“Why can’t we call it magic?” Marieke, councilor Nabil’s seven year old daughter, asks me again. She’s chewing on the end of a blade of grass, her little legs crossed underneath her.

I stand, brushing dirt of my trousers, and watch Lise attempt to herd the other children back into the château in an orderly fashion. We’ve just finishing up our lessons with the council member’s children, something that the education branch is specifically tasked with. Ever since Lise and I turned sixteen we’ve been teaching the young ones. Anyone our age or older had had lessons from Father.

“Magic makes it sound mysterious, but alterations aren’t like that, right? You can learn how to do it, just like everyone else can,” I tell Marieke.

“But why does it come from the suns?” she asks as she clambers to her feet.

“We don’t know that yet,” I admit. “But that’s one of the things the council researches. Who knows? It could be your job one day.”

Marieke shakes her head. “No way. I’m going to know all the plants in the world instead,” she insists. “Just like Papa.” She takes off running in the opposite direction of the château, yelling, “I already know a bunch!”

I follow her, having little other choice, and stop just short of where Marieke is crouched down. “These ones are dahlias,” she tells me, running a hand over a bunch of pink flowers as large as her head. They’ve only just bloomed and are beautifully vibrant, planted along the path near the plum trees. I wait as she babbles a few facts about them and then starts attempting to count the petals on one.

“Come on, Marieke, someone will be here to pick you up, and we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

“I don’t mind waiting,” comes a voice from behind me, and suddenly Mickaël is walking around me and stopping in between me and Marieke, his hands clasped behind his back.

All the words I’d had suddenly drop into the pit of my stomach as I recall our conversation from two days ago. The conversation I’d had with Lightfoot, to be more precise. I’d done a superb job of avoiding Mickaël since then. As soon as I’d stormed off that night I’d recognized how poorly I’d handled the entire conversation, but I couldn’t very well turn around and apologize. I mean, I could have, but I refused to.

Truth be told, I’d been caught completely off guard by his refusal to help me. We’d never worked explicitly together, but I’d always assumed our goals were aligned, and that he considered me an ally. But it seems that he’s as snobbish as Lightfoot as he tends to be as Mickaël.

“I didn’t realize you were coming,” I tell him flatly, watching Marieke pick a ladybug off a leaf and scrunch up her face, concentrating, before successfully altering a patch of skin on her hand reddish with black spots.

Mickaël observes Marieke as well, a soft smile on his face. “That was very good,” he tells her, and she gives him a cautious look. To me he says, “A neighbor’s duty.” The cosmology château, where he lives, is closest to the environment château, so he has escorted the kids before. But only when his older brother Adrien is busy.

“You two should go,” I say, folding my arms.

Marieke is sitting in the dirt again, and Mickaël lazily circles the nearest plum tree. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re mad at me. But I don’t see why,” Mickaël says, catching my eye as he reaches up and plucking a plum from its branch. “Is she mad at me?” he asks Marieke in a stage whisper, offering the girl the plum.

Marieke shies away from the fruit and stands up. “Usually when Julienne’s mad she’s mad at Lise,” she states matter-of-factly.

Mickaël erupts into laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Yes, you’re right,” he says, looking at me as he takes a bite of the plum. I try not to roll my eyes too hard, and I make sure not to smile either.

“Alright, come on, Marieke.” I gesture toward the château, and luckily I don’t need to prod Marieke any more; she skips off in the direction of the limestone building.

Mickaël matches my stride as we follow behind the girl. “What’s upset you?” His hair isn’t tied back at all, and it swirls around his face as a breeze blows by us. When I don’t answer, he takes another bite of plum. “If it’s what was said at the council dinner, just know that it’s not an issue. No one’s even talking about it.”

“You are,” I bite back.

“Fine, then at least I hope she’s worth the trouble.”

When we enter the château, Lise is waiting with Joseph, Estelle, and Cédric. Joseph is currently trying to convince Cédric that he’s strong enough to push his wheelchair, which is doubtful, because Joseph is the tiniest (but loudest) nine year old I’ve ever seen. Cédric is telling him not to, while his sister Estelle, at sixteen, watches without comment. She starts biting her nails when we walk into the room.

