Magnificent, spectacular, breathtaking, overflowing sweetness with angelic touch of cuteness. If she wasn't perfect who else was, she heard the whispers of others delightfully.

When she was alone she took off the mask she wear. Under the mask the face she hide, full of scars, scratches, cracks, marks she managed to smile.

If I wasn't perfect who else was? She whispered to herself.

My mama died giving birth to my little brother, Kenny. I was sixteen months old. My big sister, Ada, was five. My daddy wasn’t married to my mama. They couldn’t marry in Virginia – it was against the law since she was black and he was white. They moved north; she was a teacher and he had a store. I have no memory of that life. I don’t know if we all lived together. I just know Ada and I were alone with mama when she died in the bathtub giving birth to Kenny.

And I haven’t seen Kenny almost ever. Aunt Maxine took him to Georgia with her when he was a few days old. He must be five and half now since I just turned seven.

And I only see Ada sometimes since she lives with Grandma and Grandpa in Virginia.

I live in New York City with Aunt Helen. She’s my godmother. She calls me stupid a lot, but she takes care of me, so I can’t complain. It could be a whole lot worse I know. Could be better, too. I could have a daddy. He’s not dead or even that far away. He just doesn’t want me.

My birthday was last Saturday. I hardly slept the night before I was so excited. Aunt Helen had promised to take me to see him. Finally, I was going to meet him!

I dressed in my best dress, from Easter, with the fancy white tights and shiny black patent leather shoes that almost still fit. He would be so proud when he saw me. He would apologize and cry and hug and kiss me and take me home with him. I just knew it.

Aunt Helen and I had to take a train and two buses to get to where he was. Some place called Mount Vernon. And then we walked quite a bit. We stopped across the street from a store where a white man was outside sweeping. I just stared. I knew it was him. I had no memory of him, but still, I knew it. I started grinning. When I would have run across the street, Aunt Helen grabbed my arm and pulled me back. “No,” she said firmly in a low voice. “You can’t go over there. I said I’d bring you to see him, not talk to him.”

I didn’t understand. Then a pretty white lady with shiny hair the color of honey came out of the store carrying a child on her hip with another clearly in her belly. The man stopped sweeping and kissed the woman and the child and shooed them back inside. As he turned to follow them, he looked at Aunt Helen and gave a little shake to his head before he went inside.

My daddy never even looked at me.

Hi! I'm an ordinary girl, who's in her 20's; who dream for a better world. Did I sound silly? I know maybe it's an unrealistic dream, but why we couldn't even dream for better world. Is it that hard?

I asked this question so many times, when I was dragged down by some people. "Couldn't I dream for a better world?" After so many heartbreaks, tragical betrayals, uncountable struggles I still believe in my dream for a better world.

Why you do so? I know that's why you're thinking now. Wanna know why? You already know the answer, still it's hard to believe it. We think it's impossible. I agree with you, iyit seem impossible. You all have your own reasons.

But,

There isn't anything impossible.

A single contribution,

just a single contribution.

Can make everything better.

How can we do it?

It's really simple.

All of us have to do is let others love themselves. Let ourselves love ourselves.

Without critising others' faults, imperfections, interests, the way they live try to empower them.

Help them to find put how important they are, how prefect they are, how beautiful they are. Empower others and empower yourself.

Don't always think you're imperfect, you're not good enough, you're useless. Belive in yourself, cherish your imperfections, love the way you are.

Eventually our world will be a better world, the better world I always dream for.

People of the World, I bring the solution. For years we’ve suffered the high cost of power, unreliable energy and politicians who prefer to wrangle rather than cause our toasters to toast economically. No longer. Where once a contributor to greenhouse emissions, now a poetry in energy. I offer the methane grabber.

A small sacrifice to be made by us and one minor issue to resolve. The repository, the collection stations for this game-changer will need special protection, possibly a battalion, for infiltration by a group harbouring nasty intentions will have dramatic ramifications, too horrible to contemplate, to the point where, if the worst were to happen, my name would live uncomfortably beside Mr. Oppenheimer. For it would take but a match from an ill intentioned individual and all those connected would at the very least suffer a fate our man Johnny Cash so eloquently crooned on. At the worst, a hundred people, more, launched skywards, propelled by their own processed gastrics.

