There was this one broken figure who came among the outcasts of the broken tribe of those remnants of some group who was broken and battered by Mordoron. They had little hope. This one broken figure came and sang with a broken voice, but somehow they could still tell what she sang, as the song’s tune seeped into them. It was a song of Light. She was singing Light’s tune to them…

Then the voice changed slowly, and the brokenness fell away, and the cloak shed, and there before them sang and stood an elf who glowed. She was beautiful, and the darkness that lurked and lay ready to strike fled in agony at the song. The people felt their souls heal with the power of the song as its notes fell softly like sunlight through leaves. They welcomed her, and knew from her song that she had been sent by Light to them.

Because at least it is truth. Why live with the wonder and the emptiness of some twisted beauty in a lie, only for it to come crashing down, as all lies do? I'd rather know straight up front the truth, because not only am I searching for it, this way I have clear vision and can rise from a tragity instead of wasting my time with a lie. As tempting as a tailored lie is. I'd still rather have the real thing and not waste my strength chasing something I know deep down I can't have, something that will tear me apart because it's not ultimately what I want.

Thank you for this challenge, thank you for being you.

She was getting desperate. She wanted a child really badly, she had wanted one for a long time. She also wanted to marry really badly. She wanted to marry Gawain, though he seemed hesitant. So she wondered if she could evade the curse, and was severely tempted to run away with him. She was alone, and deliberating, and falling, when a raven of Moros came and perched on her bed post. It said, “I have come from Moros.”

She asked, “I thought Moros himself came after the deed, not sending a raven before.”

The raven said, “Light has ordered me to be sent. You know not what you plan, for no mortal wish could put one above the Law of Light. Light sees all, he knows more than your mind can ever fathom; he is beyond the most powerful of created creatures.”

“Do you know the deep yearning in me? Twas placed there by him himself, in the order of his nature. What shall I do?”

“If thy wish be claimed wrongly, the Dark will claim you; if thy wish be gained rightly, the Dark will tremble.” And the raven left. She remembered then the Doom of Twilight, and resolved not to delve deeper. There must be another way.

The next morning, she woke at 10:00, to find Wolf still there, his arms around her. She wriggled and stretched. “You stayed this time,” she yawned.

“That I did.” With finality as though he had been watching and waiting for her to wake, he slid out and left the door open on his way to the kitchen. Sunlight filtered in through the door, the window being closed, the curtains tightly shut.

She stretched luxuriously several times, and remained, half awake, unwilling to move. She only dragged herself out when Wolf called her to get out for her coffee.

“Is it a little late?” she wondered, fingers once again around the mug, begging for warmth.

“Nah,” he shrugged verbally, pausing intent work on his phone. “We’re superior after all. We make nature work for us.”

He never questioned, only asserted. It had helped her gain confidence in her own life, she had told herself. Perhaps she was right.

She sipped the hot stuff gently, to find creamer had already made its way in. Man, he must have been feeling extra generous today.

Texting war over, he slapped the phone down on the island with finality. “Your bagel’s waiting,” he announced, and suddenly turned and dramatically slouched into the next room.

She found and buttered it herself, and sat at the table, waiting. A few minutes and sips elapsed, when she called, “You coming? You know I didn’t get to see you at the party.”

“I’ll be there,” came the voice from the living room.

She knew he made her his priority, so she sat, one more sip and one ravenous bite of blueberry and he came. “Guess what?” he said, grinning, as he slid into the seat opposite hers. “I saw you were alone last night, so I’m taking you out.”

Fran nearly dropped her mug. “What!! Where??” she gasped.

His grin widened. “Think—it’s got everything.”

“Downtown Mall?” she squealed.

“Yup!!” he crowed. “Let’s check out that little perfume shop, see if it’s got anything new.”

Cheering inside, she finished her bagel quickly (he had already eaten) and rushed to her room to get ready.

He called from the other room, “Just don’t forget your pill. It was one of those nights.”

