#((as soon as midnight strikes it’s just…instant panic for her

[tres-fidelis]

((Part of me has been debating about making a Persona 3 Verse for Jayden…

…but that may be because I want Jayden to experience the horrors and atrocities of the Dark Hour with her own eyes.))

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.23}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 3.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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This one hour turned out to be way longer than the previous ones together. Admittedly, Robin did enjoy the youthful silliness of her friends, but for the most part she could only listen and offer her ever-too-grown-up take on matters on the few occasions when she was asked for her opinion. It was fun though, a bit like spending time with younger siblings. Not that Robin knew much about that, and when she dared to voice the thought, Simon and Michael –who had grown up with two and three little siblings respectively– only laughed in her face. Oh well, just fun it was then, but perhaps not like siblings after all. Just a group of unlikely friends.

At the end of the given hour, Robin wished her little group a good rest of the night and told them to meet her in the entrance hall half an hour past midnight. Before either of the confused people could ask about her enigmatic and sudden statement, Snape came to her rescue just as planned. He didn't say a word when he held his hand out to her, and she didn't say a word in return when she took it and let him pull her up to her feet. It was all in the eyes, in the words that didn't need to be spoken to be understood. The last Robin heard of her friends while Snape led her off towards the dancefloor was Cas saying something along the lines of 'and that's how you ask a girl to dance!' to the rest of the group. She couldn't help but silently smirk to herself in agreement.

The dance that followed was as much a delight as the previous one had been, as every single one of their dances had been, and once it ended all too soon as ever, neither of them could bear to stop just yet. So they did what most couples did, they stayed, and they danced to the next three pieces of song the musicians gifted them with as well. It left Robin quite breathless, but smiling more widely than she probably ever had in public. Who cares… she was just 'that insane girl', after all. This was the last ball she would be here for, and perhaps also the last time she got to dance with Snape. Even though she very much hoped that the latter wasn't truly the case.

When they finally decided that it had been quite enough exercise for the moment, a decision majorly influenced by the change in musical tone from sophisticated to what Robin graciously called 'jolly', they made their way off the dancefloor with slightly heaving chests and in purest contentment. That was, until no other than Damion Morgan stepped into their way, as if he had sensed that Robin's night was going too well. And he obviously had every intention to change that now. Not only did his eyes rake up and down Robin's form with an almost hungry look, but with an equal amount of scarily sweet smiles plastered onto his lips as well.

"Go on now, don't be shy, darling. Just ask me out." He finally spoke up with one of his flashiest grins, and his eyes locked with Robin's as he got way too close to her for anyone's comfort.

"Alright. Would you be so kind to get out of my sight?" Robin returned an exaggeratedly sweet smile that was dripping with sarcasm, and she was only glad that, hidden away under the billowing sleeves or her dress, Snape was still holding onto her hand.

"Ah, always sporting such a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind... that's how you seduce me, dear." Morgan chuckled, a brightly ringing sound that gave Robin chills of the uncomfortable kind. How could the man be so ridiculously positive, clear as crystal and bright as the sun, while yet he was the scariest person she had ever known to exist?

"Your advances are shameful at best, Damion, if not outright pathetic." Snape replied in a condescending and cold drawl, and his words were more in line with Robin's thoughts than anything she could have worded herself.

Morgan's head snapped around, and he glared at Snape with sharp shards of ice in his eyes. "Oh, and you think you are doing so much better than that? Is that why she hasn't even noticed how badly you are pining for her?"

Now Snape's eyes narrowed at the man in front of them in an unspoken threat as well. "You haven't the slightest idea what you are speaking of."

"Actually I know very well what I'm speaking of, Severus." Morgan quipped in radiant imagined superiority. "As it is, I also happen to know that you are absolutely right in your assessment of the circumstances; you really are entirely out of your league."

Robin didn't waste time thinking about the lunatic's words of hostility and instead caught his attention by speaking up calmly and with the subtlest touch of mocking sweetness. "If we are so far below you, then perhaps we shouldn't bother you any longer with our lowliness. It must be quite painful for you to dwell in such poor company, and we wouldn't want to hurt you now, would we?"

With that, Robin simply turned to leave without waiting for an answer, and she didn't even have to pull Snape along with her, for he mirrored her movement precisely in an instant. They got exactly two steps further down the hall before Morgan caught Robin by her free arm once again. His grip, as ever, more demand than inquiry.

"Dance with me." He said, without smiles, without brightness, and certainly without room for refusal.

"No." Was what Robin replied nonetheless, and this finally brought a new smile to Morgan's lips, a different one. A smile that made Robin's blood freeze over.

"That wasn't a question, darling. Dance with me, or I will see to it that you won't live to deny me again."

Robin's guarded expression kept her jaw from dropping and her eyes from growing wide, but the sheer panic that spread inside her mind and body still must've found a way to the surface. Her eyes moved from Morgan to Snape, in a silent plea for him to do something, anything, but going by his own expression, it was either killing Morgan right on the spot or letting things unfold. Robin couldn't blame him for having a similar reaction as she had herself, there was little else to do about such a display of dramaticism and insanity.

Gulping down the lump in her throat, Robin let go of Snape's hand and took the one Morgan was offering instead, even though every single cell in her body screamed in protest. As ridiculous as the threat was, she didn't doubt Morgan anymore. The lengths to which he would go to see her suffer still lay in darkness ahead of her, and she was more than reasonably reluctant to shed any light onto them now. So she let the man lead her back to the dancefloor, much like last year, while she was still aware of and very much thankful for Snape's eyes lingering on her. He wouldn't let Morgan harm her if he could prevent it, she knew that. And Snape's serious concern worried her quite a bit more than the actual prospect of getting injured. But no time to think about it now. The music started, and Morgan swirled her through the room alongside the oblivious students, professors and guests.

"You are hurting me." She finally spoke up in a quiet hiss, when his fingers dug uncomfortably into the skin of her back even through the layers of thick black fabric.

"Did it ever occur to you that you are hurting me, too?" He sighed in return, as if speaking to a child reluctant to understand. "With all those edges and corners of your wild personality… You make it ridiculously hard for me to put my mark on you. Perhaps, a little pain shall be the way to tame you after all."

A mere second later, when he moved his hand across her back oh so subtly, a sharp pain, a stinging and burning followed in the wake of his fingers at once, and Robin gasped before biting her lip to refrain from crying out. How the actual hell had he done that?! The pain dimmed down quickly enough, and nobody was paying them much attention, so it can't have been anything too serious, right? Right?! Robin released a shivering breath, then glared up at her dance partner in utmost hostility.

"If you think you can break me like some fragile plaything, you are utterly mistaken." She hissed, but it only served to make the man above her smirk. Robin wanted to slap that expression off his face, but all she could do was glare at him even more threateningly. "I can see way beneath those smiles and charming words. When I look at you, I see nothing but a monster."

"When I look at you, I see a beautiful masquerade covering the hollow darkness of inevitable death. Because that's ultimately what you are, and what you are ever going to be. A broken creature of ash and dust, and a mirror of shattered vanity." His reply came quickly and in a striking factuality, a seriousness that was unlikely for him. It left Robin short of an adequate answer for a moment, while his words cut a little deeper than she would've liked. And yet, when he spoke on, his tone was filled with bitter amusement. "It's rather ironic, isn't it? To see you clinging so desperately onto the one man who is the very essence of brokenness. Tell me, are you trying to heal him or do you merely reap what is left in the ashes? I cannot tell from what I see. But I shouldn't be the one to judge... I too desire you despite your darkness."