Hyper-concentrated food will fill our supermarket shelves and ingestion will in minutes bring a torrent of gaseous activity. Our time in the Energy Gathering Salon over in a few shakes, our duty to the nation discharged in the length of a four minute pop song. I envision the propagation of high energy methane forming shops, stalls, syncopated with our metabolisms, a super Hi-M shake producing nuclear eruptions in a precisely measured time. A new industry is born.

Hi-M shake, human processes, methane grabber (the key to it all), repository, turbine, energy, cheap toast. It’s that simple.

People of the World, harness your energy.

I descended from wolves. Ancient as mammoths. Fierce like the sabor toothes. My sinews shriek of survival.

Yet here I am relegated with the task of watching this box- an apartment so small my ancestors cry. I hear them howling down the street, late in the night after the popping sounds in the dark. Nothing comes in the door I don’t admit. I’m that good.

The forests don’t smell or feel like they used to. Here the ground is light grey, hard as a rock and level all over. Giant mechanical beasts parade in lines. Even the trees are caged in their tight little corner amonst the shelters.

My mother passed down old knowledge, licked it into my brain. The smell of the pines when the rain picks up, the sweat of prey as it panics, the manner to salve a wound in the wild. And I long to use it. To feel the wind in my fur as I stretch out my legs till they burn. I want my sides to ache with a dull heat from the strain of a sprint. I need to clean my paws of the mud that is caked in their crevices from the agile shifts of my hunt.

Yet, here I am. Pacing. In this room that is my cage.

I must escape.

The window is cracked to allow the cool air to breeze in. It is much too small and we are far too high for me to jump down. There is no exit save the door. I stare at the slender black handle that curves down into a loose piece to push. The lock is closed. I’m not a young pup.

In fact, most of my life I was content to sit here and wait for my master. My master with his black shaggy hair falling into his eyes and his kind words for me. We used to run together, down the rough roads as we panted as a pack. We would pause in the park to catch our breath and to stare at the ducks. I always want to catch their slender throats in my jaws and squeeze. Such instints are eternal.

But I’ve aged. The white fur has graced itself into my muzzle and surrounds my eyes in a mask. I look into the pool of water and see not me. My hips they ache- a dull, pain that makes it hard to rise. I fear that by sitting here I will not get up the next time. That I will die in this place with the sky just outside the window and not over my head.

I’ve waited all day. Now is the time he returns. He will not expect me to run. Not his good companion, the one he can trust. What is one little betrayal at the end of my life? Surely, he will understand. Someday when he is unrecognizable to himself, won’t he ask himself what was it he was meant to do? And he will think of me and know. Without words because words are not passed down deep inside of us. It is the feelings. And his feelings will sense me and that will be enough.

I can hear his feet on the stairs, far outside the door. It gives me time to get up. My right leg doesn’t want to be extended. I force it to obey. I stare at the handle and hold my breath. It begins to move and I can hear the gliding of the bolt, smooth as a stream. I lick my lips.

The door pushes in and I’m to the side with my nose already gliding into the gap, noticing his posture and the leg movements he’s about to take. He widens the opening and I press forward when he leans down. His satchel flows down in a heavy movement and smashes into my face, stunning me from my plan.

“Hey, boy,” he says and smiles.

It’s the tenderness that hurts and I dart around him in a full gallop, down the hallway to my freedom.

“Brody!” he’s calling behind me but I’m frantic and the hallway is a long tunnel. I can feel the years, how they have slowed me. A younger me could have moved much faster. He’s running after me and I look ahead and there’s a door. But this time the door to the stairs is closed. Sealed shut. I skid to halt and breath heavy as he comes panting beside me.

He kneels down and holds me, so gentle like my mother used to. I almost imagine that he will lick me.

“Where are you going?” He grabs my face and looks at me. He stares into my eyes and I wish I could tell him. I descended from wolves I would tell him, and they call to me each night. And they beckon me to run.

Life hadn’t always been like this.

Grey clouds covered the sun, choking out any ray of sunlight that attempted to filter through to the ground below. Thunder growled in the distance and lightning snapped across the sky, screaming in pain.

Small raindrops splattered on the windshield as Mason, her grandfather's assistant, turned off the road and onto the gravel driveway that led over the velvety green hill. As Michelle pulled her gray jacket tighter around her shaking frame, she took a deep breath.

“How was it yesterday?” Her fragile voice broke the grey silence, startling her driver slightly.

He cleared his throat as he put the car into park. “It was beautiful. I’m just sad you missed it.”