“Oh, right.” She took it first, then changed into her ruffled wine-red outfit again, then rushing to the attached bathroom to apply her mascara.

This time, he leaned casually against the door frame patiently, watching her closely. “Very lovely,” he said as she emerged. “Come on!”

Wolf was suddenly over her. “I found you,” he said. “Why? Why are you out here? You missed the entire thing.”

With a jolt, she realized how long she had been sitting there. Hours. How long had they sang? Or how long had she sat in her despair before she heard them?

“We were disgustingly late to begin with,” Wolf said, helping her stand, voice somewhat distant, Fran being deep in her mind. “And then you disappeared. I bounced the eight off the table and hit another—best shot of the game, of course. Too bad you missed it…”

She wasn’t able to pay any attention, his words lost on her. Already, her calculating mind was working, so there is at least one man, one woman. I wonder if I know these people—nobody I know sings. Oh, except James. I’ll ask him (already her heart burned impatiently until morning—hurting more once she realized she’d have to wait until Monday). Whoever they are, must be professional singers. No, more than that. They hung around the casino somewhere—no, the sound came from…west, towards the sea. That’s it. Mermaids! No, don’t be stupid. They don’t exist.

She woke suddenly from her stupor, burning to collect more information helpful to the subject. “What time is it?” she asked, unaware he was in the middle of a sentence until hers left her mouth.

He growled softly, deep in his throat. He did that when irritated, often, perhaps thinking she couldn’t hear. She could alright. He made good use of the fact female’s hearing was often better. “AS I was saying,” he went on, “Kat was there too, you see. Not a bad shot for somebody so young. Gorgeous too. Almost won the game. I beat her, of course. She almost had it. But I’ll always be better.” He huffed. “NOW I’ll answer your question,” he said haughtily. “It’s two in the morning. It generally is. Why?”

“Let’s go home,” she said, her mind’s whirring decelerating with the wait to her question, slowly realizing how tired she was, or must be. She hadn’t drunk anything this time.

“On it.” He twirled the keys around his finger, striding to the red sports car in the lot.

She followed, as she always did, then stopped. “Is that one ours?”

“Why are you asking silly questions?” he purred. “Why does that matter anyway? Trust me to know my own car from everybody else’s.”

Remembering he did keep meticulous track of his stuff, she hopped into the front seat of the car, through the door which he held open for her. She settled in the seat, and wondered. “Has that gadget always been there?” She pointed to the cooling knob.

“Yes,” he said, glancing down as he started the engine. “I always took care of the temp. You always complained but didn’t do anything yourself.”

“Oh right.” She settled into the black seat, made of some soft material. She didn’t remember it being so soft, but whatever, she somehow managed to fall asleep on the hazardous ride home. It’s a wonder, really, how Wolf never crashed a single car.

Hello, thank you all for loving my story! You put it on the top of the popular list.

I have another big project to work on, a 200-300 or so page book that needs serious editing. (I mean, I wrote that early high school. Parts of it are pretty cringy....)

My mind has fallen out of favor with this story for now, but I assure you, I do intend to make a point to finish it. I am only one third of the way through the story!

So put it in your library and check back occasionally. If you loved this story and want it to continue, I will if I get five or more personal requests to do so. In the mean time, check out my other story! Thank you, love ya~

They did not understand. She needed money, she needed to save for plane tickets because she needed to get away from it all. She didn’t want to stay, not in the place where she was tossed from house to house as a child, not where her birth parents were. She wanted to leave the place, and the college she chose was as far away from the bars where they saw her as nothing more than a tool, where they had hunted her out like vampires and they ate her up and left her like she was a piece of gum, and she knew it.

She laid her head upon her knees. Wet her dress became, and she began to shiver in the cold and biting wind. Her heart turned dark within her, and already in desperate strains, she raged in tears against the very weather that mocked her, and seemed not to care. Her sorrow burst from her chest in utter groans of despair.