"You are wrong. Again, as always." She huffed in spite. "I don't like him despite the way he is, but for that very reason. He might have been broken once, but he put his pieces back together in his own way, and that makes him more appealing than anyone who has never known the courage it takes to go on after you shatter. Or the strength it takes to be better than before."

"You really are quite pathetically in love, aren't you?" Morgan sighed, sounding condescending and indifferent in a way that made Robin wish she hadn't said anything at all. But this damned man just had a way of getting to her and making her speak against her better judgement. "Ironic that it had to be Severus you are so willing to suffer for. Say, would you die for him, little songbird? I bet you would, wouldn't you? As I said; Ironic."

"If I'm pathetic for loving, you are just loving to be pathetic. Ironic indeed." She scoffed, and he squeezed the hurting spot on her back in return, making her yelp under her breath. The sound made him smirk. Bloody bastard…

When the music came to an end and the people to a halt, Robin feared that Morgan would keep her right where she was for another dance. It was a bit after eleven at this point, and even if there was still some time until midnight, she was both exhausted and desperate to get away from the man who was keeping a strong hold of her even now that the dance had ended. But to her surprise, he started leading her off the dancefloor before she even had to voice a protest or question.

"I better return you to poor Severus before he gives in to the urge to murder me, huh? Merlin's beard, that man loves you more than is good for him." Morgan chuckled quietly, but Robin honestly didn't care for his words now as long as he left her alone as soon as possible. It didn't even matter that he had fallen victim to the same delusions as everyone else. So when Morgan finally released Robin from his grasp and even had the audacity to give her a little push towards Snape, there was no time for her wounded pride when she was just lucky to be escaping his presence in the first place. Only once Robin was safely tucked into Snape's side two seconds later, she finally felt like she could breathe again.

"Thank you for the dance, my dear. Your divine company is always my highest pleasure." Morgan gave Robin another of his signature smiles. "I'm looking forward to all that is yet to come." His words couldn't have been more enigmatic and unsettling, but at least he bowed slightly and then disappeared into the crowd. Just like last year.

Robin let out a long breath to regain her composure, then looked up at Snape right at her side. He was undoubtedly angry and concerned in equal measure, as always when it came to her interactions with Morgan, and thus she offered him a small smile of reassurance.

"I'm alright, don't worry. The idiot hurt my back, but it's less painful than any of the times he slammed me into a wall in class, so it's nothing new really. It's okay."

"I let him hurt you, it is not okay."

"Do we need to be having this conversation again?" Robin gave him a look that was both pleading and defeated. "There is nothing you could've done and we both know that. All we can do is to start looking more thoroughly into what his problem with me is after the break is over."

"You are most likely right about that. Obviously." Snape sighed, then placed a gentle hand on the small of her back with a questioning gaze down at her. "May I?"

"Certainly." The smile that came to her lips now was genuine, affectionate almost, and she didn't bother hiding it from him. They both could use some calm and comfort now. "Perhaps… we could get away from the crowds for a bit?"

"Certainly." He mirrored with a not-smirk, and Robin shook her head with a chuckle. He really had a way of cheering her up even in the worst of situations, and that was something nobody else had ever been able to do.

Without waiting for a better opportunity that wouldn't come anyway, they soon made their way through the hall while pushing through various groups of people who weren't accustomed to the unspoken rule that it was better to stay out of their way. Robin had never taken much notice of it before just now, actually, but she usually never had to squeeze through somewhere. People usually stepped out of her way quite willingly and let her pass without effort. The same way they did with Snape. In a way, now that people did stay standing in her path, she found herself equally amused and irritated by that fact. Perhaps being the insane girl everyone feared based on a reputation alone really wasn't all that bad after all.

They reached the entrance hall soon enough, and in an unspoken question and likewise answer, they decided against winter robes and for a heating charm instead. It wouldn't be toasty, that was for sure, but it could keep the cold away at least, even if that left the wind to live with. Now that the snow had been replaced by rain for the majority of the previous week, it wasn't as harsh outside as it had been half a month ago, and this they could very well feel when they stepped outside into the nightly courtyard side by side. With the charm wrapping around them, the temperature was almost truly comfortable here, but then again, there was no wind inside these walls, so that wasn't too much of a surprise.

It again went wordlessly that they sauntered through the arcades and to the other end of the open space, out into the night and away from the busyness of the castle at long last. Away from the people, away from Morgan. His words still sounded as a dull echo in Robin's mind, now that everything else was silent. Not all of his nonsense had lingered of course, just… that one thing he had said wouldn't stop nagging at her. What he saw when he looked at her. The hollow darkness of inevitable death. It probably was just his overly dramatic way of being hostile and threatening, but then again, perhaps what he saw was the same thing that made everyone else scared of her as well. And as all things inevitable, it drew closer and closer to the surface, where everyone could see. Maybe that's why her reputation had grown exponentially more sinister over the years… Maybe that's why Morgan's words threatened to suffocate her now. Because she really was just a hollow darkness to the people around her.

"Talk to me, Robin…" Snape's voice drew her out of her mind as it did so often these days. They were sauntering down the hill now, almost having reached the shore of the lake… and she hadn't even noticed. "You are getting lost again, and by the look on your face I can tell that it isn't a nice place you are vanishing into. Will you just tell me what is bothering you for once, or do I have to ask on?"

"It's… just something Morgan said." She sighed deeply, and tried for a half smile when she looked up at Snape. "I really should know better by now than to let him get to me like that every single time, huh?"

"He has a way of getting under people's skin regardless of how hard they try to resist. It happens to the best."

"To you?"

"Obviously."

Robin let out a small amused huff in reply, but then stopped in her saunter and turned to face Snape when he did the same. "Can I ask you something odd?"

"Don't you always?" The returned question was more encouragement than tease for once, and Robin honestly felt glad for that. 

She knew she had to ask, but in the end she would also need the courage to bear the answer as well. Taking a deep breath, she kept her eyes fixed on his and finally brought up the courage to speak the words that had been threatening to break past her lips anyway. "When you look at me... what do you see?"

"Everything." His reply came in such a calm sincerity, such genuine and complete certainty that Robin forgot how to breathe for a moment. She even forgot why she had asked in the first place, with an answer that told her so much more than the question demanded. A shiver of sheer and utter delight ran over her skin; she couldn't remember how to speak with words. So all the questions and answers of the world lay in her gaze alone. She wanted to be everything to him more than she had ever wanted anything else.

"Why do you ask?" Snape finally inquired, just as calmly as before, and the fact that his previous answer obviously was just another given to him almost made Robin laugh despite the newly arising hope. Perhaps she wasn't a token of death to everyone… to the one person that mattered she obviously was quite a bit more than that. And wasn't that by far enough?

"Morgan said that all he sees in me is a beautiful masquerade that covers the hollow darkness of inevitable death." She finally sighed with a shrug, then sauntered on towards the shore with Snape following right by her side. "But then again he also said that the sharp edges of my personality make it difficult for him to put his mark on me, so I guess I shouldn't try to find truth where there is only insanity."

"A wise decision I wholeheartedly support." He replied, just when they left the muddy path behind and crossed over onto the pebbled edge of the lake that lay in front of them as a black mirror now, reflecting only the blanket of stars above their heads. A beautiful sight that made Robin sigh as much as Snape's question that came a mere second later. "Was there anything else he said that might be disconcerting?"