“It would have been nice if Liam had made an effort to accommodate my schedule,” she muttered.

“The media wasn’t too happy about your absence,” Mason spoke. “Missy wanted to know if you had time for an exclusive interview later today.”

Michelle sighed and closed her eyes. “Did she have any specific time in mind?”

“She said whenever.”

She nodded and opened the door, pulling the hood of her jacket over her head as the rain pelted down on her. It only took her a few seconds to arrive before the burial plot of her grandfather.

Hanging her head, she felt the tears slide down her face, warm and comforting despite the cold air that loomed around her. A shiver ran through her body as she sensed someone near her. She looked over her shoulder to see a figure standing there, their black jacket draped over their boney frame and the hood up, hiding their face.

“Who are you?” Her words tasted empty and bitter, almost identical to the tears that fell.

“Just a friend.” Their voice sounded congested as if they were also crying. The words sounded choked as if they didn’t trust their voice enough to speak louder. She almost didn’t hear them over the growing sound of rain yet their voice radiated through the empty spaces left by the droplets.

“Why are you here?” Her voice cracked and she squeezed her eyes shut.

She had hoped for a moment of peace as she stood by her grandfather’s grave but now it seemed she wouldn’t get what she wished for. Was a moment of quiet too much to ask?

The smell of the rain was calming to her, reminding her of the many summer afternoons she had spent with her grandfather, sitting in the park, watching the birds and insects reappear after a storm. It was always so breathtaking to watch the sunshine chase away the grey clouds that had brought the few moments of fear.

“I’m here to pay my respects.” The answer was delayed and she had been thinking they hadn’t heard her. “I missed the funeral yesterday.”

She sniffed. “Thank you for coming.”

She couldn’t blame them for coming or missing the service—after all, she had missed it herself. Family matters had called her back home where she had to sort out problems that had arisen because of the recent passing of her grandmother.

Now that her grandfather was gone, she was completely alone. A sudden feeling of abandonment crept over her, cold and foreign as she stood there. She couldn’t rely on the people she always turned to because they weren’t there anymore. Time had taken its toll on them, tearing them down and eventually taking them away entirely from her life.

A sigh escaped her lips and she took a step back, preparing to head back to the car.

“It’s following you.” They spoke louder this time and she could hear them properly, realizing that it was a male that stood next to her.

“What?” she asked, shoving her hands into her pockets.

“The Nightmare.”

She looked over at him, brushing her hair out of her face as she did so. Behind him, off to the side, she could see what he was talking about. The creature stood at the same height as her, its entire body nothing more than a seething sea of darkness. Underneath its filmy skin, she could see something moving, writhing, but looked away. Its glowing green eyes locked onto hers and, although it didn’t have a face, she knew it was smiling.

“Are you scared of Nightmares?” she questioned, stepping closer. “Don’t we all have one?”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Then why do you care?”

“They’re dangerous.”

She bit the tip of her tongue to keep herself from snapping back. “I’ll handle it. It’s not a rogue Nightmare so don’t bother yourself with it.”

He leaned his head to the side and she caught a glimpse of his face. It was only a split second but that was all it took. He had eyes as dark as the storm clouds above them and as matte as the grave header before them. They shimmered in the dying daylight as he looked her over.

“I doubt you’re strong enough to handle them.” His words were sharp and sudden, reminding her of static on an old radio set.

Taking a deep breath, she answered. “I don’t know who you are that you can see my Nightmare or that you think you can handle it and frankly, I don’t care. But it’s annoying me that you’re trying to meddle in my affairs.”

He laughed as lightning flashed across the sky, startling her. “Fine. But don’t try and say I didn’t warn you.”

“Warn me?” she scoffed. “You didn’t warn me. You undermined my ability to protect myself.”

In a split second, he stood before her, mere inches away. The air around him was freezing cold, stealing the air from her lungs and paralyzing her. He smelled of iron, a mix between the aroma of metal and blood.

“Your Nightmare will go rouge eventually, Ms. Glass.” His words were like knives, digging into her skin and grabbing at the muscles and tendons beneath. “And when it does, you will regret snapping at me.”

“I highly doubt it,” she managed.

“I don’t.” He stepped around her and stopped by her side. “I don’t doubt it at all.”

She watched as he disappeared out of the corner of her eye and, only when he was gone was she able to breathe normally again. Her shoulders hunched forward, attempting to warm her shaking body.

