#im sorry if shes stiff i just wanted to draw her in a pretty dress

[kultizt]

my version of miss moon, ready to be [MASS PRODUCED]

[occupationalhazards-series]

Zero Hour: Track One (A Side)

[image- a drawing of a vinyl record with “Zero Hour A Side” and “Ciela, The Heir Not Quite Apparent” as the text in the center.]

Content Warnings: blood, self injury (in a non self-harm context), referenced child abuse and kidnapping, referenced abusive food restriction

In a stone lined room, a small girl lies in a bed. Her slick navy horns turn indigo in the first hints of sunlight, and the light casts a similar bright violet hue to her aubergine hair. Even the small disturbance of natural sunlight is enough to wake her, eerie mercury eyes snapping open even as her body stays stone still. Her breath pattern changes, but only barely.

She tenses minutely, and waits.

One breath, two, each nearly as silent as the last. Even with her vigilance, she hears no approaching guards and fails to sense the approaching magic of her attendant.

This small assurance is all it takes for her to spring into action, shoving a light blanket and sheet to the foot of the bed. The plain night clothes she wears don’t change at all in the light of the rising sun, their muted cream color remaining dull and boring. Her skin, however, does, the soft bronze shining a bright, magical copper in these few minutes she has to herself.

She drops to her hands and knees just as quietly as she had woken up, and reaches out under the bed. In one smooth motion, she slices her left ring finger on the prepared razor blade and smears the bloody digit on the hidden compartment under the bed. She catches the journal when it falls from the compartment, and shimmies back onto the bed, crossing her legs and settling herself into her morning routine.

First she closes her eyes, recalling and reviewing. Judging by the angle of the sunshine coming through the window, her attendant shouldn’t arrive for at least an hour. It is day four of the week so far, which means... breakfast, then free archive time. After that comes etiquette review, and that precedes sword training.

Joy.

She lets out a sigh and resigns herself. This is the day’s routine, and knowing is far better than not.

Especially on weeks when Lord Prince is around. Her huff isn't even forceful enough to move the longest part of her bangs, but her eyes flash a bright platinum.

Onwards, then. She opens the precious journal far more delicately than necessary, unable to stop herself from feeling the all too important inscription on the inside cover as she reads it aloud.

"To Our Beloved And Adored Hatchling-

May your scales grow strong,

may your magic grow true,

may your stories be told.

We love you."

Her voice is airy, but not light. It has the soft tone of someone who has had cautiousness beaten into them, and the surety of one reading an absolute truth. At this moment, the very edge of night conceding to day, only the latter sentiment matters.

Her steady breath wavers, shaking as she remembers. She wishes she was older when she left (when she was taken)- there simply aren't enough days to recall no matter how far she reaches back into her memory.

Nine years just isn’t enough, especially for her kind. (Yet four years is far too many. Funny how that works.)

She has to steel herself- mentally, of course. The strict dietary regimen Lord Prince makes her keep leaves her far too underweight to brace herself with a full body of scales like her mother.

Every day is too much, and every memory is not enough. It's not a surprise- nothing that happens near daily can truly be labelled a surprise- but it cuts jut the same.

One breath, then another. Moving on, she flips to the back of the book, and then carefully flips forward by several pages. There isn't a single word on any of these pages- just hundreds of tallies, carefully, furiously scratched in. They total in the thousands, and each one represents one day away from home.

Ciela leans over the bed and nearly falls off in her rush to grab the last hidden item from underneath it- a slick and elegant metal dip pen.

She settles back into position, noting the time as she carefully presses one preternaturally sharp fang into her left palm, slowly pulling her palm away and letting the blood well in her hand.

There is no way in all the Courts she'd use something as easily manipulated and identifiable as ink.

The blood of any and every Drake is a powerful magical artifact in and of itself, but the actual substance of an individual Drake's blood is even more useful than that- any Drake could and frequently did hide their secrets with it. (Blood is home. family. secrets. love. self. ancestry. futurepastnow.)

Blood casting is an instinctual, near primitive form of magic, taught to the youngest of hatchlings. But it WORKS.

The simplicity rebounds into strength- there must be a Drake, of sound enough mind to channel magic, and something important enough to spill blood over. Will and blood.