"Just the usual things he keeps saying to me from time to time… How much he hates that I 'desperately cling onto you', for example. Or that you love me too much." She said before her brain had the time to fully process how stupid of a move that was. Maybe it was the hope gaining the upper hand again… but the idea that perhaps she could be everything to him indeed was burning her up from the inside now. Her hope had turned into a wildfire.

"Dumbledore really should have Morgan gagged, if he already refuses to dispose of him entirely." Snape grumbled under his breath, and Robin's heart fell a little. That wasn't the reaction she hadn't technically allowed herself to hope for but had hoped for nonetheless. Of course it would upset him to hear these accusations… what had she been expecting? Ridiculous.

"Oh, you'd have to gag quite a few more people than him if it's just about these remarks." She finally replied with a sad chuckle, then with a silent sigh. "Too many people have been insinuating things like that recently. You know… about you and me. Us."

"Ah." His voice dropped down an octave, and the deep frown on his falling features was suddenly accompanied by a tinge of rising bitterness in his tone, a shadow of sincere sadness in his eyes. Then it was all apathy again before the fleeting emotions could be grasped. "I can see why that thought would be repelling to you."

And for once, encouraged by the shadowy ghosts of expressions she had seen on his face, Robin let her heart speak instead of her mind. "Actually, it just makes me wish quite desperately that it was true."

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[emersonfreepress]

New Year's Eve 2000 @ the Emersons'

"Is he here? Have you seen him?!"

The laughter in Heidi's clique fades abruptly and the queen herself scowls at her brother for his interruption.

"Seen who?" Jessie asks in such a sweet tone Heidi's forced to wipe that sneer off her face. Good ol' Jess. Curt can always count on her to diffuse the H-bomb before it even gets going.

"Gabe." Curt does another cursory glance around the room and still doesn't see him. Then he checks his watch and groans. "It's like five minutes to midnight, where the hell is he??"

"I'm pretty sure he isn't coming," Madison says. She crosses her legs and looks up for a second in contemplation. "Is he even in town still?"

"What do you need him for?" Brooke whines with a pout and a subtle toss of blonde hair. "Come sit with us, the countdown's starting soon."

"Brooke," Curt starts. "You're beautiful."

Brooke quits pouting and preens under the unexpected compliment, batting her lashes with a small smile. "Curtis..."

"But I see you all the time."

She deflates just as quickly.

"Cortés said he would be here, he wouldn't just..."

The girls all stare at him. Madison fails to hold back a laugh.

"Oh." Madison covers her mouth slightly. "Sorry."

"He wouldn't just lie to you?" Heidi asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. Her eyes add, 'Are you stupid?'

Curt just groans again and walks away. He can't explain himself to them. Jessie might know what he's talking about but he's only got four minutes left to find Gabe and he's already got his answer: they haven't seen him.

Is it possible he really didn't show? Curt doesn't know how to feel about that. He's not an idiot, that was sort of what he expected. Gabe has skipped the holidays in Emerson for two years straight and it was pure dumb luck that Curt even spotted him at all downtown last weekend. He didn’t seem all that different, busy as ever somehow, but he'd at least had enough time for Curt to invite him to his parents' New Year's Eve bash and to give a polite yes.

Curt sighs. Maybe that was the sign. The politeness. Since when has Gabe ever been polite to him?

It's only ever hostile neutrality or whining with that guy...

Three minutes.

Curt is being stopped by a former classmate/future nobody or some family acquaintance every few seconds now. Even if Gabe is here, there's no way he's going to find him before the clock strikes twelve. Sighing forlornly, he decides to make his way back to Heidi and her friends. At least Brooke is reliable for a kiss.

- - -

"Oh!" Jessie beams and jumps up from her seat. "There you are!"

Gabe gives her half a genuine smile before settling into a more careful one for Heidi and the Madisons—um, Brooke and Madison. He should probably stop thinking of them like that.

"Hey, Jess." The two hug and Gabe shuts his eyes for a quick second as he gives her an affectionate squeeze. They part and he greets the other girls. Heidi shoots him a nod of acknowledgment and a raised glass while Madison gives him a short wave. And Brooke... crosses her arms and ignores him.

Okay...

"Curt's been looking for you," Heidi says, holding an empty champagne flute out to him before standing to grab their table's bottle of Dom. "Apparently you promised him you'd come."

"Ah, yeah. I wouldn't call it a promise, though. " Gabe almost passes on the champagne but Jessie's bright smile leads him to accept the glass and the alcohol that follows. "More like..."

"Placating a child?" Heidi asks, amused.

Both Gabe and Madison laugh at that.

"Sure, that."

"One minute, everyone!" someone shouts.

"Here we go..." Madison gets to her feet, nearly reaching Gabe's height in her heels.

Brooke jumps up, perplexed. "What, already? Who the heck am I supposed to kiss??"

"Aw, I'll give you a kiss, Bee."

Brooke's arms uncross just to rest on her hips alongside another pout. "That won't count, Mads."

Madison just laughs in response and teases Brooke some more. Meanwhile, the remaining empty hands around the room quickly fill with glasses while more and more people begin joining the countdown. Heidi makes sure their group's glasses are filled before swapping the bottle in her hand for a tumbler of whiskey and downing it. Gabe also notices her shoes are off and to the side—someone's had a long night.

Jessie lightly nudges him in the side with her elbow, breaking him from his observations.

"So are you leaving tomorrow, after all?" The soft smile on her face is hopeful so Gabe sighs, regretful to disappoint her.

"Yeah." He rubs the back of his neck. "I just... This town is..."

"'Stifling?'" They both wince a little, Jess in her attempt to keep a smile on despite her disappointment and Gabe at hearing his exact word quoted back at him.

"Right. It's not the people—"

Jess giggles and pats him on the arm. "Oh come on, Gabe. It's the people."

He rolls his eyes with a light laugh. "Okay, yeah. Even just being here right now..."

Jessie sighs. "Yeah, I know. It's always weird coming back just after a few months out of state. I can't imagine after two years."

Gabe nods, the thin glass stem in his hand suddenly feeling a little too brittle for how tense he is. How tense this environment makes him. He shrugs, though.

"Well, I'm glad I got to see you, at least."

"Ten seconds! Ten! Nine!"

Jessie hits him with the full brightness of her smile and one of her tiny bounces of joy.

"Yeah! Me, too."

- - -

Just as the entire party begins counting down from ten, Curt finally gains sight of his sister and her friends again. Brooke catches sight of him too and smiles, knowing exactly why he's returned. He smiles back at her for a second before he falters when he sees...

Ha! I knew he meant it!

He's never wrong about these things. Curt smirks hard and licks his lips, unable to keep from internally gloating. Gabe showing up at all is a victory in and of itself.

"Eight! Seven!"

Oh, wait. No, it's not. Curt speeds up his approach.

"Six! FIVE!"

It's only really a victory if he reaches him at midnight!

- - -

"I have a good feeling about 2001!" Gabe rolls his eyes, cynical as always, but Jessie cheerfully insists. "Just watch, this year is going to be perfect and—oh! Three! Two!"

Gabe refrains from counting but turns with everyone else to face the giant screen displaying the Times Square Ball Drop.

“ONE! Happy New Year!”

The room they’re in, and the rest of the house, erupts in raucous cheers, shouts, and champagne glasses chiming. Jessie nearly crushes Gabe with a giant hug as she shouts “Happy New Year!” and that manages to pull a real smile from him, even as they almost spill both of their drinks. They both laugh and clink glasses instead.