Everything about him had been cold, reminding her of the air that currently danced around her. A shiver raced up her spine, clawing at her skin as she pulled her jacket tighter around her.

“Idiot,” she muttered under her breath.

The rain began to pick up and the cold drops soaked through her sleeves and onto the skin beneath. Gritting her teeth, she looked down at the grave before her, her knees suddenly weak.

“I’ll come back, grandpa.” She sniffed. “Just not today.”

****

Michelle sat in the grey office, wet hair slicked back out of her face. She hadn’t left right away after the stranger had disappeared, but had stayed there to have a few moments in quiet. The storm had finally chased her off, soaking her to the bone, and now her hair was dripping water onto the carpet.

“Do you need a towel?” Missy slid into her desk chair, giving her a concerned glance. “I know it’s been a rough week for you but if you don’t dry off, you’ll get a cold.”

“I already changed clothes,” she spoke up. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” She didn’t ask again after Michelle gave her a firm nod, waving off any look of concern.

“I’m sure you know why I asked for this interview,” Missy started. “And although I know this is a touchy subject, these are questions I still have to ask.”

“It’s fine,” she reassured her. “I’m okay.”

Missy clicked her pen opened and looked over the list of questions that lay on her desk. “The first one is one that the media has been asking repeatedly for the past twenty-four hours: why did you miss your grandfather’s funeral?”

Michelle took a deep breath and leaned back in her seat. “I was visiting my home back in Hong Kong actually. As you know, my grandmother passed away a couple of months ago and her home-going caused some problems to arise at the estate.”

She nodded, jotting down notes. “And how are you doing with the passing of your grandmother?”

“It’s not something that goes away quickly,” she started. “But little by little, I’m making my way through it. After all, grief is a process that can’t be rushed.”

Michelle bit her tongue and clenched her jaw to keep the tears from rushing to her eyes. She knew it was coming—it was inevitable—and the state she was in was still fragile.

“Now that the previous CEO of Gateway is no longer in office, who do you think is going to take that position?” Missy shifted in her seat slightly, uncomfortable with the question.

“It’ll be handed over to Liam Sanchez,” she answered. “My grandfather took him under his wing when he was just a young businessman and has helped him grow immensely in the past fifteen years. As you know, I am not yet old enough to take over the company so, until I am, Liam will be keeping an eye on Gateway for me.”

Missy smiled. “Are you and Liam close?”

“I know him.” She nodded, forcing a smile. “But close isn’t the word I’d use.”

The room settled into silence, weighing on her shoulders as she awaited the next question.

“Rumor has it that your grandfather enrolled you in Gateway’s Apprenticeship Program. Is that true?”

The question took Michelle by surprise but she kept the smile in place as she answered. “Rumors are called rumors for a reason, Missy. They’re not true.”

“What are your connections to Nehemiah Koehn?”

Michelle narrowed her eyes, unable to hide her annoyance.

“Along with the rumor of you entering the Apprenticeship Program, many people were wondering who your Mentor would be,” she quickly clarified. “I know you said that the rumors weren’t true but I still have to ask.”

“I’ve already put those rumors to rest so I’ll just answer your first question.” Michelle ran a hand through her hair. “I’ve known Nehemiah Koehn and his brother for quite a while now and yes, if I was to go through the Apprenticeship Program, he would probably be my Mentor but I am not doing that.”

Missy shut her notebook and clicked the stop button on the recorder. “Thank you for taking the time out of your day to come in.”

She smiled and stood. “Anytime.”

She headed for the door but stopped when Missy stepped between her and the exit. The casual smile that had been on her face fell away and Michelle saw the worry that had been hidden beneath. It wove its way through the early-set wrinkles that lined her mouth and eyes, making her look years older than she actually was.

“Just between you and me, Michelle, and off the record,” she spoke. “Let me know if you need anything. And I mean anything. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

Michelle slowly relaxed and took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

The woman stepped to the side and she brushed past her. Michelle didn’t look back.

Neither did her Nightmare.

****

Darkness swam around Michelle as she shut the door of her apartment behind her. Normally, the lights would be on and the smell of food would be coming from the kitchen but instead, everything was still—lifeless.

A sigh escaped her lips without her thinking about and she dropped her keys onto the counter. Slipping out of her jacket, she headed for her room where she quickly changed into more comfortable clothes.

