by William Riling

Professor Carlton Evers, lost in numb thought, stared at the faded photograph pinched tight between his thumb and forefinger, asking himself in a near silent whisper over and over again, “What if?” “What if?” Two simple words repeating like the scratch of a record needle playing at the end of an LP. The photo in his hand was an old Polaroid, washed by sunlight, dried by the years, leaving behind contrasts one mostly finds in old-world watercolors.

The picture was of a young girl, tan and lithe, her sandy brown hair hung to her browned shoulders. Head tilted, she presented a smile that lit up her freckle kissed face while sparking a light in her electric blue eyes. Clad in a cream white bikini, as if she was posing for a postcard, she sat knees up, arms back, on a large beach towel bearing the imprint of a Union Jack flag. The towel’s design shouldn’t serve as a misdirection, the young girl was by no means British. She was from New Jersey. Had the photo also been able to capture her accent, you’d recognize it as very “South” Jersey. Carlton had won the towel for her from a boardwalk attraction on their very first date.

The photograph was of seventeen-year-old Lori Saunders, also known as Miss Ocean City ’83 and the focal point of Carlton’s summertime romance that same year.

In ’83, Carlton was eighteen years old and a summer season away from attending MIT that same year on a full scholarship. With all his obvious intelligence, it still puzzled the future physicist how he could end up in a summer romance with a girl as beautiful as Lori. What could she see in him? He was after all, a Star Wars geek, an Atari nerd who still lived with his parents, possessing the social skills of a leper in a nudist camp, and as he knew all too well, still a virgin. He was by no means competition for the bronzed surfers and college jocks trolling the beaches, bars and boardwalk scamming for summer tail.

Yet it was his boyish shyness combined with his razor-sharp intellect that attracted the young beauty to him. Plus, when Carlton looked at her, he didn’t leer, he didn’t salivate, he didn’t show off or put on airs. He was a good listener. She liked that about him.

They had met at the Borden Soft Ice Cream kiosk along the 6th avenue boardwalk. She was a server. His job was to sweep that section of the boardwalk, keeping the area free from trash. Each day while working he would spend his break time by ordering a cone from Lori. It was always vanilla, like his personality.

His breaks could barely be considered brief interludes within the number of working hours in a day. They were more like eye blinks, or snatches of seconds, just fleeting moments. Lori was usually busy tending to customers. Yet over time, their small conversations about the weather, trivial things and all things vanilla, somehow managed to morph into something more.

Soon their dialog grew into a past time they like to play together they called, “Local or Loco?” It was a game they invented where they’d guess where people were originally from by their appearance and dress. The fashions of the eighties didn’t make the guessing as easy as it may sound. Disco was dying and Goth/Punk growing.

Eventually, Lori began to take her break at the same time as Carlton. Like two game show contestants they would sit on a boardwalk bench looking and secretly pointing at the tourists. Each would give a theory on where that person was from and why they thought so. Usually, the outfits were a dead giveaway. Tight bathing suits, jewelry and platform shoes on legs with zero tan pointed to the Italian guys from New York. Beer guts, baseball hats, and double entendre T-shirts, meant a Philly native. Speedos were either Canadians or Europeans. Both Carlton and Lori got a lot of enjoyment when they would find out they were right after hearing the vacationers speaking with an accent or in a foreign language.

The fourth week of June in ’83 in Ocean City there was a triple feature on a Saturday playing at the Moorlyn theatre. It had been scheduled and sold out as early as May First. It was the first two Star Wars Movies followed by the premiere of Return of the Jedi. Carlton had purchased two tickets the day they went on sale. At first, he was going to take his younger sister Sam, but call it the Force, or what have you, Carlton drew the nerve to ask Lori to join him. She agreed.

It would be their first date and followed by their first kiss under the boardwalk later that evening. For all practical purposes, other than it being Carlton’s first true love, it would also be his first broken heart. That's the side of memory lane Carlton doesn’t drive on. Suffice it to say Carlton went to MIT that fall. He became a physicist, and later a tenured professor at the school, no less. Now middle aged, with glasses and a thinning hairline, the remaining tenacious strands of hair cling squid-like to the skull that contains one of the most incredible brains to ever grace the MIT campus. Professor Carlton Evers ended his reverie with a sigh.

“What if?” He finally said aloud, setting the photograph back beneath the push pin that held it to the partition by his office desk. Once a rhetorical question borne from regret, ennui and lost love, they became two words that triggered a longing that was soon to become a desire magically leading to an incredible idea. Those two minuscule words would inspire fifty-five-year-old physicist Carlton Evers to conceive and construct what he believed to be the world’s first working time machine.