“Happy New Year, Jess.” He turns to the other girls, who are just toasting each other. “Happy New Year, Heidi. Madison.”

Heidi wears a polite smile and nods as she raises her glass to him and Madison enthusiastically clinks her glass against his with a breathless “Happy New Year!”

Gabe turns to Brooke, who’s turned away from him and is fluffing her hair. Should he bother? Eh... might as well. “Happy New Year, Br—”

- - -

Curt is vaguely aware of Brooke leaning into him as he walks up to Gabe, but his tunnel vision forces him to sidestep her with a smile. Everything’s fallen into place: it’s a bangin’ party, it’s midnight, Auld Lang Syne’s just started, and the belle of the ball has finally arrived. He doesn’t wait for the boy to finish whatever he was saying and just goes for it.

Gabe’s eyes widen just a bit before Curt plants a kiss fully on his mouth, placing one hand lightly at his lower back for support as he leans into him. Gabe lets out a stuttered breath and clasps at the lapels of Curt’s suit jacket to keep upright. That brings a cocky grin to Curt’s lips and he raises his other hand to brush his thumb along the bottom of Gabe’s jaw, just as lightly.

"Mm." Curt darts his tongue out to savor his old classmate for just a moment longer before finally drawing back. With a boyish smile and a slight bite to his own lip he says, "Happy New Year, Cortés."

Madison makes a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a shriek.

“God—DAMN it! I told you I needed my camera, Jessie!” The girl darts away in a flash of jet black hair and spilled champagne, presumably to go find it. Brooke has gone pale. Heidi rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her champagne.

Gabe is frozen, gobsmacked. After he starts to feel others’ eyes on them, though, his expression finally breaks into one of angered incredulity and he shoves Curt away from him.

"What is your fucking problem, Emerson?!" He wipes his mouth on his sleeve as his face breaks into a subtle yet violent blush. "Is—" Gabe’s expression clouds, the brief panic that was there gone in an instant. "Is that why you invited me?!"

Curt frowns, confused.

"Of course! I said I couldn’t wait to kiss you at midnight!”

Brooke, completely forgotten, makes an indignant sort of squawking sound.

Gabe's hands curl into fists and the look he throws him is venomous. "Curt."

“And I’ve said kissing you's on my bucket list?” Curt blinks, lost. “Like, a thousand times at this point, Gabe."

Gabe’s fists curl tighter and Jessie steps between them, her glass waved between the boys like a penalty flag and a deceptively natural smile plastered on.

“Oookay! Curt, I think you just startled Gabe. I’m positive he didn’t think you were being serious, right?”

“No, I fucking didn’t,” Gabe growls.

Curt has the gall to look even more confused.

“For six years?”

Gabe shuts his eyes, his anger in danger of rising faster than he’s able to suppress it.

“Jesus, Curt. Just apologize.” Heidi looks more annoyed than anything else. But at least Curt finally catches on to the huge party foul he’s committed.

“Sorry! Sorry, man. I thought you knew what I meant.” Curt is, for whatever it’s worth, blushing now, seeming actually embarrassed for once. When Gabe doesn’t reply, he raises his hands in a placating manner, then brings them together at his chin with a truly pleading look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I’d take it back if I could, don’t be mad!”

Gabe rubs a hand over his face and lets out a long, hard sigh. Then his other hand rakes through his hair briefly as he looks away from the blond idiot.

“Fine. Fine.”

Curt sighs in relief.

Then, because it’s very important to him, he asks, “It was good, though, right?“

Heidi barks a laugh, flopping back down into her seat. Jessie winces and pleads, “Curt, no...” Brooke, of course, seethes and plops into her own chair, quietly downing the contents of her flute.

And even though the anger has dissipated, Gabe’s annoyance surges to new heights. But before he can even voice his disdain, Curt’s looking around the immediate area as if something’s just dawned on him.

“Oh, wait a minute.” Curt huffs, dissatisfied. “I’m the only one without champagne!”

[twst-sumi-squad]

Cinder-Vil-a: A short story

♢ Sumi B exited the classroom with a weary sigh, lifting a hand to her head and holding it as she thought of her troubles. It was her turn to watch over the club so that no one they didn't want around came and trashed it. It may or may not also be to hide it from some of the people they write about. Groaning once more, she turned to head down the corridor, not focused on where she went. Even though her eyes were cast to the floor, she noticed Vil even before the collision, and only didn't dodge because she thought he would. However, today, this was not the case. Instead of his normally impeccable sense of self awareness, it seemed that the dorm leader had been distracted by something, his eyebrows knit tensely together even after they both noticed they'd fallen. Vil got up first, offering a hand that was politely declined by Sumi B. After humbling her with an apology, he soon set off again, clearly headed to deal with the task worrying him, leaving behind something on the floor. Sumi B picked it up and smiled, laughing a little as she examined the compact mirror.

"Wow, you'd have thought he was Cinderella running from his prince to have forgotten this by running in such a hurry..."

Turning back, she called him with a smirk.

"Hey~ Lampa alu~! You dropped something."

Later, in the clubroom, oceanic currents flew over her head as she sat at the alcove's desk. Staring down at a blank piece of paper as blue lights swam all around it, she tapped the pen to her lips in thought.

"Cinderella huh…"

Smiling, she began to write a small story springing from the fertile ground of her imagination. ♢

♥

“Rise.”

Soft supple lips part in a humbled smile, his sparkling lashes rising to show the gleaming grin within his amethyst irises. Nodding softly with grace, he stands to face you, the glimmering makeup over his eyes colouring his smile with glittering rainbows. It’s stunning to view and you hold your breath, taking in his elegant beauty. Dressed in a deep blue dress adorned with golden roses and split in two at the chest, he smooths it out, fingertips delicately clinging to the edges where they clutched it for his curtsy. Champagne gold hair that faded into a light lavender was tied up in a coiled bun, showing off the light blue earrings hanging from his ears, the almost diamond hearts shining like he’d plucked droplets of water from a river and hung its tears on his ears. The mystical aura that seemed to surround him led you to believe that might be true…

“Yes, my prince?”

His voice is light and alluring, you swallow as he addresses you, taking in a breath to compose yourself. You must not lose your image in front of all the people attending the ball, all the eyes cast indirectly at your way, through mirrors and whispers. They all watch you, scouring for a weakness - an opportunity. But instead of dismissing him, you can’t help but ask.

“What is your name?”

Calm in manner, he holds a hand to his heart and tilts his head slightly to the side, delight dancing in his eyes.

“My name… is Vil.”

Curious, you mirror his tilted head, holding a hand to your chin.

“Is that your full name?”

“My prince, my name is all I have. If you will not accept it for what it is, what else do I say?”

Smirking with a subtle flair of pride at your confusion, he bows his head to you as you reply.

“You avoided the question. Will you not answer to your prince?”

“I do and I answer only the truth.”

With that and flourished twirl, you are left staring at his back receding into the crowd, catching just the mere glimpse of his head turning back to gaze at you for just an instant - before your view is blocked by another person bowing at your heel.