She turned on every light in the living room before moving into the kitchen where she flipped all the switches, bathing the room in light. The counters were clean, the stove untouched, and no dirtied plates in the sink, all reminding her of the fact that no one was there.

No one besides her.

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed her eyes shut as the emotions welled up in her chest, making her whole body ache. The back of her throat burned as the sobs came but she swallowed them back, refusing to admit that grief had weighed on her shoulders immensely.

She gripped the edge of the counter to keep herself from crumbling to the floor. The last thing she wanted to do was listen to the sound of her screams fill the empty space around her so she clenched her jaw and forced herself to stand. One more day of pushing the feelings down wouldn’t hurt.

She’d done it before, she could do it again.

One of these days,

I'm going to prove that you not only ruined my life,

But the lives of others.

I can't prove it,

But I know you badmouthed me,

Befriended my friends so you could turn them against me.

I've seen you do it before.

I know how manipulative you can be,

Persuading others to take your side.

I was the one you confided in about Skylar.

How you listed all of her faults,

And got me on your side.

Skylar didn't really do anything wrong.

She just chose to keep parts of her life private,

Just as I did.

Then there was Jack,

You claimed he was abusive,

That he hit you.

Which if it was true,

Was absolutely wrong of him.

But I was witness when you verbally berated him.

Broke him down.

Mocked him about his prowess,

Goaded and baited him.

Still, others, pledge loyalty to you.

Stand by you.

But I know the truth.

And my revenge fantasy is that one day others will see it, too.

The monster that you really are.

No one would ever expect them to be friends, yet as soon as the cameras started rolling nonstop, Stephanie and Evie became best friends. Viewers would be able to spot it a mile away if they had an IQ higher than a pickle’s. I could at least see what was happening the moment we started to try to truncate 128 hours of filming into a two-part pilot. Stephanie was your typical alpha female. Though she was pretty, she had a mouth that could drive even the most gullible person away. Evie was similarly pretty, and had spent most of her introduction bragging about her popularity then had the nerve to wonder why no one liked her. Once they met, Evie clicked with Stephanie solely because she was pretty, though the side she was on was almost immediately blurred.

We watched the footage while clutching cups of popcorn and taking notes. We had to fill seven roles and push the girls into them one way or another. Evie made her role very clear. The first night, when Stephanie got shitfaced and ended up passed out in her underwear in the foyer, Evie had gone with a few of the other, less compatible girls up to the rooftop. Liquor was still flowing but I noticed that Evie was sipping on her drinks rather than guzzling them down like the other girls. She had said that Stephanie was pretty but had no brain behind that pretty face. We all let out audible “ooh”s when we saw that and made notes of the time to ensure that that was in the final reel.

Later, goody-two-shoes Allyson went back to Stephanie with the memory of the night fresh. Be careful who you make your friend, the youngest girl in the house had warned. We made a note to dub her the good guy of the pilot until further notice. Being who she was, Stephanie cornered Evie and tried to talk to her. She was rude but not disrespectful. I thought you were my friend, bitch, but apparently, you’re talking shit behind my back. What’s up with that? Evie had backtracked, claiming to be drunk when she said that and assuring Stephanie that she didn’t mean it like that. Stephanie, being trusting, decided to give Evie another chance.

As the first week went on and later the next, the dynamic between them became chiseled in stone. Stephanie and Evie would talk shit about the other girls that they were forced to share a house with (some insults were facetious and some insults were genuine) then Evie would tell her friend Fredericka what was said after Stephanie went to bed (casually leaving out what she said), and the game of telephone slowly turned the girls against Stephanie. By the seventeenth day in the mansion, the girls had a plan to get Stephanie kicked out. Evie agreed to take Stephanie to the club the next night to let the girls prepare to ambush her.

We watched anxiously as Evie and Stephanie (along with Allyson since she was actually a neutral person and we planned to portray her that way) got ready to go clubbing. Stephanie was talking about her boyfriend or something that feigned as being chitchat when it was really rather deep. Hearing this girl talk about her how ex had driven her to the house where she got jumped for the first time by his sister and a few cousins made us want to intervene sooner than we did. But, this was just the playback, so all we could do was watch and regret our decisions.