He had gazed at the photo more than once over the years. So often the ink inscription left on it was barely legible. He wished with an aching heart that he could go back to that moment in time that, at least in his fading memory, were the happiest days of his life. He held before him an image frozen in time. A place and a moment never seen before or since, never to be repeated. It was a time capsule recorded by a light sensitive negative. That’s when the aging physicist began to daydream and question “What if?”

What if all the information of that day back in 1983 was encoded into that photograph the moment the picture was snapped? What if there was a way, perhaps with the aid of a supercomputer and laser, to break down and map all that information, down to the very atomic structure of every molecule, light particle and electron recorded?

Then, what if all that atomic data could be fused or compressed into one particle, perhaps by use of a Haldon Collider, accelerated to the speed of light opening a wormhole and then, like bouncing back a radio signal, return that molecular information to its original space and time then reverse the process to send it back?

Carlton knew he would need more than a faded Polaroid to extract that kind of imprinted data. Even though the photo’s zinc paper is treated with a glossy, protective overcoat of polycarbonate compounds, the actual image taken was recorded onto a light sensitive negative that is generally tossed away when the photo develops. Besides, he understood Polaroid’s film base is coated with layers of silver halide grades, image dyes and interlayers under a transparent cover sheet. In layman’s terms it would be like trying to extract data from a comic page image that had been transferred onto silly putty.

Carlton further reasoned that a film stock made of a cellulose acetate would be much more robust. Unlike nitrate which produces its own oxygen when immersed in water, thus making it unstable, even more flammable. Whereas, in a better stock of film, the silver salts are on the emulsion layer; the light sensitive materials are suspended in gelatin and coated onto the acetate. They have a Modulation Transfer Function absorption rate of 160 lines per millimeter. That MTF reads coarse and fine details much more naturally and organically than digital images which treat everything encompassed with the same unflinching eye, so light is not recorded as much as it is interpreted by digital camera software.

The end result from his nostalgic trip down memory lane; Professor Carlton Evers was on the threshold of discovering if a negative from a photograph might be the on-ramp to the expressway for time travel. That was the informal concept he took to DARPA, concluding it would take government funding to build such a device. He was surprised he received an answer within a month.

Now almost a year and a half and quarter of a billion dollars later, two men in dark suits and dark glasses, each with similar tightly cropped haircuts, entered MIT’s basement lab several steps ahead of a third man, also dressed for business, only in a lighter suit minus the sunglasses and carrying a steel attaché. In lockstep cadence, the group descended the spiral staircase down to the level where a brand-new ballroom sized Hadron collider stood behind a glass enclosed sterile chamber.

Standing upright within the enclosure was a large, circular, gold and silver coil-filled contraption, riddled with rivets, surrounded by tubes, conduits and brackets holding brackets, with cables and tubing snaking out from its base, looking like the maw of some mechanized beast from an AI generated image of alien machinery sucking down metallic spaghetti.

It had been eighteen months from when the original concept on a drawing board went to the finishing touches now being fine-tuned on Carlton’s… make that the United States Government’s, experimental time machine. However, no one was actually calling it that. Carlton took it upon himself and christened the device L.O.R.I., after his lost love or the Lightwave Origin Recapturing Interferometer. The anagram was a stretch for sure, but it wasn’t just an homage, it also served for secrecy, for nowhere in any schematic did they use the words, “Time Machine.”

Originally the experiment was to be simple. Take a photograph of your time traveler Tuesday morning in a room containing an object in a box. Take the negative of that photo on Wednesday and send the subject back in time. When they return, if they can tell you what was in the box, we’ll know time travel is possible. But after the expense laid out up until now, the government had much more ambitious goals in mind.

The two accompanying men took up posts on either side of the room as the man in gray set the briefcase down on a table. Carlton, dressed in PPE gear, stepped out from the collider compartment and over to his computer to input the initiating code. He opened a file, “Operation Lancer.” A code appeared. His fingers danced on the keyboard typing in a numeric prompt. The source code 20/63/327767/96.7970/^/1200 appeared skipping across the display screen. A red light began to blink on a nearby digital clock. A count down from 12 hours ticked away like a heartbeat.

Carlton then stepped over to his work bench where the mystery man known to him only as “Mr. X” had set the briefcase. The mysterious stranger then dialed in the combination. The man’s thumbs were scanned by a blue light on the edge of the latches that open the case. The light turned green, the case snapped open. The man in the gray suit turned the case to face Carlton. In the center of the case, a small white envelop lay in a postage stamp sized recessed space etched into a protective gun metal gray foam lining the case. With a pair of forceps, Carlton removed the envelope handling it it as if it were nitro glycerin. He turned, making for the sterile glass enclosure protecting the Hadron collider from foreign material and contamination. A motion sensor activated the door.

The second he stepped inside the glass door whooshed closed behind him He continued through the next to the gangway leading to the center of the coil. Arriving at the coil, there was a tray of tools on a table stand off to a side. Taking another forceps, he pried open the envelope and gingerly removed a small piece of brownish acetate. With a surgeon’s touch, he placed it on a clear glass plate about an inch by an inch and a half and slid the plate beneath his microscope. Carlton squinted one eye as he peered through the aperture, he brought the item into focus.