Swilling from side to side, your reflection seems dulled in the drink you hold, the long glass cool against your fingers. All its shiny surface seemed to do was reflect the leering eyes glancing at you from every side as you walk along the table, taking care not to stumble in your poise as you do. The golden drink in your hands - apple juice? or was it alcohol? you can’t recall what was ordered for the party, you’d grabbed something random after all - served little as a suitable distraction from your nerves. Greetings sometimes bombard you and you check your reflection is smiling before looking up to reply, keeping your performance as prince as perfect as possible. Just as you settle to brood within a corner, a flashing golden rose decorating blue dashes by your sight. Instantly, you snap your attention to it, watching it disappear behind a corner and chasing after it. A name, short and sweet when spoken by his lips, flashes across your mind. It stands doubtful but you place your hope in it anyway, heat rushing to your cheeks. The warmth of your face is met by the cool breeze of air as you leave through the back door, still searching for that snatch of blue. Smiling with a laugh, he stands before you at the bottom of the steps that lead to the garden, holding his hands behind his back as he looks up at you. Vil presses a decorated nail against the edge of his lips, grinning. You try not to let your eyes focus on those lips as they move, teasingly calling out.

“Catch me if you can~”

His laugh is infectious, rendering you sick in its terribly fast spread as you start to smile, rushing forward down the steps. Every step forward you take, he skips back, before he begins to run away in the opposite direction. Unable to and not intending to do anything else, you follow him delightedly.

Casting moonlit shadows and sparkling spotlights down on you two, both of your performances shed, stripping you of your duties as you shrug the burdens off your shoulders and throw your heads back. And laugh into the night. Vil’s voice is musical to your ears, alighting your face aflame every time he sings to you from behind a bush, darting away from your grasp.

“My prince~!”

Running as fast as you’re able, you dash after his cooing words, letting your chuckles run free. Eventually, you sneak up on him, stealthily sidling up behind him, asking carefully beforehand.

“May I hold you in my arms?” 

Stiffening, he pauses before nodding coolly. Though he isn’t turned to you, you nod before slipping your arms around his waist. He smells of coal and roses, fire burnt petals and shadows overcast flowers.

“Then...I’ve caught you.”

Almost breathlessly, you whisper, knowing he’ll hear. Vil’s face pinkens to a crimson, flushing at your touch as he pulls out of your embrace. Holding the back of his hand to his mouth, he looks away from you and gently releases your arms from around him.

“...Indeed. Ah, I apologise, I lost my composure. I shouldn’t have teased you like that, you’re the prince after all and I’m...”

Hearing his voice sends your heart aflutter but hearing its notes strike a sadder tone fills your heart with sadness as well. Consolingly, you shake your head, smiling. 

“No, it was the most fun I’ve ever had in such a while.”

Your words seem to uplift him, as his crystalline eyes seem to shine a little brighter, their blazing purple gazing deep into yours. Smirking, he crosses a finger to his lips once more, tilting his head to his right.

“Well, I suppose your beautiful eyes must be quite the appraiser since a beautiful jewel like myself has caught your attention so easily.”

The moon casts light from behind his head, brilliantly shining as if he was glowing in the night. Upon his head, there almost seemed to be a crown of starlight, a halo of their shine surrounding his golden hair. Melting at the sight of his smile, you hesitate before reaching out to catch his hand, bowing with perfect posture as you plant a gentle kiss across the back of his palm.

“Then, may I ask for this beautiful gem to join me for a dance?”

Flushing a little, he nods wordlessly and you smile, feeling heat rise to your cheeks once more.

The waltz is slow and sweet as you both dance to the tune of melodic breezes, the air sweetened in fragrance by the aroma of the flower bed surrounding you and Vil’s own scent. His eyes sparkle as brightly as his earrings, but they hold an added edge of fondness that seems to deepen everytime he looks at you. There is a precious silence that hangs around both of you, soft in its touch as caresses your faces. Here, in the comforting emptiness of the garden, you’re both free from the whispers that would follow you. You take a step to the side, in time with the silent music, and feel him step closer. Another step and your heart begins to beat faster. His lips draw closer to yours as you stop dancing, standing still in each other's arms. Gently holding your chin, he pulls you closer and then steals your heart with a kiss, the gap between the two of you closing within a heartbeat. He holds the kiss for a dreamlike moment, drawing it out, as you close your eyes and enjoy the feeling of his lips against yours. A loud bell rings, signalling midnight, causing Vil to gasp. You barely get to open them after he hastily breaks it in a panic since he covers your eyes with his hands. Shaking, he grimaces.

“I’m sorry, my prince. This jewel cannot stay.”

Shoving you to the side, he rushes off, his fluttering marine skirts disappearing to the image of rags.

All that you have left, to remind you that this dreamy mystery beauty existed, is a golden pin shining in the grass, a silent image of a knife stabbing into a heart. Much like how yours is feeling. It was the one that held his bun. Picking it up, you examine it, twirling it around between your fingers, imagining the golden pin against the lighted gold of his hair. You press it against your chest, feeling the beat of your heart still pace quick against it through the fabric of your outfit. You aren’t going to let it end like this. Running after Vil, you dash through the gardens and towards the exit, delighted as you catch the sight of someone else running away. Rags flutter against their body and dark black soot is dusted over their fair hair. But as they turn back and pause at the sight of you, you know it’s Vil. His sparkling makeup is all gone, replaced by tarred marks that smear across his face. His hair is scraggly and thin, his clothes no more than sheets of fabric better suited for beds. But still, his amethyst eyes gaze longingly at you and you take a deep breath and walk closer. Even without the dress, the hair, the makeup, you know what he looks like. Beautiful.

“May I hold you in my arms?”

Your voice is soft and tempting, carefully holding your arms open for him. He looks away, unable to face you.

“Are you sure you even want to, my prince?”

“I know that I don’t want to chase you if you don’t want me to. But if I need to, I will.”

He laughs bitterly, skeptically replying.

“Really�� even when your beautiful jewel isn’t as perfectly cut as it should be?”

Walking closer, you don’t let your arms fall.

“I don’t know what you mean. As long as you’re Vil, you’re perfect to me.”

Surprised, he looks at you with wide eyes before sighing.

“Well, you truly do have beautiful eyes. Ones that can see me for the beauty I am.”

Softly, he slips his arms around you and squeezes you into a tight hug. You feel your cheeks burn but your heart swells with happiness. Smiling, you whisper into the wind with a short laugh.

“I’ve caught you, my gemstone.”

♥

[jakoblanne]

Sven and the Toe Goblins: Chapter 15 - Night of the Living Toes

After the council ended, Sven and Malcolm parted with the other Goblins, who headed off down various tunnels. Before long, they were the only council members left in the entrance hall. The guards still stood their post outside the council chamber doors, eyeing Malcolm loathingly.

“So… What happens now?” Malcolm asked.

“It depends, human! Do you wish to spend the night in jail?”

“No… I….”

Sven interrupted him. “Then you’d better be comin’ with me. These tunnels can be dangerous to those who are walkin’ alone, even more so for a human.” Sven strolled over to one of a half-dozen tunnels branching off from the room. Glancing around for a final time, Malcolm hurried after him.

They continued down the tunnel for almost an hour, occasionally making turns into other branches. Malcolm’s head spun just trying to figure out where they were in relation to the council chamber. Unlike the passage they had entered Toehalla through, these corridors twisted and doubled back upon themselves. This place is a maze! How does Sven manage to remember it all?

At last, the passage opened up into a long natural cave. Illuminated by a singular torch by the doorway, the stalagmites cast fang-like shadows on the walls. Once he was inside the cave, Sven grabbed the torch, swinging it around to get his bearing. A rocky path meandered around large stalagmites rising from the cave floor.

To Malcolm’s surprise, small wooden doors dotted the walls, most no higher than his chest. Toe Goblin homes! he realized. On either side of the doors were small glassless open windows. Malcolm did his best to glance inside them as he passed, but in the dim torch light, he could only catch a glimpse of more grey stone.