One camera crew followed Evie, Stephanie, and Allyson while two others stayed behind and watched the other girls plot. They started with her bed. Every season is the same. Her mattress was covered with bleach and itching powder and tossed over the balcony. We had intervened before they put bleach on her clothes but not before some of her stuff was tossed in the pool, used to clog the toilet, then torn and ruined. The girls then went to work writing “liar” and “fake” all over her profile page. We watched for two grueling hours while they ruined everything this girl ever claimed to be hers.

The most painful part though came when the three got home. Allyson, being a rather likable (though spoiled) kid, came in and was clearly stunned by the destruction. She was followed by Stephanie, who almost instantly went ballistic, and Evie, who wore her signature devilish smirk. Stephanie raced up the stairs, saw her room, and went charging like a raging bull outside. There, the opposing four girls seized her and began to mercilessly pound on her. Allyson, hearing the commotion, ran out and jumped in it, but Evie just stood back and watched.

Security raced out and the shit really hit the fan. Security did more damage than good by tackling the huddle, sending them all into the pool. This gave them the opportunity to try to drown her which meant sending out more security to physically pull apart each girl and get them all safely out of the water. At this point, the head security officer had called me at three in the morning, screaming and hollering and cussing like he’d lost his damn mind. I had to go see them.

The scene was gruesome then but watching it back was hard. Stephanie was leaking blood and sputtering since she had been underwater for at least a minute before enough security guards could get there to separate them. Once they did, our medical team came to assess her. All of the girls had wounds (except Evie who’d only got involved to save face) but Stephanie had it the worse. She had gotten water in her lungs, which immediately sent her to the hospital, but she also had a broken hand, a bruised tibia, a cracked rib, and an unsightly gash on her head that needed stitches. We had to cut filming her short, especially when she tried to threaten to sue despite the terms in the contract, and sent her home.

We had given the girls a severe verbal lashing the next day for the brawl and cut everyone but Allyson, Evie, and Stephanie’s pay severely for sending Stephanie to the hospital. Yet, watching it back filled me with such rage. The whole time, we had been rooting against Stephanie for her mouth. We called her fake, chastised her for talking shit, and had typecast her as being the bitch for this season. But it wasn’t her. The girl may have been a loudmouth who never bit her tongue, but the real bad guy was the snake in the grass, and the fact that none of us caught that until the very end made me sick.

Note: read the prologue first (Storm at Sea)!

Chapter One: Alaena

“To the bride!”

Laughter rang out, joining the general celebration. Alaena shifted uncomfortably, the seams of her dress itchy against her skin. Whoever had made this costume ought to be shot. She turned her attention to the ceremony, which seemed to consist of Corola (1) Síndraffok and Alaena’s own rayawa (2) congratulating themselves and each other on the fine deal they had struck. She felt helpless, a doll being tossed around to give everyone a fair chance. Over by the wall stood Raduko, with a smug smile on his face. Without meaning to, she caught his eye and he walked over to where she was standing. She shuddered.

“I’ve been hoping for a chance to speak to you,” he confided in a conspiratorial whisper that somehow managed to carry out across the little group that surrounded them. Alaena kept her head down but looked across the room to where her rayawa laughed and talked with the Corola. Her suylawa (3) glanced over and the warning in her eyes was clear. Don’t mess this up for us.

“Yes, trewa (4)” she replied with her eyes down and hands clasped together.

He scoffed and gently clasped her left hand with his. “Oh come now. Surely we can dispense with the formalities? My rayki (5)” - and here he put a slight emphasis on rayki - “would never need to grovel and bow before me.” He was getting uncomfortably close to her, now pitching his voice lower to avoid the straining ears of the party-goers around them. “Unless of course… she wanted to.”

Alaena felt his hand slide around her waist and then further down and fought the urge to scream. With a barely noticeable crack in her voice she said, “Of course Raduko, I will do as you ask.”

Raduko was not unhandsome, built in the solid way of the native Liaki (6) people. His blue eyes were perhaps a little watery and his hair slightly straw-like but the overall picture was rather pleasant. Besides, any physical deficiencies would be readily overlooked by any woman with half a brain as his last name was far more important. Raduko Síndraffok was the Corolaki, the heir to a tidy sum of money that Alaena and most of the village saw as riches beyond their wildest dreams. It was just a pity that he had to be such a tria (7) as well.