Like the whimpering of an abandoned baby, she quieted down and simply listened. The wind and night birds went on, went on with life, but she alone in the dark felt her spirit dying and knew how mortal it was. She thought—she had a small bit of cleaner under her dresser. She had snuck it when she moved in. She could wait, and use it, should she, should she not…

She realized, there were faint strains of something in the wind. Something breathtakingly beautiful, something she had never known before. What was it? Beyond this world, perhaps? She sat and listened. First a male voice sang it seemed, something soft and sweet, calming. Already she felt her soul’s burden lighten, she felt, ah, as air, the darkness falling away. Already the darkness came to embrace her, not as some evil entity, whispering for her end, but calling, gentle, for her to come into her healing. There then came a lovely lift, beyond all words, some women, one rising higher than the rest in notes that rose to the heavens.

Her breath caught. She bent all her will on listening, and felt her soul knit together again from the moment. This song—it held promise, everything she wanted, everything she needed. She was surprised that she knew, but she knew. She must have the song, she must find who sung it, it was a matter of life and death…

All the voices rose together, and after a pause, they went on a postlude that left her with nothing but chills. Her determination burned, all else forgotten.

The voices faded into the wind, and distant as they were, she was left with their eternal impression. She sighed deeply, and was calm and at peace, for the first time…maybe ever. Ever? How could it have been ever?

First of all, pride is the pinnacle and the cause of every other sin. So a complete character would have a self-centered streak as an automatic checked box and you can choose a myriad of other weaknesses to supplement and be fed by the said pride, i.e. self centeredness.

Another thing you absolutely must have is a weakness for what they want, the sort of 'I want' tilt that everybody has, deep where nobody can see. That and emotions often seem to be stronger and tries overrule reason, which also goes for anybody.

Those are basic rules that are 'automatic checkboxes' if this were a 'choose some flaws below' type of thing. Anything else is non essential and particular to the character.

I dunno, my favorite villain type is the one who's seductive, charming, attractive, and unnervingly knows your weaknesses, and every move you take he can corner you. Somebody like Annatar from the Silmarillion.

“I HAVE COME!” Wolf shouted, ever the dramatic.

Everybody cheered, even the few in a headlock. Quickly, the smugly grinning Wolf let himself be dragged into the crowd by the pool table by the more shifty looking partners whose purple eye circles made Frankie wonder if they were Disney villains.

She went to follow when someone knocked into her from behind.

“O pardon,” the man said politely. She turned, and almost staggered. He seemed dizzyingly tall, perhaps almost a foot above her five feet, six inches. He wore nearly the same get up as Wolf, except somehow both more nondescript and ominous at the same time. His bald head glimmered in the disco lights.

“You look especially lovely tonight,” he said kindly.

She struck a pose, turning sideways and tilting her head back. “Why thank you.” She smiled and batted her eyes. A few seconds passed with no speech, save that din that went on around them.

Speaking of which. She suddenly realized, he did not notice the racket around them, did not notice the flying bottles, belts, and other various things behind him. No, his eyes were fixated on her, and only her.

She was suddenly very aware of her body, every curve, where every part of her was in space. Her breathing came quicker, her chest rose more with each breath. Memories began to writhe, circling like sharks in mist, below the surface like the wraithlike things from somebody’s popular series. Her rising chest reminded her—her old job reminded her—

“I am a human, you know,” she found herself blurt.

“O, I know,” he said smoothly, but the way he looked at her she knew he didn’t.

A hand instinctively fell to cover her exposed leg. “Why don’t you go play with your buddies?” she said, casually as possible, constantly position shifting to keep her leg hidden by the dress as something stronger than panic began to well in her chest.

He stepped closer. “Why don’t you come play with us?”

“No.” Her mouth had gone dry. Her other hand rose in a futile attempt to hide her chest, to fill the abyss the plunging neckline cursed her with. “I mean—I have to go find Wolf. I’m always with him.” She glanced around for him, her trauma rising, memories beginning to resurface even as she sought and found him not.

Someone touched her hair. “Do you like blackjack?”