“What were you doing out there?” Lise asks, pulling the château’s back doors closed behind us and putting out a hand for Marieke to hold. “Ready to go?” she asks the girl.

Marieke glances back at Mickaël and I. “I don’t wanna go with him,” she whispers to Lise. “Can’t you or Julienne take me?”

Lise shakes her head, kneeling down to get on Marieke’s level. “We’ve got to take Cédric, Estelle, and Joseph back to their château, just like we do after every lesson. Besides, Mickaël is very nice.”

Marieke, still not convinced, looks over at Mickaël again. "But where's Adrien?"

I notice Mickaël visibly flinch at the mention of his elder brother, but he tries to cover it by reaching into his pocket with a flourish and pulling out a fresh plum. He must be stocking up. “You can tell me about all the plant you know on the way there?” he tries, offering it to her.

For the second time she refuses the fruit, but she does let go of Lise’s hand. “Ok.”

Stuck with an extra plum, Mickaël turns and holds the fruit up, silently staring at me until I raise my hand, palm-up. He grins in response, placing the plum into my hand, his fingertips grazing my wrist. Without meaning to my skin alters into iridescent fish scales under his touch. He doesn’t seem to notice, just says, “Do cheer up,” before guiding Marieke away.

* *

It’s not until late that I can slip away from the château, and I’m already not liking my chances of success for this outing. But now the suns are already set, which means I need to be very careful about my use of alterations, but I can’t put this off for another day. It has to be today.

Before I lose my nerve, I’m running along the rooftops of the city, my clothes swapped out for Raven’s, my mask and hair extensions in place to better disguise my identity. I’m Raven. I’m Raven and Raven is perfectly capable of fighting when she needs to, even when Julienne isn’t.

The man at the door of the Altar murmurs something as I enter, but I’m not paying attention to him. Inside I’m met with dazzling lights, mirrors reflecting the different colored lantern flames a million times over, and the flow of costumed bodies, dancing to a drum beat that sounds a bit too much like my own heart. Usually the theatrics dazzle me, but I refuse to be distracted, because I have to find her. Kira’s always here on the same day each week, and I have to hope that she’s here tonight as well.

“Raven!” A girl no older than fifteen is in front of me, her cheeks glittering with scales and pearls, her reddish hair piled on top of her head. I've never seen her before, and I feel a bit of pride that she recognizes me, but there’s also something about the joy in her smile that makes me feel guilty.

“That’s me,” I say with a quirk of my mouth, and she laughs nervously.

We get jostled by two men dancing with each other, and she says eagerly, “I think you’re amazing!”

I’m trying to scan the room, but I take the time to look down at her. “Thank you…”

“Portia!” she shouts over the growing noise. “Are you looking for someone?”

I’m about to answer when I see a flash of blue hair, and it’s so predictable it hurts, because there Kira is, in the same outfit I’d met her in. She’s across the room, spinning in graceful circles, her arms ribboned in white lace and her hair, shaved on either side, dyed blue. I know from experience that any alterations she may have made at the beginning of the evening will have faded away by now. It's her.

“Sorry, I have to go,” I tell Portia, and she looks so starstruck that I’m not sure she heard me. I appreciate her admiration, but I’m glad that most people don’t have that reaction; it would make walking around the city a lot harder.

Eyes still on Kira, I make my way across the crowd, but an older woman with half her face and arms decorated in octopus suction cups grabs my elbow, spinning me in the opposite direction. “Dance, darling,” she’s saying, and I squirrel out of her grip. When I whip my head around, Kira is gone.

* *

previous: https://theprose.com/post/533092/to-be-lonelier-than-a-sun

I suck in air as my eyes fly open, the lightest of early morning sun warming my cheek but doing little to stop the flood of images in my head. Fingers, worms, muscles contracting and bones snapping and a tiger’s eye. I can never remember much from the nightmares, but they always leave my stomach feeling empty, like I’ve just thrown up.