What first caught his attention was the white glare from two sprocket holes on the left side of an image. It was immediately apparent to Carlton that he was looking at a small piece of film. Framed by black, the color image was of a group of people lining a gray street corner surrounded by brown and cream-colored sandstone buildings. The crowd appeared to be awaiting a parade. The whites and reds of people’s shirts popped off of black silhouettes. An old-style streetlamp painted green stood sentry to the left. Located near dead-center of the still image, a motorcycle cop was negotiating a corner turn with another cycle cop out of focus behind him.

Professor Carlton Evers was looking at frame z007 of the Zapruder Film, one small piece from the 8 mm capture of the assassination of JFK. A much as he wanted to, Carlton’s time machine wasn’t sending anyone back to Ocean City 1983. This pioneering trip was sending someone to Dallas, Texas and the year 1963. What they hoped to accomplish was anyone’s guess, they insisted they were going back just to observe. The consensus was that every step short of not going was to be taken to avoid changing history. They wanted to know what they could do inhistory before they ever attempted to do anything to history. Carlton was beginning to think he knew how Oppenheimer must have felt.

Using forceps, Carlton removed the piece of film from the glass plating and lay it in a thumb drive sized compartment. He slid the component into a slot on a motherboard attached to the coil’s console and pushed it in. The room was configured as a smaller version of NASA’s mission control. Multiple computers activated at once and began processing at lightning speed. Lights in the basement laboratory dimmed, flickered and then returned as the computing task automatically drew its power from another outside source.

With its ethernet linked to the Frontier supercomputer in Oak Ridge Tennessee, the fastest, most powerful computer in the world, delineation of the data that was locked in the film negative would take a minimum of three hours to process. The image itself would be destroyed in the process by laser light atomizing the acetate causing a radioactive like decay. Carlton’s calculations left open the possibility this could affect the duration of the chronological expedition. There was no turning back. The countdown was set.

Carlton Evers wasn’t going to be making this trip back in time and he wasn’t happy about his role but understood someone had to steer the ship. DARPA insisted on providing their person to make the trip. The mysterious man who delivered the single frame of the Zapruder film was to be the first experimental “Nanonaut.” It was a term DARPA coined, combining the term “nanotechnology” to the word “astronaut.” Clever people, those government spooks.

Carlton Evers had many questions but was so wrapped up in the complexity of the launch he hadn’t had time to sort through them. Now with the film frame in place, the computations processing and the power stabilized, he took a moment to think.

Why choose the Kennedy assassination for “Operation Lancer?” Lancer, he learned, was the code name the secret service detail had given Kennedy all those years ago. But why choose that moment in history? They could, if there was 8mm color film of Nazi Germany available, and there was, go back and try to stop Hitler before he painted his first watercolor. Before he sent six million people to their deaths. Or they could choose to go back to 9/11 and save thousands from a horrific ending. Then there were the existential questions that arose automatically.

Carlton continued to posit. Say you did stop Hitler; who is to say a more effective fascist wouldn’t rise to power? Someone more tactical, more hateful, more efficient than him? Or what if you stopped 9/11 in 2001 only to have a dirty bomb placed there in 2002 and kill three times as many people? There it was, that nagging “What if” question again. A billion possible outcomes and a billion possible mistakes.

Add to it all the possibility that maybe all you’re doing is creating an offshoot reality. A parallel universe, existing in its own space/time continuum. Would you no longer exist in the former? Does it just become another bubble in the multiverse? What if you crossed paths with your younger self? Unknowingly brought Covid back in time with you? Stepped on a butterfly? It was enough to think oneself into a headache. It didn’t matter, the clock was ticking. As the saying goes, time waits for no man. It was almost time to prepare the traveler.

The decontamination chamber was an anti-room off the back of the basement. The stark white sterile environment contained a hospital bed, side tables, medical monitors, clean towels and sheets, a shower and a flat screen TV for the Nanonaut to watch while waiting for final countdown.

In an open closet hung a gray, Beau Brummell men’s suit and matching tie from the 60’s, like something straight from the wardrobe department of the TV show Mad Men. They found it in a vintage clothing store in Kansas. A Trilby hat from the same era, purchased in a Seattle flea market, hung on a hook. A pair of black sued lace up Oxfords were discovered in Vermont, polished sat on a shelf along with an Omega Speedmaster watch purchased on eBay. Every item was manufactured in the sixties. Carlton felt this would help make a smoother transference having atomic similarities to the destination year while helping the time traveler visually fit into the era.