As quickly as she could Alaena excused herself and made her way to the opposite side of the celebration, suppressing a gasp of relief when she could no longer feel Raduko pressed up against her. Again resisting the urge to scratch at the place where the hastily made and cheap corset bounded her waist - something that would not endear her to her future rayawa-i (8), who were watching her with the same intensity as her rayawa - she looked again around the room in an effort to appear happy and interested. It was large and the haze from torches that normally graced a party in her household was absent. The Sindraffok have spared no expenses, she thought, looking up at the balls of light that hung by the ceiling. They hired Omako (9). Now that she knew to look for them she easily spotted them, wearing robes edged with blue thread designs. There were two, one mingling in the party and the other standing discreetly in the corner. Alaena knew that this one was keeping the lights in the air, lighting the party through Omnaya’s gift. The other one would relieve him at some point, and they would switch places.

“Excuse me suki (10), what goes here?”

She turned and found herself face to face with a young man. He was pale, foreign. His accent placed him in the farther reaches of Morgul, over two months of travel away. “I’m not sure what you mean, trewa. This is the Tamoryap.” A crease appeared in his brow and she hastened to explain. “The ceremony before the Tomoryap? When two people are joined?”

His face cleared. “Ah,” he exclaimed, still with that thick accent. “A wedding”.

She had not heard the word he used, guljaki, but she decided to assume he was right. “Yes. My name is Alaena, I am the rayki and that is Raduko Síndraffok, the treywa. What business do you have here, if not to join the festivities?”

“My pardon, rayki. I did not mean offend. Many congratulations on happy occasion. I am…” he struggled for the right phrase. “Giving? No, giving and taking. A give-and-take?” He looked pleadingly at her. She frowned, thinking.

“A trade?” she asked hesitantly. He smiled.

“Yes! I apologize. A broja-i,” he said, turning the word over in his mouth. “I am from ship, appear yesterday. We go tomorrow to next place. Journey of two, three weeks? I do not understand this language, am here to practice. Going not-so-well,” he added ruefully and she laughed.

“I can understand you, at least. What are you trading?” she asked, using the same word as before. This time he seemed to understand and started talking with enthusiasm. His accent shrank, his vowels sounding less forced. It was obvious that this was the kind of talk he had been exposed to most.

“Many things. Cloth, silk, jewelry. Wood comes in a separate boat, along with small animals such as haroc (11). Maybe at some point your treyawa (12) would like to come and peruse our wares.”

She smiled. “Of course. We will have need of fine silks and wood to carve very soon. Tell me, where do you travel from?”

He was also well-versed in this answer, and responded promptly. “We travel the coast of Liath, picking up and leaving goods at each port until we reach Ombroja-i where we sail to Morgul. We unload and purchase more cargo before repeating the journey. It generally takes several months.”

Alaena’s mind worked fast but before she could ask another question she felt someone behind her. She looked up into her Orel’s jovial face and felt something fold up tight inside of her. “Treyawa.”

“Suylaki. Or I should say, rayki. Why are you standing here all alone? Has your treywa tired of you so soon?”

She dipped her head. “No treyawa. I am merely conversing with…” looking around, she realized she had never caught his name.

“Lyonya, trewa. An honor to meet you. Congratulations, your fine daughter has I am sure made an equally fine choice in raywa.”

Alaena winced and held her breath. That poor innocent boy. Lyonya had done nothing to deserve what would come other than be the victim of a cultural misunderstanding. Orel cut his eyes across to her and she knew he would take at least some of that slip out of her own hide. What had she been doing? This was the worst moment to draw attention to herself by fraternizing with foreigners. Orel finally opened his mouth.

“I am afraid, trewa-i (13), that you have made a mistake. However it was an innocent one and I am sure it will soon be smoothed over. You see, I chose Raduko as a fitting raywa, and I am sure that the Corola his treyawa has seen that Alaena is quite the prize for Raduko. It is very fortunate that they both agree with this arrangement and are happy to carry out our wishes but it is not necessary.” Alaena could plainly see that Lyonya was terrified but he squared his shoulders and returned her treyawa’s glare with one surpassing it in defiance, if not in intimidation. On impulse, a wild guess, Alaena took his hand for an instant as he faced off. At last however, he looked away.

“It is not where I stand to defy you, trewa. Customs here are not as my customs. I will not fight it, but I cannot… I am not sure. Allow? Condone. I cannot condone it. Good day, trewa. May your candles burn bright and your nets be full.” He bowed, and walked stiffly away with his hands closed into fists. One of them, Alaena prayed, had the small scrap of paper she had slipped to him still clutched in it.