Lise stirs next to me, still asleep. Mother says we’re too old to still sleep together–meaning sleep next to each other, as Lise has made it clear that she’s not romantically interested in me or anyone else. When I realized at thirteen that I was attracted to most anyone, I’d gone through a short phase of trying to get her to like me, which mostly involved teasing and taunting. It’s a wonder she still hasn’t grown sick of me.

But we never grew out of sleeping in the same bed. When we were young I used to yell and kick in my sleep, when the nightmares were bad. Mother and Father, at the other end of the château, wouldn’t hear me. They never came to comfort me, not unless our housekeeper, Giselle, went and fetched them. It was always Lise that would come instead to wake me, or to whisper to me until I fell asleep again. Eventually we both agreed that she should just stay in my room all of the time. Though neither of us would admit it, we’re both lonely enough to crave the company.

I get up and get dressed, even though I know it will probably wake Lise. I’m not as sneaky as I think I am around her. She sits up while I’m buttoning my cape at my throat and looks at me for just a half-second before murmuring, “Nightmare?”

There’s no use in lying, so I break eye contact and nod. She swings her feet off the bed, standing, but hasn’t said anything more. I stare at the plait of her braid at her back while she makes her way to the wardrobe. Before she says anything else, I state, “I’m going down to meet Mother.”

* *

I’m sure every morning is chaos in some of the other châteaus, depending on the number of children and elders and members of Service. I can picture council member Régis, his husband, and his four kids in their half of the finance council château; it’s probably bustling with life, with the littlest kids running underfoot and their pre-teen daughter bored of it all and the staff trying desperately to keep everyone in line while also preparing breakfast.

Here, though, in the education château, it’s silent as I make my way downstairs via the outside staircase. The air is already warm and arid, even in the early morning. The suns glimmer on the horizon, one orange and one white. I can see all the land that our château encompasses: the patio and gardens and grassy fields. It’s all empty of movement, save for two birds that twitter as they fly by. An extensive landscape of seclusion, given to us under the guise of luxury.

Back inside, I join Mother in the drawing room, where she always works before breakfast. She has a desk that she piles with the reports from all the other council members, arranged into three stacks: to read, reading, or completed reading. As the head education councilor she believes that she must stay up to date on everything.

She lowers the report in her hands, pulling her small reading glasses off her nose and watching me sit down in the center of the room. “Julienne, nice of you to return to the world of the council.” Her voice is soft; she doesn’t like to scold me, but I know she’s upset that I ditched the end of the council dinner yesterday.

I fold my arms. “Mother, they didn’t need me there. I’m not on council.”

She gets up from behind her desk, twirling her long black hair back into a practiced bun and holding it in place with a feather quill. “Yet. You won’t get this position when I retire if you don’t show that you want it. You need to be as involved as possible.”

I resist rolling my eyes. “I’m involved,” I tell her half-heartedly.

After a beat, she sits on the sofa across from me. “And you also need to stay out of trouble, Jul.”

I feel my neck grow hot, and it itches like it’s going to alter, but I stop myself. Flashes of adrenaline do that to people. She doesn’t know about me going out as Raven, of course, but I don’t like lying and I don’t want her to think I have something to hide.

“Do you want to talk about the girl?” Mother asks. Her long fingers lace together in front of her, and she’s giving me a hard stare. This is an interrogation, I realize, about the rumor last night.

I tip my head back. “It’s not important! Everything’s fine now. She’s gone.”

“Osmont says he saw you two together multiple times. Who is she?” She’s using that voice that she uses on the children that we teach. The voice where she pretends to be on your side but really you’re about to be in trouble.

Curse Osmont and his persistent need to stick his nose into other people’s business. He’s the other education council member but doesn’t have a partner or kids, so his sole duty seems to be meddling in places he doesn’t belong. We had the misfortune of running into each other when I’d brought a girl back to the château, and I’d intended to keep the whole thing quiet, but he has a way of running his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter–”

“It does matter, because we have principles to uphold, Julienne. Toying with city girls is not what we civilized people do.” Her fingers are laced tighter together, her knuckles white.

I hate the pressure building behind my eyes, the feeling that I’m about to cry. “I wasn’t toying with her,” I choke out, remembering the smell of her hair and the way she always giggled when I’d kissed her.

