I can’t wait to imagine how they pull it off.

In the meantime, I’ll spend the foreseeable future in my small one-story house nestled in the haphazard sprawl of individualized homes. The exterior is nothing to write home about—bland colored walls with windows closed off from the inside. A mailbox awaits at the edge of the concrete driveway, leading to a garage where I park my two-seater car within the protection of the elements. Once I shade my only vehicle within the garage, the bulky, metallic door slides down to hide it away from the sins of the world.

Waiting in the small fridge next to the entrance to my house is a set of carbonated beverages ready to grab from a brightly-colored box. With my canned drink in hand, I snap open the thin cover to release a swarm of bubbles to the top of my drink. I wasn’t expecting much to change with the house—why should it? But, there’s always a nagging feeling that something should change. The same routine of unwinding from a long day at work.

Yet, nothing would change. The house remains in one piece. I can hear the distant noise of the television’s broadcast from the living room all the way from the exit from the garage. If there’s any type of noise in the house, then my roommate, Dani, is asleep. The inverse to this observation is true, as well. With this information, you can infer how unsurprised I was when I found her asleep on the couch.

It’s hard to summarize who Dani is through a brief synopsis. Firstly, she’s my roommate. The summary could end there. However, there’s a lot more to her that provokes some further explanation. The reason she’s my roommate is through the efforts of my cousin, Laque. Those two have been friends ever since elementary school; they’ve been through thick and thin. When he proposed the idea to me, I never really understood where he was getting at. Out of all of the people, why me? Why not let her live in the mansion if you believe it so?

Of course, this was Laque. Sometimes, he has a hunch on certain ideas and insists it’ll work out in the end. I don’t think I’ve seen a premonition of his that hasn’t worked well. That, or he really wanted to see us get along well because of our similar names.

Secondly, Dani has an unusual connection to everything outside of this town. She’s developed a name for herself as a “persona”. Which, subjectively, I don’t particularly care about. If anything, I’m a little envious on how her prospects online pays better than my grueling full-time job. At some points, she’s offered to cover some of my expenses so I can work a part-time job. I’ve declined this, of course. It feels like she’s a projection of my family—some distant relative that’s still influenced by their arcane touch.

Thirdly, she has no sense of fashion or anything beyond basic hygiene. Thankfully, she showers often enough. From what I’ve last checked, her pointed teeth are whiter than my own. Her dirtied brown hair throws itself into a cacophony of shapes, yet it all remains unnaturally curly. All of her clothes are a mixture of white t-shirts, some sweatpants and an occasional jacket or two. From her minimalist wardrobe, there’s this style to her that would allow her to fit in to the slums of a metropolitan city.

Her favorite shirts—above all—are esoteric in-jokes involving unfathomable words. She tells me they’re all designed by her friends. It’s nice—I adore the charm—but it feels too “avant-garde” for me. Most of these shirts are covered by an orange hoodie whenever she goes outside, so I don’t believe most of the town sees the shirt’s displays.

Fourthly—and most distressing—Dani’s very touchy. If there was any indication of heritage, it would be her nonverbal body language. She always reaches over for hugs when she’s happy. She always wants a high-five for something that excites her. It’s strange, really. I’ve hailed from a family where contact between each other was kept for situations where it couldn’t be avoided. With her, it’s a completely different approach.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate how she displays herself. It’s always an aspect of her that catches me off guard. Over the time we’ve spent together as roommates, we’ve kind of bonded together more of friends if anything. She always indulges about her life with me—what she does and the history behind it all. Admittedly, I don’t have much to share back. It’s nice to sit down and listen, though. I’ve grown to enjoy the simple act of mildly caring for her. Not in a familial way, but something that draws compassion from somewhere I never knew was there to begin with.

When she first moved in, I was a little concerned with the adamant usage of blackout curtains. Every window in the house has a set of its own, and she always draws them shut around 4 pm. She told me I could open them whenever I wanted, but she couldn’t be in the same room.

Over the years, these little things compounded on themselves in a noticeable pattern. The next idea that struck me odd was her sharp teeth. Once, we were both in the bathroom cleaning it out and she briefly stopped to check her teeth in the mirror. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Though this small detail slightly compounded.

Eventually, I realized how much she cared about eating meat. Dani had these specific preferences towards individualized brands, and there’d never be a deficit of any sort no matter the time of day. Alongside this, she always sleeps in her bed in a curled-up position. Obviously, the television inside her room would play a documentary of various subjects to keep her asleep.