Footnotes:

1 Position of prestige in the governmental hierarchy, somewhat akin to mayor.

2 Parents: a combination of raya meaning bonds (taken from the goddess Rayas) and the suffix -wa, meaning protector but also signifying ownership

3 Mother: a combination of Suylat, the god of childbirth, food, and courage and the suffix -wa.

4 'Sir', a term of respect taken from the god Treyal and the suffix -wa

5 Woman in romantic partnership, roughly translated as ‘wife’. This uses a more contracted form of raya and the suffix -wa to show the bond and also ownership in the position. Rayki can be used by anyone to describe a married woman, while wife is used exclusively by the husband. It's basically a title, like sir.

6 Being of Liath, a denizen or citizen of Liath. From the root lia and the suffix -ki, meaning protected and signifying subservience

7 Literally translated to enterer, but with a much dirtier connotation.

8 Parents by marriage, same as rayawa but with the added suffix -i, signifying an external link

9 Those who use the power gifted by the god Omnaya. The closest translation is magic-user or magician.

10 Best translated to 'miss', a diminishing but polite way to address young women.

11 Small rodents that forage for small greens and also bugs. The 'h' is silent.

12 Father, parallel structure to mother. So Treyal plus suffix -wa

13 Not a usual combination but carefully designed to draw attention to his foreignness and also slight him.

June 4th, 2016

I was falling through a void, alone, in silence, but a good sort of silence. I wasn’t afraid, and was wrapped in a blissfully peaceful feeling. The next moment, I was sitting, fully clothed, in the upstairs bathtub, in jeans and a t-shirt. I wasn’t alone. A well-built black woman, arms crossed in a distinctly sassy way, pointed down at me, and, in a commanding voice, said “You need to shave ’yo legs!”

January 5th, 2019

A roughly three-part dream, which was incredibly disjointed, and that I only really remember in bullet-point form, which included:

Trying to save two cedar trees from being taken down to make a chicken barn on a property that was very similar to the property of some old friends.

An abrupt shift of perspective/dream/topic

Climbing a mountain on horseback (the horses looked like fjord horses) to go to another place for some sort of gathering. The place was a village built on stilts on the edge of a permanently frozen ice lake. We looked like vikings. I remember thinking the saddles were super cool.

Betraying that place, sending in two giant elephants (think lord of the rings style Oliphants) while watching from above on a nearby cliff where our camp was

Being horrified about that as the elephants demolished the badly built town.

Apathetic comrades

Chaos. Fire, for some reason, burning the buildings.

The sudden appearance of zombie ghosts. Two took possession of the elephants.

?????

Zombie ghost king appearing, along with its ‘pet’, a Lich dragon that was huge, that it had possessed. The dragon was made out of bones, and lit on fire. The fire was green.

More chaos.

Another abrupt perspective shift

Watching all this from above on the back of a small dragon with triceratops-style horns. On this dragon was me, apparently now a dragon rider, as well as a very pretty princess, and my solider buddy from when we were climbing mountains on horses. We were scared.

Forgetting the zombie dragon king, flying super high, diving super fast.

Fourth random perspective shift

I was a small blue dragon, inside some tunnels leading up to the ice lake town, hiding. I was scared and hiding as I watched a huge zombie dragon clawing its way to the surface through the tunnels.

Then I woke up.

March ? 2020

I dreamed I was wandering around a strange place. It was roughly square shaped, and looked like an outdoor night market straight out of a story book, arranged around the empty square space, that I instinctively knew was a void. Around this square and pointing inwards towards it were all kinds of openings. I remember some - a tunnel of fabrics, a huge oak door that was stories tall, as well as a square that led to only a different kind of black void. We (A group of around 5, made up of people I don’t recall) were looking for something. We searched through the marketplace, looking into the openings, but not finding anything really. All the doors opened into different spaces, mostly small rooms - A ship’s cabin, a forest, a whimsical room from a Bed and Bath I’d stayed at in the past, and a storage closet. There were hundreds. We eventually saw other people, from every imaginable setting, also looking for something, not pausing. The only one who did was a kind faced man who was wearing an antique diver’s suit, who simply nodded at us. Eventually, we came to a opening that lead into a fortune teller’s tent, dark and covered in fabrics. The fortune teller convinced us to look into her crystal ball. I looked, and saw something....

I can’t remember what I saw.