She nearly screamed as she tore away. “NO!” she cried. She ran. The wraiths began to rise, men as tall as he, staring hungrily. Can I leave? No dear, you need the money. Swirl that tassel, that’s it girl. You are lovely. Come here, sweet…

Her chest hurt. She burst out, panting, and rushed behind the building to cry. She curled into a little ball. The cameras, the exposure that left her cold, the stares that left her empty. Why, there could have been any other job, but she was hunted out, flattered, then suddenly forced to make herself vulnerable in front of men who were stronger than her. She smiled for the camera and felt nothing but hate. No, this must not happen again…

Fr. Micheal Breane

June 9, 2000

I was just settling to breakfast when I got a call from some place in the middle of nowhere. I set down the bagel and took up the call.

"Father, there's something on my wall." The man sounded young, frantic. "Please! This place is haunted. But the doors and windows are all shut now that I have the notion to get away. The guests are trapped. Things have been floating. They are threatening me. I finally got the phone to work, now that they have written terror on my wall--" and the other end suddenly cut out.

I sighed and stood, nervous for the young man. Snatching my bagel off the plate, I took it with me on the long drive to the address I had been given when Sam moved. I was his parish priest after all, and he still came the Sunday after he left for the hotel.

~

I knew something was off, knew the poor boy was in otherworldly trouble when I rode in, parked, and reached for my phone only to find it shut suddenly off. I got out, nervous now, crossing myself for courage. The butler let me in.

"Mr. Jay and Miss Hawkins are in the kitchen," he said, arm out to show which way.

"Thank you," I said, letting him open the door for me, since I made a move to but he insisted.

I walked in, but the two didn't notice me at first.

"It's not a very good place for a hotel. It did start out as a castle, a haven for those fighting rebellions against tyrants," the young woman said, frowning.

Sam said, "I know, things have changed, it's in the middle of nowhere, so it should be an attraction of its own...what am I saying? We don't want people here!" His face went pale in his frenzy, then he noticed me. "Father!!" he cried. "Please, drive them away. Save us!"

"I will. Show me the evidence, and we will begin the ritual soon," I said. I was glad I had brought all that was needed, just in case.

The young lady took my arm as Sam led me out. "Father," she said, timidly, "are you an exorcist?"

"Yes, else I would have sent someone else," I replied.

Sam brought us to his room, shaking more as we went on. The young lady came ahead of me and took his arm, visibly calming him. We got onto the sixth floor, and Sam crept ahead, glancing around as though at any moment, something would jump at him.

I frowned at the other young man bobbing oddly on the carpet, a little ways down the hall. His head turned slightly, and he immediately paled to see me. He disappeared in the second I glanced away.

"Here it is," Sam muttered, tugging the door. "It won't open," he said in disbelief.

"Here." I took the handle, and suddenly, it came open with a groan of reluctant submission that sent a shiver down my spine because it was not from the door. I peered inside the ornate room. "O dear."

Scrawled across the wall facing the bed were the words 'delve deeper into our secrets and die' in something red.

I stared a few seconds, and turned, grim, to Sam. He quivered uncontrollably, appearing pale as though about to faint. "We have more on our hands. Let us go the the grounds, and stand before the house." I made a move towards the stairs.

The boy appeared again, face pale and fierce, eyes in immortal fire, hands up. His sleeves fell a little as he rose his arms higher, a bandage around a wrist. He shouted something, but none of us stuck around to find out what.

Hard we pelted down the stairs, running, past everyone, past vases and rugs that came down at our passing to chase us. We got to the door. I whirled around, and at the sign of the cross the objects fell with a clatter to the floor. The dust settled in silence.

The boy's head appeared, hair dark against his chalk white face. He snarled at me. "Get thee gone," he hissed.

The objects quivered once more. I turned, thinking it safer to leave. I took Sam by the arm. "Come!"

I ran, and my hold loosened on him, but I knew he would follow me. I turned to slam the door closed to keep the curse out, but Sam still stood there, pressed against the air.

"Father!" he cried. "I cannot leave! I cannot get past the door!"