They are all that saves her.

One breath, then another. Focus. She writes in her journal while she can.

Dearest Elders-

I have no good news. I’m not sure I have any news at all. My attendant continues to give me leniences and graces that are sure to get them in trouble. I don’t know why. They gave me a whole bunch of ambrosia berries yesterday. My magic feels bouncy and airy and like I could fly.

I want to unbind my win

Why can’t my magic feel like this all the ti

IM SORR

I am growing, but not enough. My wings are so small I’m worr

I am small even for a human my age. I know I won’t be as big as you, Mother, but you and Father are not small people. My fourteenth winter approaches, and yet the ten-summer children of the archivist are taller. As Dauphin never ceases to mention.

The ambrosia berries were good. I’ve never had something so sweet. They taste like ceremonial wine and frost lightning and honey (It’s no wonder Dauphin pays so much for their wine.)

I want to taste some properly grown by sky fae one day. I’ll share some with you too, I promise. I haven’t grown into a selfish person without you. Not yet

I’m trying so hard , please believe me

I suppose I did have something to tell you today. I’m sorry it wasn’t important. I have to have faith that you still care about unimportant things

me my day.

I love you

-Ciela

She doesn’t cry. There is no one to trust with her tears.

Nothing to do but hide her secrets once more. She cleans her dip pen with the pitiful flames she can muster from her lungs she slips it back in its makeshift hiding place along with the journal. One more drop of blood and a burst of wild magic makes the whole thing disappear to the senses. Her hand twitches, spasming into a fist.

She can’t get rid of her rabbit pulse heartbeat.

So she takes a deep breath, and as she slowly releases it her eyes widen. Her primary, secondary, and tertiary eyelids open, and her irises glow a brilliant platinum.

The world comes into preternaturally sharp focus. Every color, every detail, stands out in sharp relief. It’s not just enhanced vision- truesight reveals magic, hidden or unhidden, wild or controlled.

Ciela takes four careful turns. Nothing can be suspect. Nothing is.

She had to be sure. She nods, satisfied, and changes the flow of excess magic to heal the small abrasions on her hand. It only takes a few seconds- they were no more severe than a papercut.

Pacing and preparations done, she heads over to the window. A hop and a scrunch and she’s settled into the rim of the bay window. She tries to look at the sky, tries to feel the clouds and calls of her own from within her cage. They don’t come to her, and it’s no surprise. She has been looking and reaching for one thousand four hundred and thirty eight days, and the closest she’s come is feeling the faint echoes of a Wyvern Call.

Either the wards are that strong, or the closest of her kin was over a hundred clicks away.

Whatever. At least she can see the sky in this room placement.

She’s too tired to glare, but the look on her face as she stares at the sky she hasn’t felt in years is withering none the less. Ciela sits near perfectly still in the closest thing she gets to tranquility for twenty eight minutes before she heads back to her bed. The stone floor is cold, and she pretends not to feel it.

A soft “pat pat pat” marks her elegant trudge back to bed. Her attendant will be in soon.

She doesn’t sigh as she pulls up the covers. Tears don’t escape without permission. Her mattress isn’t stiff, her blankets aren’t too thin, her skin doesn’t feel frail.

She thinks she’s pretty good at lying these days.

She nods off before long.

When its time for the attendant to come by, Ciela is still dozing. She wakes up just as the attendant reaches out to touch her shoulder. This is no surprise to the attendant- they have been stationed over Ciela for nearly two years, and are well aware she is a light sleeper. “Your schedule has likely been moved around, but your meal is still first on the agenda.”

Ciela nods and walks over to the closet to grab her formal day attire, assigned by the Dauphin’s attellier. She grabs an undershirt and bloomers first, one each out of the twelve identical garments in the wardrobe. Next comes the loose floor length trousers. A dull navy, they match the dark grey hip length wrap blouse’s accent and ties.

“Why? My schedule was just revised.” They turn towards the opposite wall while the young girl dresses. Their voice is low and smoky and androgynous . It seems to echo and gain volume and clarity the closer they get to the shadowy corners of the room.