Mother moves so that she’s sitting next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “All you have to do is introduce her to the council, Julienne. If you want to see her. You know the rules.”

I try to subtly blink the tears back, my fists clenching my lap. The rules. The unofficial rules are that if I’m going to be a council member, I have to get approval on my choice of partner or partners. Anyone in the châteaus, council member or just family, is privy to council knowledge and needs to be trusted. But it all seems unnecessary if I’m not going to marry the person.

Mother rubs my arm soothingly. “I won’t repeat what was said, but you know how stories can unfold into ugly misconceptions. Running off yesterday didn’t help. You need to show the council that you’re responsible and mature.”

Responsible and mature, two adjectives that I’ve never been called in all my life. I shrug her hand off of me. “Right, because that’s simple enough.”

Mother gives me a thin smile. “It’s not hard to win them back to your side. Either make the relationship official, or come with me to the dissertations next week. As a sign of good interest.”

I actually laugh. “You can’t be serious, Mother. Even you find the dissertations boring; I will die of disinterest.” I dig my nails into my palm. “And the girl is gone. So that’s not an option.”

Mother stands, her cape twirling around her legs. “So be it, we will die of disinterest together. And next time, please just present your partner to the council and spare us the drama, yes?”

I stare into the rug on the ground and mutter, “Yes, Mother,” before getting up and leaving.

It's then, walking through the empty hallway, that my mind replays my last memory of Kira, or 'the girl', as Mother called her.

We were laying on the back terrace, basking in the sun like lizards, eating plums off the tray between us. We were deliciously alone; Mother and Osmont were at a council meeting, Father was at the council house doing administrative work (he’s basically Mother’s secretary), and even Lise, for once, was out on last-minute errands, as Giselle had fallen ill.

I had plucked the plum out of Kira’s fingers with a sly smile and taken a bite, relishing the taste. Plum trees hadn’t been in season for so long that I felt like I’d forgotten how they tasted. With our planet’s orbit between two suns being as erratic as it is, the seasons are constantly changing, the plant life with it.

“There’s so much sun out here,” Kira had sighed, her mouth slightly upturned.

“It’s never enough,” I reply, stretching my fingers to the sky like I could take the sunbeams into my hands.

“Julienne,” she had said next, and the tone of her voice had my stomach in knots. Something was wrong.

I had faced her then, touched a finger to the dark skin of her stomach where her shirt had ridden up. Her smile was gone. In the moment, I thought she was going to say something, tell me what she was really thinking. I could see the words being plotted out behind her eyes.

All she said was, “This is the end, Julienne. Goodbye,” as she stood up.

I didn’t hear from her again, even though I tried. And tried, and tried. So now I just need to try a little harder.

* *

previous: https://theprose.com/post/531211/we-cant-see-eye-to-eye

next: https://theprose.com/post/537158/everyone-always-leaves

i. reduced to a singularity of twitching anxiety,

i stood on those risers and projected the confidence i knew i lacked.

hands shaking, heart beating faster, faster, f a s t e r

everyone around me moving, talking, singing

too many voices in my mind that won't shut up.

ii. hidden beneath layers of individuality,

i don't stand out, a one in a sea of hundreds

maybe if they don't notice me, they won't notice when i leave.

iii. eyes, locked on mine, almost as intently as my own,

would be off-putting if it weren't so home.

without fear in your eyes, the future of uncertainty

but now all the anxiety is gone, pouf.

iv. you will never know the impact your unflinching gaze had on me.

In that moment, running across the rooftop, I want nothing more than to leap off the side, alter my arms into a collection of familiar inky feathers, and glide to street level. But I don’t. Not with Lise still watching, and definitely not with Mickaël behind me.

I’m banking on Lise’s energy being too low to follow me; she’d been training some of the council’s children on altering earlier in the day so she’ll likely be drained. Mickaël’s easy to shrug off, but Lise? Near impossible. It is her job to be by my side, I know, but it can be exhausting.

Mickaël’s quick, silent feet soon overtake me, and suddenly he’s ahead of me, running like a cat across the shingles, leaping deftly from one building to the next. We’re lucky the architecture in this city is built so close together. He makes a precarious jump, his fingers rippling into a scaly texture as he grabs hold of a drainpipe, then hoists himself up. Gecko hands: a trick he taught me, too.