Despite there being a home every hundred or so feet, none had any form of light on. It was obvious some doors hadn’t been opened in months, as they were covered with thick cobwebs, and the window sills were coated in fine dust. Combined with the flickering light, the whole place made Malcolm shiver. It felt as though he was in was some type of eerie graveyard, rather than a place where you would live.

“Where is everyone?” Malcolm asked.

“Why should I be knowin’?” Sven replied, shrugging. “We Toe Goblins only come back to Toehalla for emergencies, or to drop off a load of toes. I only be stayin’ here a week or two a year, and that’s longer than most.”

“So what happens to your… homes when you’re gone?”

“Nothin’, I guess. They certainly ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

They continued on, passing the abandoned homes. Finally, Sven veered off the winding path, stopping in front of a small wooden door. Reaching into pouch on his belt, he pulled out a small key, and used it to unlock the door. Swatting away the cobwebs, he waved for Malcolm to enter.

Once he had squeezed through the little doorway, Malcolm looked around Sven’s home. The ceiling opened up, and he was able to stand comfortably, which was a welcome surprise. The room was quite small and sparsely furnished, containing only a table, chair, tiny Goblin-sized cot, and singular shelf carved into the stone. This is almost sad. Malcolm realized. But, I suppose it is their choice to live like this…

Hanging his torch in a hidden notch in the wall, Sven grabbed a stack of thin green wafers from the shelf. They appeared to be made of some kind of fibers, closely pressed together.

“Eat up!” The Goblin said, grinning as he held a few of the wafers up. Malcolm grabbed one from him, and tentatively took a small bite. It crunched between his teeth and bits of grit spread around his mouth, pricking his gums.

“Not bad.” He mumbled through the food. “What’s it made of?”

“Cave moss. It’s harvested and mixed with minerals from these rocks. Lasts forever if you be storin’ it right.”

They continued their meager meal in silence, quietly munching away at the moss. Sven sat in the small chair, while Malcolm crouched in the corner, trying to be as comfortable as he could. The floors and walls had been chiseled smooth, but they bore small notches from the tools. When they had eaten all the wafers, Sven pushed his chair back against the wall, and sighed.

“Do humans be learnin’ of the Night of the Living Toes?”

Puzzled, Malcolm stared at him. “No? Should we be?”

“Of course!” Sven laughed. “It only be the single most important story to ever exist, and perhaps the only one ever worth tellin’. For it is how we Toe Goblins came to be….”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several thousand years ago, there was a village. It was an ordinary village, full of normal humans doing normal human things. At the edge of the town lived a nasty old witch, older than anyone could remember. She rarely left her hut and garden, but when she did, it was certainly for some diabolical reason.

One late summer day, a group of children, in their infinite wisdom, decided to play a joke on her. So, they burned her garden of herbs; the ingredients for her potions. Enraged, she used her dark magic to cast a spell upon the people of the village, cursing them with a fate worse than death itself… the loss of their toes. As farmers who were always on their feet, the loss of the toes greatly limited their movement capabilities.

The village woke up the next morning toe-less, with their feet healed as though nothing was wrong. But something most certainly was wrong. They didn’t have toes! Suspecting the witch’s handiwork, they mobbed her house, but she was gone, never to be seen again.

Assuming this was the end of things, the village returned to as close to normal as they could, silently mourning their losses. For three long weeks they worked, forcing their minds to forget the tragedy that had befallen them. Nonetheless, they just couldn’t shake the nagging thought, What if this is just the beginning? Why would the witch just take the toes, then leave?

It was decided that the village would gather for the first time since that fateful night, in celebration of an mid autumn full moon. It would be a welcome distraction from the weeks of labor. When the night arrived, the whole village gathered on the common, and they sang and danced for hours. As the festivities went on into the night, the feeling of despair was slowly replaced with hopefulness.  It had been three whole weeks since the incident. If something more was going to happen, then it would have already. Right?

As the festivities began to wind down near midnight, the first groups departed the town square. Waving their goodbyes, they stepped into the shadows, never to be seen alive again. An unseen enemy dragged them down, as soon as they disappeared from sight. Ear shattering and gut wrenching screams erupted from the darkness, destroying the merry mood instantly. People nearby raced after them, but they reached the same fate, brought down before they could even strike back.

Panic spread like wildfire, igniting the buried fear in the villager’s minds. It’s happening. They had been foolish to think the loss of toes wasn’t just the beginning of some bigger curse from the witch.

Huddled together in the center of the village square, they clutch torches and various sharp objects, swinging them at the darkness.  It sounded as though thousands of bare feet were running circles around the villagers, hidden just inside the shadows. Then wind picked up, bringing with it the gut-wrenching stench of rotten meat. Moved by the wind, the clouds opened up, illuminating the darkness.

Toes.

Thousands of cursed toes, stretching as far as the eye could see. They had surrounded the villagers, dragging themselves along with long, twisted nails. Crawling over each other like maggots, they writhed around the survivors in an impenetrable circle. You could almost imagine the fate of their victims, dragged down into a sea of filthy, razor-sharp nails.

A torch was tossed into the horde, its flame lighting up the sky. The toes squirmed away from it, but they weren’t fast enough. There was a brief blaze as a few dozen went up in flames, writhing like maggots until the very end. Those not caught in the flames dragged themselves away, until they were just outside the ring of heat. The stench in the air rose, now with a ashy undertone.

Recognizing their chance to escape, someone grabbed another torch, and slowly paced towards the ring of toes, holding it out in front of them. The toes retreated from the flames, their twisted nails leaving tiny incisions in the dirt as they went. Seeing their companion’s success, the rest of the survivors grabbed various flaming objects and followed. Gradually they made their way through the ring, shoving the flames at the toes, forcing them to retreat, and exposing a small path through the multitude of digits.  

Silently, they advanced, adrenaline pounding through their veins. The toes at the edge of the path squirmed, ready to pounce the instant the light disappeared.

At last, the survivors reached the far side of the toe circle. Once the light from the torches no longer reached the toes, the villagers raced down a road. Glancing back, they could see the toes pursuing them with ferocious speed, some even crawling up the sides of houses and fences to get ahead. Out of the town they ran, the toes close behind. Slowly the pursuing digits gained, until they were leaping at the heels of the humans.

Then someone tripped, and before they could even scream, the toes had covered them, and they were no more. The horde barely paused, and simply streamed over the body as if it didn’t exist. Tears in their eyes, the remaining villagers ran faster, opening up the distance between them and the toes by a few feet. Outside the main town, the rood cut through large crop fields. Stalks crumpled as the toes tore through them, nails ripping up the leaves. The only structure around was a large barn at the edge of the road.

Throwing open the doors, the villagers scrambled inside, bolting the entrance behind them just before the toes could get inside. Gratefully, they slumped against the piles of hay, chests heaving. Peering through the cracks, they could see the toes surrounding the barn, their nails occasionally scratching against the wooden walls.

Gradually conversation began, quiet at first, and then swelling as more joined in. A vote was taken and a decision was reached. They would stay in the barn until morning, and by then hopefully the toes would have dispersed. Once that had been taken care of, the adrenaline began to wear off and the gravity of their situation set in. Many tears were shed as they mourned those lost, and considered their own potential fates.