"Why else? Prince is in a mood today”, they murmur. “He’s always in a mood. My lessons don’t usually get changed because of it.” They sigh, and the shadows around their cloak seem to ruffle. "Mmmm. True. It will hit the public announcements later today-the Crafter's Guild has decreed that all Ranked Crafters are prohibited from engaging in business with the Prince family. Apparently, they’re concerned about the implications of Lord Prince’s recent land acquisitions."

This warrants a pause from the younger of the two- “Really?”

“Mmm. Well, nearly every consultant Lord Prince has warned him against it.”

“ I remember overhearing something about it. Didn’t Lord Prince bid rather aggressively for an old manor that was seceded to the Fair Folk territory nearly three centuries ago?”

“Yes, and he won, too. All of his other bids have been close to Ley Lines, or near enough to another Court’s sacred territory to be just this side of politically... impolite. No one knows what he’s up to, but it doesn’t matter in the short term. This embargo will be a major blow to the business deals his family and the Court of Graves have that are in negotiations.”

Ciela makes an intrigued noise as she pulls on the blouse to tie it. "Wait. I thought that guilds couldn’t declare grievance against specific families without violating Court Law?"

The attendant hums and counters "Service embargoes technically aren't, but they tend to be risky enough anyway. I'd be surprised they had the temerity, but this isn’t a standard case. Can you tell me why?"

Ciela opened her mouth to respond, but remembered to stop and think it out first. Her brow furrowed as she carefully detangled her hair from her horns. Tight, unrelaxed curls at the scalp of her horns always tangled with the wayward stretched waves. "Because... they didn't declare a formal grievance? No, as a guild they couldn't anyway. Not against a whole family... although some might argue that the rule doesn’t apply if there’s only one person left in the family line."

"True, although any of the leading members of the guild could, and that would have it’s own implications." They said this mildly, patient enough to let the kid reach her own conclusions.

She sits down to tie the blouse and mull over her answer.

“Oh! I got it I got it! Because the Crafter’s Guild only forbid their ranking members from collaborating with the Prince family directly, and not every guild member or a specific person.”

She’s finished getting ready, but flexes her hands so she can focus to get a more complete answer. “Prince has been very aggressive in his politics lately. Is it possible the Crafter’s Guild was looking for any way they could find to keep their most skilled members from a contract with Lord Prince? Formal service contracts are supposed to be voluntary; each individual trades-person could choose to interpret such an embargo as ‘the head of the Prince line and all of his close associates.’ That leave most of the Society of Magisters leaders and management without access to some of the most reputable trades-people around.”

The shadows deepen with her attendant’s pleasure at her analysis. Encouraged, she goes on. “ I’m not sure why ethical disputes over land purchases was the thing that made them take such drastic action? If they really wanted to avoid dealing with our guild couldn’t they have publicly taken issue with... most anything Prince has done in our name for the last few years?” Her consternation isn’t all over her face, but is in the increased speed of her hand flexing, her lightly furrowed brow, and the rigidity of her shoulders.

Her attendant sits down with her, warning that they have to leave soon before explaining. “The Crafter’s Guild is one of few guilds that is politically friendly with, but not a subset of, any particular court. They are also one of the most diverse guilds, with members of many Courts, backgrounds, and specialties. The land disputes were probably picked because they would be the most plausible reason on paper. It is well known in certain circles that the heads of the Crafter’s Guild have a grudge against key Grave Court leaders-any other stunt they pull with less legal merit could be construed as as a personal vendetta using a community platform.” Ciela nods, her twitching hands slowing down. “Since they have so many specialists, they can easily claim that associating with the our leader could threaten the livelihoods of the crafters within their own guild by consequence or association.”

Ciela gets up to prepare her school supplies for the day. Some in her bag, for using in the classroom after first meal, the rest laid out on the pitiful desk adjacent to the window. “That sounds like a lot of ‘maybe’. Is there another reason this happened?”

The shadows fluttering around the attendant’s floor length coat seem to languish with their amusement as they too head towards the door. “One of the leaders of the guild flat out hates Lord Dauphin, and the other is loyal enough to her and dislikes our Lord enough to back her up.”

Ciela almost smiles before she steps out the door. Lord Prince hates that nickname. She never has the courage to say it out loud.