It all compounded—the distaste for the night, the limited social gatherings, among others. Personally, I didn’t care. I’d be an ass of a person if I disliked how a functional adult lived their life. Over the months, I’ve debated with myself if I should even confront her about it. Especially now, she was very secretive about her external life. In contrast to her tendency to divulge every last detail of herself, it was the complete opposite when she first moved in.

One night, while we were both situated on the couch in the living room, I found myself unable to keep my eyes open while watching a familiar rerun of one of our favorite cartoons. As I sat myself up from the couch and yawned, I could hear Dani stuttering with her words for a little bit before sitting me down.

She disclosed the fact that she’s been meaning to tell me something for months. Dani planned out all of the reactions to what she was about to say—with her tidied bags, I admittedly thought she was going to move out soon and this was the heads up. But, she would bring up a question which completely blindsided me, “Do you know how each town has its own curse?”

I remember how puzzled I was at the question. Over the next minute, I thought of all of the curses each town had and how our town—Normal—was devoid of it. Within her shaking body and pre-planned words, Dani spoke about how she was the curse and how no one else in the town ever knew about it. The sharp teeth, hatred for the night, the fixation on meat—I was surprised how I didn’t catch on earlier. Fifthly, she was a werewolf.

In the moment, the information was a lot for me to process. While it had certainly replaced my views on this town and its stature, it would slowly dawn on me how significant the concealment of her secret would be. What if the town knew? They’d certainly ostracize her. Or worse, kill her. The damage she could cause on the town’s reputation was a palpable feeling, and it was clearly something on her mind behind her warm tears.

I couldn’t find myself sleeping that night. The next morning, I crammed as many caffeinated beverages within my system as my body could allow. But, throughout the night, I stayed awake to comfort Dani. With a blanket wrapped around her body and a box of tissues nearby, I could only assume this was what Laque meant when he wanted us to live together.

[soft-humming-moon]

HAPPY NORMAL NEW YEAR

The night sky blinked with multicolored sparks, raining down its vibrant lights with a trail of smoke to follow. Chaotic bursts of noise scattered themselves among the plentiful stars—a distant cousin briefly staying in their celestial family’s residence. As these sparks fought for dominance against the dark clouds and chipped moon, they reigned supreme across the night sky.

December 31st, 20XX. The year of the animal was just around the corner. The final grains of sand slid through the top half of the hourglass. Twenty minutes of impending change. All of the houses illuminated their vibrant lights as the asphalts of the neighborhood streets were alight to the festive spirit contained within these houses.

Nested in the suburban sprawls of Normal was a chateau which reigned upon the upper middle class. Gates with a gem resembling a family crest locked the ordinary man from the loudest party in the city. Partygoers from around the Penumbran Strip gathered to celebrate the end of a simple era and to welcome in the joys of new beginnings.

And where was I among all this? Sat in the bustling mansion tucked away in the quietest spot of them all. A maid’s closet—that’s what I assume, anyway. Moments prior I stole a handful of unopened bottles of wine from the never-ending snack table placed in the foyer. What was a hassle for me was nothing more of a margin of error for the host.

Laque, the host. It’s not that I desire him, I cherish him as a friend. Sometimes, however, I don’t know when to say no. Every year, I find myself accepting an invitation to the largest party in the Strip. And for each party, I’m always within the closet kept to my own devices. I understand why he invites me—we’ve known each other for so long. In comparison to even the poorest guests, I reside as a stark outlier.

The taste of alcohol was present with each swig. Before, I would steal an equal amount of soda to held the taste. Now, I simply don’t care to hide the taste. It’s what I deserve—my punishment. Why trap yourself in the grandest social event in the area. Stepping outside was a dangerous game considering how glass windows stripped any and all privacy of the chateau’s interior.

The light in here was good enough. A fluorescent bulb kept overhang with a thin chain as a switch. This is as best as it gets, sometimes. I’ve nestled a blanket and pillow in here, sometimes. Somehow, it remains within the closet even after a full year. I highly doubt people check this closet. It’s just an extra room blind to the experienced workers of the manor.