Before long, exhaustion kicked in and many of them slept, curled upon the hay. But others remained awake, nervously watching the toes through cracks, and conversing in hushed tones. What if the toes were still there in the morning? Would they spend the rest of their lives in the barn, until starvation or restlessness drove them out? They needed an escape plan, or they would surely perish horrifically in the hordes of toes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Much of the night had already elapsed and it was only a few short hours until morning’s first light shone between the boards, waking up the villagers from their slumber.

And the Toes still remained, poised to strike at the first opportunity.

Silence shrouded the group; their worst fears had come to fruition. Their future seemed bleak. They had no food or weapons, and the barn was surrounded with an innumerable mass of toes. However, before widespread panic could set in, those who had stayed up all night gathered the group together and explained their plan.

There was a ladder leading to the roof of the barn. Most of the group would head up there and wait for an opening on the ground. Once they were out of the barn, someone who had stayed behind would open the doors, luring the toes into the structure. This would clear a space outside for the villagers on the roof to leap into a nearby pile of hay and escape.

Once most of the toes were inside the barn, the remaining person would light the hay on fire, destroying the toes in the flames. They would then escape up the ladder, and rejoin the rest of the group before the barn was overtaken by the inferno. A potato farmer named Sv had volunteered for this dangerous job.

With a lack of a better idea, this plan was accepted unanimously.

The mass headed up the ladder and gathered on the roof. Less than three dozen villagers remained; a depressingly small group. Once the last of survivors were safely out of the way, Sv flung up the doors and the toes poured in. They coated the floor in a carpet of flesh and nails, tripping over each other in the haste to consume Sv. He slowly backed towards the ladder, waving in front of him to keep the toes at bay.

He could only light up the barn once there was enough space outside to make an escape. The roof thumped as the survivors jumped down. This was Sv’s cue. Hastily he dropped the torch into a haystack, exploding it in a blaze of heat. Sv rushed towards the ladder, but it was too late. The fire had spread faster than expected, and climbing would have been impossible. Escape was impossible. He was trapped in a roaring inferno, and the doors of the barn were blocked by the mass of toes. Even if he did make it out of the barn, the horde would consume him instantly.

All of the toes’ interest in Sv was lost and survival was their only priority. They tried to backup through the doors, but as the fire tore through the old wood of the barn, their sheer numbers made it impossible. The doors bottlenecked their progress and they burned in uncountable numbers, polluting the air with a disgusting stench.

A few hundred feet away, the survivors watched anxiously for Sv to emerge. They held their breath, still as statues. When the barn collapsed, the truth was apparent. He hadn’t made it out.

With him had burned three-quarters of the toes. The air reeked of their burnt flesh, and the sky lay thick with black smoke. The remaining digits desperately flung themselves away from the flames, crawling over themselves in the process. Even with the severe losses, there were still thousands of toes, more than enough to slaughter the remaining villagers with ease.

Hearts heavy with grief, the villagers turned their back to the destruction. Returning to the village would have been useless. The toes would undoubtedly regroup and then pick them off one-by-one. So many villagers had perished that surviving the winter would have been almost impossible. Therefore, it was decided that they would seek shelter elsewhere.

For the next few months they traveled from town to town, bartering work for food and shelter. However, before long news of them had spread, and the opportunities became scarcer and scarcer. Nobody would risk helping the refugees, for fear that the toes would seek vengeance upon them too.

Out of options, the survivors found refuge in the northern hills, discovering a system of caves, along with the strange creatures that had helped form them. It was there they began the tradition of stealing toes. In memory of Sv, and his brave sacrifice, all children were given names beginning with Sv.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sven sat up, stretching his arms out before continuing his story. Malcolm stared at him attentively, enjoying the tale.

“As the years passed, their decedents became the perfect specimens that you see today!” Sven said, gesturing pompously at himself.

“So you’re descended from humans?” Malcolm asked.

“Did you not listen!” Sven quipped back. “Or did your puny human brain already forget?”

“But why do you cut off your own toes? Is stealing them from innocents not enough?” Malcolm instinctively tried to wiggle his toes, before realizing they were no longer attached.

Sven glared at him. “Watch your tone human. The descendents of the original group began to remove their own toes as a sign of honor and respect for what their ancestors had been through. As for the ‘innocents’, they refused to help our ancestors, so we be stealing’ their toes! A fair and even justice if I dare say so myself!”

Check out my website for more content! http://jakobalanne.wordpress.com/

[thebadgerwriter-blog]

Chapter I: Hunter Felled

          Deep in the Vale, where both predators and prey abound, a young buck raises his head from where he has been foraging for the last several hours in response to a rustling in the leaves behind him. After waiting tensely for several moments, he determines that there is nothing predatory lurking in the shadows on as fine a day as this. Returning to his grazing, he contentedly swishes his tail back and forth.

           The day continues peacefully for him and his small herd, with each member finding plenty of nourishment hiding beneath the freshly fallen leaves of autumn. As the day approaches its end and the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon, the herd begins to settle down after a day of nothing more eventful than the loud scolding given by a curmudgeonly badger to one of the yearlings who had gotten curious and wandered too close to his den.

           Pleased with how the day has gone, the inexperienced buck makes his final rounds, checking on each member of his herd in turn. Satisfied that all is well, he finds his own spot to settle down in on the east side of the glade in which he and his charges had spent the daylight hours. All is quiet now except for the handful of creatures just now waking to tend to their nocturnal habits and not even the distant howls of wolves can be heard this night. The only things causing so much as a rustle in the leaves are some small mice who are rooting around for the same sustenance the deer had searched for during the day.

           As though it were a bolt of lightning, the full impact of this crashes into the buck and he lifts his head in shock and growing fear, ears tilted forward and alert. Something is terribly wrong. No wolves are howling and only small creatures are stirring and coming out of their burrows. The only time those two things happen simultaneously is when there is a large predator around that even wolves fear. Looking around in a near panic, the buck tries to find what might be the cause of this unusual silence.

           Before he can even get his hooves under him so he can move his herd to a more secure location, he sees a flash of moonlight off a metal object whistling by his nose. In the next instant, he hears one of the does utter a pained cry. Turning his head to the sound, he sees that a black shafted arrow has penetrated the flesh between the last two ribs of the doe nearest him, ending her life almost before her cry of despair had left her throat.

           Struggling to his feet, the slightly trembling buck looks back in the direction from which he had seen the flash of light off the arrowhead. A shadowy form rises from a crouched position three paces back into the underbrush while placing a bow in a sheath on its back. The form seems to have all of its attention on the buck. A flash of moonlight catches the shadowed visage, revealing bronze skin and vivid blue eyes that reflect the light like a cat's. A cloud covers the moon and hides the face of the figure once more, but the unseen eyes still cause the buck to tremble. The figure makes its way confidently out of the shadows, certain that no creature will challenge it, yet cautious nonetheless. This all occurs within the span of a heartbeat and as the figure begins to move, so too does the herd begin to scatter.

           The buck sees that it is a young man, not quite out of adolescence, who has slain a member of his herd. Enraged, he forgets his fear and ceases his trembling, his protective instincts taking control. One thought and one thought alone comes to the young buck's mind: this boy must pay for what he has done. Snorting a challenge, the now furious deer paws the ground, preparing to charge. The young man notices this just as the deer jumps towards him. Startled, the boy is still fast enough that he is able to brace himself for impact.

           As the buck closes the distance between them, the young man charges a few strides in turn and grips the buck's antlers in a powerful grip, halting it mid-charge. Flexing muscles that are more powerful than any human's, the young man lifts the buck slightly in the air and throws it to the ground in one fluid motion, stunning the buck badly and breaking one of the tines of his right antler.