I follow, only stopping when he does: when we’ve both scaled the side of an old church. He hops into the opening of the bell tower only to sit down on the ledge and dangle his feet outside. He watches me as I climb in much less gracefully, my skin itching to alter, but I hold back. I don’t sit next to him, just put my forearms on the ledge and lean, letting the cold air cool me off after the exercise.

“Better,” he tells me, and I consider pushing him off the ledge. Just because he taught me climbing when we were both pesky kids does not mean I want continual updates on how superior he is. Or thinks he is. I’ve had years of practice--far beyond what he knows about--and I’m often tempted to let loose, to show him what I can really do. But I always hold back. Try not to alter too much, run too fast, jump too smoothly.

“Lise is going to be very upset with me when I return,” is all I say in reply, squinting into the distance as if I might see her. She despises our climbing adventures, partially because she hates to admit that she could never keep up. She’s much more water-oriented than either of us.

“When is Lise not upset? I think she enjoys being in distress over you, Julienne.” Mickaël puts a hand in the air, twirling it slowly, watching the skin flutter between colors and textures. He’s well practiced; he transitions seamlessly from one to the next--black cat fur, cardinal feathers, lizard scales, and back to human skin again.

“Do you just do that to show off?” I don’t bother hiding my annoyance, and his green eyes flash when he looks at me.

With a slow precision, his eyes still on mine, Mickaël alters his whole left arm into peacock feathers. And not just the tail feathers, though those do cover what I can see of his bicep down to his wrist. His hand is the shimmery dark blue of a peacock’s body, his fingertips a pale yellow to match the skin around one's eyes. “And what are you saving up your alterations for tonight?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I can’t tell him. Or I won’t, anyway, so I push away from the ledge and blow out a breath. “Alterations aren’t a party trick,” I recite back to him.

He shifts back to his regular light brown skin. “Not a very good trick when anyone can do it.”

While he’s right--everyone can alter their skin to mimic other creatures--I don’t take the bait and admit that most can’t change that cohesively, let alone make such a show of it. We both know he’s very skilled, so I just kick a boot against the ledge idly.

The last rays of sun are almost gone, and I should technically be back at the dinner. Though, so should he. Not that many would miss him. Most of the council refer to him only as ‘the bastard son,’ which is harsh, but he doesn’t much try to make any other name for himself either.

Regardless, I know for a fact neither of us will be returning to the council dinner, because when the sun sets, we have much, much more exciting things to be doing.

“I should go before Lise finds me and skins me,” I say, sticking my face out of the bell tower to absorb what little sunlight I can still get.

“Do you mind going cheetah print before you do? It’d be a lovely rug, if nothing else.”

This time I do push him, and his fingertips turn into butterfly wings, as if that will help his balance, as he attempts not to fall out of the bell tower.

“Goodbye, Mickaël,” I say with a satisfied smile, then step back out onto the rooftops.

* *

previous: https://theprose.com/post/524433/rooftop-in-golden-light

next: https://theprose.com/post/527193/crows-come-out-at-night

The giving tree of eden

Should not ever be eaten

Because it makes your hair

Grow snakes everywhere

The busy bush that grows

Should never brush your toes

It will lead to wearing socks

Then shoes then city blocks

The flower of destiny

Should be heard but not be seen

Because beauty makes you vain

Which leads to an ego instead of a brain

Parker walked down a narrow path looking back at the black darkness behind him. He looks back in front of him and sees a girl staring at him. The girl walks slowly towards Parker. Parker quickly turns around and sees the girl from his nightmares, Jennie. She starts singing. Parker turns again to see Jennie got closer. He closes his eyes, he opens them to see that Jennie is gone, Parker looks down at a thick red substance, blood. He tries to escape. Parker wakes up in school to see his teacher about to slam a book on his desk.

"Well, Parker you've woken up okay let's get back to the lesson everyone!" the teacher called out. Parker was sweating and eyes wide open he looked at his girlfriend beside him.