And then, there was a set of knocks. My heart immediately jumped out of my chest as my hands scrambled to hide the alcohol among the cleaning supplies. Despite this, the door slowly creaks open to reveal a man staring down at me. It wasn’t just any man, no. With his recognizable yellow eyes and shaggy, brown hair; I could recognize his face from across the manor if the circumstances allowed.

“You know,” he starts, “I’m not surprised this is where you hide off to for these parties. I kind of forgot you’re on good terms with Laque.” My hands were shaking. While my fingers tapped away on the edges of the nearby shelves, my mind was racing to find any amount of words to say. Once the sentence formed itself in my mind—a perfect retort—I shoddily released the string of words in a trembling voice, “What are you doing at Laque’s party?!”

“I’m his cousin, remember?” He taps against his temple with his index finger. “Danilo Toru? Laque Toru? I’m nowhere near the fortune, but he still remembers I exist. Unlike his parents.”

After fumbling my own words, I quickly swiped my hands to the pillow stowed away within the closet. As I buried my face within the luxuriously soft material, I contorted the muscles in my face to hold back any tears. I hoped—I prayed—that the noise would quiet down into its muffled state. I awaited the sweet silence to return back to me. To hell with the destructive thoughts, it’s all I know.

A hand firmly grasped against my shoulder beyond my senses. As the noise outside quietened down to its muffled state, the hand would adjust itself upon my tattered shirt. Just in front of my pillow, his voice would pierce through the soft material, “You’re not gonna hide under your pillow all night long, you know.”

I slowly lowered the pillow down toward my legs after giving myself a moment to compose myself. Without another moment, Danilo would reach his other hand to press against my remaining shoulder. Afterwards, I was able to gain a glimpse at how he was standing. Both of his knees were on the ground as the legs down acted as support. With both of his hands grasped against me, he was able to lean forward a considerable amount.

“One step at a time,” he remarked, “Are you planning to hole yourself up in this closet until the sun breaks or do you want me to drive you home?”

For a moment, my mind quickly panicked. My hands left their grasp against the pillow as they wrapped around the wrist of Danilo’s arms. My body desperately conveyed its decision paralysis while my mouth remained silent.

Danilo would softly laugh at my display as he moved each hand off of my shoulder. While my wrists were wrapped around tight, he could still balance with his leaning position. “I’ll take you home. It’s okay. You don’t have to talk. But, I need to do a few things first.”

Immediately, I was confused. As my emotions calmed down, I mustered what words I could out from my mouth to respond, “What do you mean? How can you have errands at a party?”

“Well, I want to see the countdown at least. Laque’s down at the basement with his brother at the mini-bar. I certainly want to talk to him before we leave, but there’s not a lot of people either. If you’re comfortable with it, you can probably speak with him too.”

I slowly nod while I continue to listen.

“There’s no windows down there—you won’t have any contact with the moonlight. After we see the countdown, then we can leave. Sound good?”

Silently, I give a weak thumbs up before I push against the ground to stand back up. With Danilo’s help, we both push ourselves off the ground of the maid’s closet. While we’re both standing, he reaches one arm around my shoulder to keep me close as the remaining hand opens the door out to the rest of the chateau.

“Come on,” he reassures me, “I’ll always be here if you need anything.”

[soft-humming-moon]

THE AUREVERSE SCRIBINGS // AN INTRODUCTION

"The Aureverse Scribings" is a blog dedicated to the works and literature to the Aureverse canon and any adjacent canons. The main purpose of this blog serves as a faux-archive of any of these works completed either within the year or before the creation of the project. The end goal is to entertain the habit of releasing any finished works of literature within the canon. layman's terms: im gonna post here as an exercise of releasing content semi-publicly

LIST OF CANONS

Detailed below is a list of the stories within the Aureverse and their tags (this will expand over time)

Apotheosis :: #79-apotheosis

The Golden Rule :: #79-the golden rule

Non-specific :: #n79-general

Penumbra AU :: #n79-penumbra

Personal works :: #n79-personal

SHORT SUMMARIES

Apotheosis // The exploration of an Apotheosized God and his role as the "observer" in the beginning. The Golden Rule // "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you"; The set of actions of the Apotheosized God in a now-failing multiverse. Penumbra AU // A playground of horror; every town holds its own monster.

ON GROWTH

The growth of this blog—both in fame and skill—is a negligent concern. Improvements in style, skill, and general writing will be dealt with on personal terms. The popularity of this blog will not be focused on.