           The young man steps closer to the now incapacitated buck and says in a soft voice, "My uncle and father both would say to spare you because your herd still needs a defender. And I will spare you. Not for that reason alone, though. You were brave. I know you must have been terrified. I would have been if I had been in your position. But you didn't run. You fought. And for that, I’ll let you live. And hope we meet again on a brighter day." With this, the young man strikes the buck once more, with an open hand, just hard enough to render it unconscious.

                                                          * * *

             Certain now that the deer will no longer cause him trouble, Vydahr walks over to the doe he has killed. He goes to his knees and retrieves the arrow from the doe's cooling body and quickly wipes it off with a rag reserved for that purpose. Placing the arrow back in the quiver at his hip and tucking the rag back in his belt, he lays his hands on the body of the slain animal and says a quick prayer over the deer, thanking it for its future nourishment of his own body and offering a promise not to let any part go to waste, as well as swearing to walk among the herd in peace when there is no need for hunting, as lions do among antelope on the high plains.

           Prayer completed, the young man raises himself into a crouching position and grabs the carcass by its ankles, lifting it onto his shoulders, careful to place it between his neck and his bow. He drapes the legs around his neck so that he can hold it in place with one hand and rises, graceful despites the weight of his kill around his shoulders. Once completely upright, he brushes his silver hair out of his eyes, then strides out of the clearing and starts to make his way back through the darkness of the forest.

           Vydahr makes his way down a path that would have been invisible had he simply been a human. Fortunately for him, his ancestry, particularly on his father's side, allows him to see clearly in the deep darkness under the intertwined bows of the old-growth forest around him. Every few minutes, the light of the full moon slips out from behind the clouds and sneaks its way through the gaps in the canopy above him to reflect off his eyes and hair.

           Pausing under one such gap, Vydahr looks up at the moon. He stands for several minutes, heedless of the burden of the relatively inconsequential weight of the deer carcass on his shoulders. Going through his mind are restless thoughts. He fears going home, though certainly not because of his aunt and uncle and especially not because of his two little cousins. No, he fears sleep. Terrible dreams have haunted him since he was very young. Dreams of a dark, ancient forest full of terrors that a young mind should never have to imagine. They have occurred off and on all his life, but they've never given him a break of more than a month at a stretch. It has now been almost six months without the dreams appearing in his slumbering mind and the youth knows that his luck will not hold forever.

           While he fears his sleep, knowing that a nightmare must come again sometime soon, Vydahr is looking forward to what is going to happen in the first few hours following his arrival back at his aunt and uncle's home. Tonight, he turns eighteen, officially becoming an adult in the eyes of the Council and the people of Valome as a whole. His father will be there tonight as well, which fills Vydahr with the energy of anticipation. This is a rare event, as his father constantly has business in either the Great Library at the Eternal College, or the administration buildings in the city advising some bureaucrat or other on history, magical and otherwise, and seldom has time to make his way to his brother and sister-in-law's home where it is located twenty-five leagues away from the main city.

           Vydahr has always enjoyed these rare visits from his father. They had always gone out, without fail, and camped in the deepest part of the forest together, out by an old Ironwood tree. While there, they would talk about what had gone on in Vydahr's life over the last few months and his father would fill in his son on the goings on of the Council.

           That would not be until tomorrow, though. Tonight there will be a party thrown in Vydahr's honor. There will be a rare vintage of bloodwine collected from a third generation Blecta tree one hundred years ago, before a blight destroyed many of the trees of that generation. A small Everlast spell has assured that the wine is as fresh as the day it was pressed. Not only the wine, but also deer steak from a previous kill of Vydahr's will be present at the celebration. Vegetables harvested today from his aunt's garden and some wild mushrooms stuffed with smoky cheese and seasoned bread crumbs will fill the rest of the space in the stomachs of all those that will be at the party.

           Snapping out of his thoughts of what the night will bring once he arrives home, the young hunter continues his journey at a rapid pace so that he can arrive in time for the clock to strike midnight. If he misses the hour of his birth, his aunt, who is superstitious about such things, will never let him hear the end of it.

           After about an hour has passed and four leagues have been run, Vydahr pauses at the edge of the clearing that contains his home. During this pause, he casts the Glamour that replaces the unusual and unaccepted features of his long dead mother with those of a more typical Blood Angel: Silver hair for deep black, bronze skin for pale white and frost-blue eyes toned down to be a more gray-blue color, unusual but acceptable. His height, already that of the tallest of Blood Angels and showing no sign of slowing anytime soon, is not, however, something he can easily conceal, so he does not bother with it.

           This process is something he has grown used to, yet he still loathes it. His uncle insists he keep up the Glamour around everyone he has contact with and to make sure it is as strong as any the Council themselves could conjure up. The young man's uncle and father both believe that his natural features would disturb a great many of the people in the city and pose a danger to him were he to show them among those not of the family. Though he has yet to be told why this would be and he has also not been to the city more than twice in his life, he has been told time and time again that he will have to keep up the Glamour constantly once he goes off to the College at the heart of Valome and thus should constantly practice it.

           Coincidentally, this is one reason the boy enjoys his father's visits. When they are out by the old Ir'res, his father allows him to drop the Glamour. Often, the thought has occurred to the young man that this is because his father likes to be reminded of his deceased wife once in a while. From the hints that have been dropped over the years by his aunt, Vydahr's father and mother had quite the love story back in their day, but that does not change the fact that the features Vydahr inherited from his mother are not welcome among most Blood Angels and so he constantly must disguise himself.

           Now that his Glamour is once more in place and his reverie has run its course, the young hunter enters the clearing surrounding the house he grew up in and proceeds to dress the deer, having decided against field-dressing it earlier on for the sake of the buck he had struck down. After completing the task, he stashes his bow and quiver in a shed adjacent to the house. Latching the door shut behind him, he continues on to the main building. Opening the door, he sees his father and other relatives sitting all around the large kitchen table. All of the adults already have fine crystal glasses filled with some of the bloodwine his father brought, clearly wanting to sample it before Vydahr arrived. Even the youngest of his cousins was allowed a small wooden cup of the stuff, seeing as this night is such a special occasion.

           Hearing the door open, his father turns away from his uncle and smiles at Vydahr. He smiles in return and opens his mouth to speak but he hears nothing except for the grandfather clock in the corner striking midnight. Suddenly, it seems as though the youth is looking down a long tunnel at his father's now worried face. He sees lips moving, clearly calling his name, but he cannot make out a single word, or hear a whisper of sound except for the deep tolling of the old clock in the corner.

           Vertigo hits then and Vydahr stumbles, unsteady on his normally graceful feet. His father rushes to him but it looks to the boy as though he is running through tar. Everything is happening in slow motion and nothing makes sense.

           He sees shadows and other more grotesque shapes flit along the walls. The smell of a very old forest starts to fill his nostrils and phantom tree trunks fill the edges of his vision, concealing some of the previously seen shadows. A voice whispers through the trees-that-cannot-be, seemingly right behind the young man. The voice is old and speaks in such a way as to be nearly indistinguishable from a soft breeze, yet it holds power and the promise of Destiny itself. The young man would be terrified, were it not for his disorientation.

           The last thing Vydahr sees is his father catching him as he falls. The last thing he hears is the last tolling of the clock in the corner of his aunt and uncle's kitchen announcing the end of his childhood. After this, there is a flash of light like that of a thousand suns, his vision goes dark as deepest night, and his mind loses its grasp on consciousness.