It doesn’t last for even a second after she crosses the doorway’s cold vacuous energy. The child’s head dips, her back straightens. They both quiet, and prepare to play their roles.

Both of them know that this fleeting moment of peace is the closest she’ll get to happy for the day.

Both of them will take it. For now.

Thank you for reading this debut! Zero Hour is brought to you by:

Ash Pana (Writing, Design, Pencils)

Jessica Song (Design, Inks, Tones)

Sasha Reneau (Zine/Print Formatting)

[choisgirls]

I've never requested anything before >_

A/N: *bows with a flourish* I AMQUITE HONOURED TO BE YOUR FIRST, MY LOVE~

this is late and i am sorry butspook time is all the time~ I will do my best here~

(also boy oh boy im glad youmentioned rituals because i grew up witchy and alongside the normal halloweenactivities every now and again there’s the Samhain celebrations full ofdifferent rituals and spells and i am hYPE, thats the direction i’ll take sincei have another request im working on regarding the ouji so it may not be /all/ spooky,but i will throw some in there since you did ask for spoop!!! im sorry, i reallyhope thats okay;;;;; ;A; if not, i can always take this and re-write some forthose I didn’t make scary!)

WARNINGS: I did mention blood oncewithin this, but there’s nothing too big, but just in case you don’t enjoy alittle prick to the finger, please don’t keep reading!

/it’s a little long so I’ll place itunder a cut!/

Masterlist~

YOOSUNG:

“Oh cool, MC, you bought somecandles!” he called, grabbing one and getting ready to light it. Youscramble after him to get it back, explaining to him that they aren’t forburning around the house to look pretty. “Yoosung, I’m doing a ritual- theblack candle represents your life, your decisions, and your experiences in thepast year, while the white one represents the present moment and year to come!You light this black one and reflect on things that helped you become who youare today, how you’ve grown, what lessons you’ve learned, then you say goodbyeto it all and blow out the candle. Then, you light the white one and reflect onhow you can be your happiest every day, and blow out the flame holding hope inyour heart!” you went on to describe the simple ritual to him, watching ashe stared at you with eyes as big as dinner plates. To your surprise, heactually wanted to hear a little more about why you do this, and what otherthings there were to do. He wanted to join you in this one as well! He wantedto think of all the happy times he can have with you for this next year!

ZEN:

He came home and the house did notsmell like it normally did and he was concerned. He called out to you, hopingthat the smell was something you were doing and doing it safely. He found you standing on a chair in the center of the room,hoping some sort of… stick? Maybe? “MC! What are you doing? You could’vefallen!” he swooped you off of the chair, placing you on your feet gentlybut then suddenly started to cough over the smoke in his face- you quicklymoved it to the side. “Ah, sorry Hyun! I just wanted to banish all of theold energy from our house,” you tried to explain as you continued tosmudge the area around yourself. The look on his face said it all- he had noidea what you were talking about. You asked him to walk with you as youfinished smudging the rest of the house, explaining it was a cleansing ritual-with the herbs sage, mugwort, bay leaf, and lavender tired together with yard,you could hopefully dispel any old or bad energy, leaving the house fresh andnew! He understood after a while, but would never attempt to do it on hisown… if it made you feel better, he would absolutely let you do it.

JAEHEE:

“..MC… can I ask why you’relying in the middle of the floor?” she asked, closing the door behind her.You could often be found throwing yourself across the furniture and laying onthe ground, she didn’t think too much of it until she saw your hands movingaround, then she realized you were meditating and immediately felt bad- shedidn’t interrupt, did she? She sat a few feet away from your head, waitinguntil you were finished to actually talk to you. When you sat up, you greetedher and told her not to worry, you hadn’t even noticed her come in. She seemedto be trying to peek at what was in your hand, so you opened it to reveal asmall opal laying in your palm. You explained that the stone was used as apower stone to help become a conduit of the unconscious mind. When you breathedeeply and allow any and all images, thoughts, sounds, or sensations pass by,you’ll be able to release them from your mind. You even took a handful ofassorted power stones and explained each one to her- you watched her eyes asyou noticed her make mental notes about it all so she could research it in moredepth later. She really wouldn’t be against joining you for one of thesemeditations, the poor woman needs this