"Parker? Are you okay?Was it that nightmare again?"

"Yes, I'm fine." Although he wasn't just fine he didn't want to worry her anymore than she already was. Parker walked home down the normal road, but then he saw her again but this time it wasn't a dream. She didn't do anything but stare at Parker. Parker turned to run away but he was transported to the alley from his dreams. The dark, wet, alley floor sank and he fell down a black abyss. He landed at the bottom with not water but something thicker, blood. He disappeared the that day.

Alright, guys! Today you will follow a step-by-step tutorial on how to breathe! (Yes, around 86.2% of the world population does not know this very important skill. Isn't that sad?)

To start, you must be in a place with air (this may be hard so take your time).

Once you are done with the first step, grab a chair and sit down.

The second step will be hard, so brace yourselves. Open up your nostrils really wide to allow air to go through. Then expand your lungs, and suck up all the air through your nostrils.

The last step is to release the air. There are two ways you could do this.

1. You can sneeze.

Or 2. You can learn to exhale.

To exhale, you must push all the air out of your lungs. There are two exit points: the nose and the mouth. Just a warning, if you choose to exhale out the mouth, the outcome may be an exaggerated sigh.

So that's all! Keep this news article in your pocket in case you forget how to breathe (who knows, I may have just saved your life.)

8:09 am.

It's finally time to move. oh, how long I've waited. much too long, haha! I already packed all of my things and took them to the pawn shop. it all sold for a good amount of money, I'd say! it's all going to getting my few cats a new home. how lovely! they'll be so happy.

8:35 am.

I'm not moving with anybody else, but I sure hope where I'm going is quiet! that's all I've ever wanted! silence.

9:10 am.

now that everything's set, I can sit back and relax for a bit. I'm going to miss this sweet ol' house. such lovely memories... though, I never had the silence I wanted with all the screaming! good ol' father, he was a loud one, he was. too bad he's gone.

9:15 am.

now, for the moving. oh, I can't forget my gun! it's already loaded, so now I just need to go upstairs!

10:34 am.

oh, dear! she made quite the mess, didn't she? oh, well. someone else can clean up. not her though, haha!

10:56 am.

I've reloaded the gun! now it's my turn! finally, silence! that's all I've ever wanted! silence.

11:11 am.

.

There was a time where when things got worse, the towers collapsed. 911 reaplenished, anything and anything could of happened to society and I was set. The love I had around me, pairs upon pairs of open hands for mine umongst anyone we surrounded with needed. But as months set in and events we all wished to forget got undug from the ground. Secrets were let out, bodys mocing states away, much disctruction.the world was messy, but we were messier. It was more of a callateral of personal to societal issues we battled with like an xbox game. Things got unravled like twine to its cardboard roll, relationships started to shread like a paper in the shredder, the feeling of being seen and happy flows down the drain as ever part of you that made you happy didnt exist anymore. The people that were once around me, withered away ash or some ghost. The state I had countless relations with became from my destination to 2000 miles away. Starting over was the worst, finding new comfort within myself or what I could use, new relations, building one with my sister. It became a whole new life I had to adapt and buld. When personal issues hit the cercit, it became what I couldnt handle. My one hunch I never fully developed to deal , I just ignored. Ignored. Ignored. I cant ignore it now, I cant dismiss my mothers death, I cant dismiss the disapearance of my father and his sketchy parts having to do with her deat*. The mess my family is in is so bad, and Im stuck in it. The relations I once had arround me that had vanished, I wanted more than ever now. One person I had loved to talk to, dismissed me like I was apart of her life to forget. The one time I needed at least one person to listen. Relationships had closed out of my mind months ago, once I lost feelings, my want for any other relationship just left. And im fine with that.Right now I think Id rather have little 'crushes' I guess you could say but be by myself. I cant hurt myself anymore right now, and pain from someone else is the last thing I need right now. But the lonliness has slowly been filling up with people. People who are present and give semi fuc*s for all I know but I am fine with that now. Having the oppurtunity to laugh and let loose and think about more than just my family and everything bottled up. I get a break, thats all I really urn for, a breath. Something to get me out of the fogging blast my world has torn into.