JUMIN:

“MC, I don’t understand why youwould willingly participate in doing this to yourself. All you’re going to dois scare yourself to the point you will lose sleep, or you will injure yourselfwith worry,” he said as you scrolled through multitudes of rituals youlooked up online, trying to find one you wanted to try out. “Jumin,sweetheart, it’s Halloween. The point is to try and scare yourself,” youtold him, stopping on one you wanted, turning to find him crossing his arms,shaking his head, and turning to leave the room- he muttered a soft “It’sa horrible idea” under his breath as he left the room. At midnight thatnight, you wrote your name on this piece of paper, pricking your finger to puta small drop of blood onto the paper- you light the candle and turn the rest ofthe lights off before knocking on the wooden door 22 times, all before 12:01am.You open the door, blow out the candle, then shut the door again before rushingto relight the candle and leaving the room, keeping the candle lit. You were tothink about your wish and keep close watch of the flame until 3:33am- as wellas watching for drops in temperature and faint whispers- this would mean theMidnight Man was close and you had to be very careful. You had spent so muchtime walking around, you began to get bored, but were too afraid to stop. Aftera while, you heard faint whispers behind you, and you immediately started towalk faster, being aware of the flame in front of you. You started to panic- ohno. This is real, isn’t it. Why didn’t you listen to Jumin? Why did you need totry and freak yourself out? Turning a corner, your flame went out and you werefrozen in place, your heart immediately beating in your ears. Suddenly, youhear Jumin whisper, “Well, did you get the scare you were looking for,MC?” You dropped the candle to the floor, immediately swinging your armsin front of you until you make contact with his chest, which he returned with asoft “oof” and a soft chuckle before pulling you close to hold you.

SAEYOUNG:

“Legend says that during thenight, a rift will open between the land of the living and the domain of thespirits,” he said in his best story telling voice- he was dressed in ablack, intimidating robe, trying to scare you the night before Halloween. Hehad a flashlight on under his chin and turned off the power to the whole house-Saeran was pissed. Yet, he stayed for Saeyoung’s story, which he continuedafter his dramatic pause. “Communication can lead to wishes being grantedand good fortune- for the living! The other side demands horrific payment fortheir services, ooooooo~” he wiggled his fingers to emphasize the spooky.You stared at him with an extremely unamused look on your face- you couldn’ttake him serious- even when he asked you to play the game with him. Between 2amand 5am on Halloween, the two of you closed yourselves in a small room, staringat a mirror that you couldn’t even clearly see in the dark.“Okay MC, whenthe rift opens, you should feel the room go cold, that’s when you put your handon the mirror and whisper, ‘I accept’. Then, we’ll see a figure in the mirror-a figure way too frightening to describe. Then you must answer all five oftheir deeply personal questions, you must answer honestly- each one you lieabout, they will take one of your five senses. Each one you get correct, youcan place a death curse on anyone you decide.” You tried to look at himlike he was an idiot but being in the dark made that hard. Suddenly, there wasa soft breeze behind your ear, you raised your elbow a little and jammed itinto his stomach hard enough to get an 'oomph’ from him. You knew he was tryingto just scare you. He chuckled a little, pulling your back closer to his chest,he started to nuzzle against your shoulder until the both of you felt the roomget extremely cold in a flash- the both of you turned stiff for a moment beforeyour adrenaline kicked in and the both of you started to push the other out ofthe way to escape the room. Saeran had to hold back a laugh from his place behind the mirror, where he had a portable air conditioner running silently.

JIHYUN:

Always willing to see differentparts of you and anything you like or believe in! So on Samhain, you wanted tohelp him with his past in any way you know how- Mandalas! You told him howmandalas are powerful because they reflect balance and wholeness- drawing oneup helps to express yourself and encourage emotional balance as well as helpingto heal yourself! He watched you practice a few, and had him join in. Drawingthe patterns in whatever colour he wanted, with no pressure to make it perfectwas calming. He turned to you, to thank you for showing him this activity, whenhe saw your page and immediately froze. He wanted to laugh but he was also kindof concerned. Your mandala was more.. in the shape of a common demon mask, andhe… he wasn’t sure what that meant- or if he should ask you about it… Hestill hung it on the fridge regardless, but it scares people when they walk by andyou act innocent, which he finds hilarious.

SAERAN:

“MC, this is stupid, I’m notdoing this,” he stated with a huff, his arms crossed against his chest andyou tried to drag him outside at around 11:30 pm, October 30th. You found thisritualistic game online and you wanted to see if it would truly work! I mean,if you can deal with him, you could probably deal with some sorta demons thatcome out of this. You search for bare patch of ground, waiting until 11:59pm- aminute before Halloween. He watched as you drew a circle in the dirt largeenough to hold your phone- then you plopped yourself down to the ground. With asigh, he sat next to you and stared at the phone for what seemed like too long.You kept staring, 3 minutes, 5 minutes, 11 minutes, the time kept increasingand the whole time he kept trying to break your gaze from the phone, but youwere dedicated to this thing and he gave up. After 15 minutes, your phone litup from a call from a private number- Saeran went to answer once he realizedyou weren’t going to- you had to shoo him away quickly. “You can’tanswer!!!! You can’t, this is supposed to happen! Now, we wait for a text, andmake sure not to take the phone from the circle. It’s supposed to be anothernumber that we can call, then we tell this man our address, and he’ll tell usthat we’ll get a package at precisely 11:59 on November 1st!” you staredat the phone explaining it all, as Saeran just looked at you with an eyebrowraised- looking up across the yard, he saw his brother hiding around the cornerof the house, raising a finger to his lips to keep him quiet. Now he knew thiswas a prank and nothing that can truly hurt you- good. He would playalong.“What’s in this package, MC?” he asked, curious as to just whatkind of story his brother planted into your head. “You find a smalltransistor radio with batteries! You can put in the batteries but youabsolutely can’t turn on the radio until 12:15am, then go to the AM channel111.1 and listen- it says the guy from tonight will be muttering and will giveus a headache but we can’t stop listening. At 12:25 am on the dot, the messagewill stop and soft music will play- and until then, so long as you keep theradio on you and turned on, you’ll experience good luck!” you kept staringat the phone, speaking quickly, trying to get the story out before that textcame in. Saeran had to hide his growing laughter, “Okay okay, so wait.This dumb ritual will give you good luck? That’s what this is about?”“Yeah, but apparently, when the radio’s batteries die, everythingdrastically changes. Like, you’ll feel someone tracking your every move, see afigure in the shadows, hear a sound you can’t place, up until it makes itselfknown and comes to claim its payment!” your voice turned high pitched nearthe end of your explanation, as you watched your phone light up from theexpected text. He sat through the rest of your ritual, watching you one momentand turning to watch his brother with a voice box and his cell phone across theway. He’d allow this to happen, only this time, because you did bring this uponyourself.

VANDERWOOD:

“And you want to do…. what,now?” he asked, staring at you in disbelief. You told him about this…insane idea you had to play this creepy game to see if it was real. Why you hadthis fascination with trying to do these scary things, he would never know. Infact, he started to think you hung out with Saeyoung too often- he’s rubbingoff on you. You told him about this ritual you found called the “The ThreeKings”, and you were dying to see if it was the real thing- after all, thewarning did say “do not attempt on your own”- so it had to be scary,right? You made him help you set up- three chairs, two mirrors, and a candleset in a specific position according to the chart online. You leave the roomuntouched from midnight to 3:30am, then you take your place at the King’sthrone, candle lit, as you stare straight in front of you into the darkness.Vanderwood stood, leaning against the wall, watching this all go down. Hedidn’t want you to sit alone and have something… actually happen to you-though he knew it never would. It was all fake, just something to scareyourself, and he will be here once again to reassure you that everything wasfine. You told him that until 4:34am, you must stare only straight ahead, andbe aware of if the light on the candle goes out. For almost half an hour, youstared at the spot in front of you- he got tired of it. Kept telling you howeverything was fake, nothing would be happening, and that you were just goingto scare yourself over your own imagination- when your candle flame suddenlyblew out. The girlish scream that followed definitely did not come out of yourown mouth- though you were the one who blew out the candle in the first placeto freak out your “I-Don’t-Believe-In-That-Shit” of a partner, whichyou succeeded in.