The Nanonaut, Mr. X, was currently in the MIT cafeteria having a final meal with the launch crew before his journey. The fare was bullion, tofu with a little chicken meat added out of sympathy. Carlton was doing last minute tests on the heart monitor and ekg machines, syncing them to the main system. They record the body’s reactions up until the last second.

Carlton reached to calibrate the monitor; he bumped a side table. The attaché popped open an inch. Why something so secure was left unlocked aroused Carlton’s curiosity. With furtive glances to make sure no one was watching; he opened the case. He found the reason it wasn’t closed properly. The gray foam that protected the frame of film was pried up and askew. Carlton peeked under the material.

Laying beneath that foam on a thinner layer was a High Standard HD 22., the CIA’s weapon of choice. A silencer, shoulder holster and portable aluminum stock sat alongside it. He reset the foam the way he found it. Carlton realized this was no DARPA scientist they were sending back in time. This man was CIA through and through.

Carlton began to rifle through rest of the suitcase’s sleeves. He found a Manila envelope. He hesitated a beat and opened it. In it was a three-page dossier with the title “Operation Lancer” stamped across it the words, “TOP SECRET.” The first page had a picture of a young man in jacket and tie and hair cropped like Mr. X’s. The info stated the man’s name was Jack Kyleford.

Carlton wondered if the man was any relation to Presidential candidate John Kyleford, the Republican front runner for President. But it couldn’t be. This man’s age was listed as 24. Height, 6 foot, 0 inches, weight 202. Vice President John Kyleford was thin, barely six feet tall and 82 years old. There was a serial number followed by the words “Operation Mongoose.”At the end of this man Kyleford’s bio, the words, “INTERCEPT/TERMINATE.”

On the second page a photo was pixelated, the bio was redacted with swaths of black ink covering most of the copy. Still, Carlton recognized the silhouetted form as Lee Harvey Oswald. The three names were blacked out as well as his serial number. It was also followed by “Operation Mongoose.” There was no instruction after his name. It read: D.O.A.

The final page and photo took Carlton’s breath away. It was from his MIT I.D. It had a few lines of biographical information containing his name and social security number followed by the words, “Operation Lancer” and the instruction, TERMINATE. He had to read it several times as he stared at the word then back to his photo.

Carlton shoved the pages back into the envelope with an unsteady hand but forgetting the sleeve he took them from, he jammed them into the first one and closed the attaché. His heart moved like a thumping rabbit’s foot. Adrenaline raced through his nervous system.

“Holy fuck. The CIA want me dead.” A thousand thoughts crowded for attention. Why kill me? Was the assassination a CIA plot? Was Mr. X on the grassy knoll? Did they kill Oswald? Kennedy? Who is Kyleford? Perhaps he’s the second shooter? What is “Operation Mongoose”? He couldn’t let the test continue, could he?

Carlton turned to the gray suit hanging on the rack, then out through the window of the decontamination room door. He saw the collider still counting down. One did not have to be a physics professor to add together what he was thinking at that moment.

Carlton changed clothes as if he was late for his own wedding. The arms of the Beau Brummell suit coat rode up above his wrists revealing the white sleeves of the pressed dressed shirt he just buttoned. It was a tight fit. He surprised himself when he remembered how to tie a Windsor knot, which he was now doing at breakneck speed; Cross wide end over narrow, loop, cross again, loop, pass wide end through loop and pull.

“Close enough” he thought as he shorted the front part. The pant legs revealed a little too much ankle, but the argyle socks were doing their job, so it wasn’t too noticeable. He strapped on the wristwatch laying on the table and checked the time. It was synched up with the computer in the other room. Carlton stepped to the mirror and put on the charcoal Trilby with a red and gray hat band. Looking like he stepped out of a 1960’s cigarette ad, he started for the door and paused. He had one more accessory to consider. He stepped back to the suitcase. Lifting the foam he considered the gun in its suppressor-ready shoulder holster. Carlton removed his jacket one last time.

A minute later, Carlton stepped out of the decon chamber and crossed toward the main computer bank. He removed his hat, sat and took up pen and pencil. He began writing a few calculations on a clipboard. He was going to have to help the Frontier computer speed up its processing time. There were still a good three hours before operational initiation. He needed to go in the next three minutes. It was almost time for Mr. X and his team to begin preparation. They could arrive any moment. Carlton typed in the new source code instructing the power surge protectors that controlled energy flow to seek more of it.

Several crypto mining warehouses in the mid-Eastern United States suddenly went offline. The computers in the control room lit up like tilting pin ball machines. Carlton put on his hat. He kissed the photo of Lori taped to the control console. “Wish me luck.” He made for the Haydon Collider. “I’m going to need it.” He had no plan other than making sure no CIA Nanonaut would have a chance to fuck with history.

Stepping into the center of the Hadron ring, Carlton stood in place watching the sequence wind down from twenty seconds. Large coils behind him began to rotate in opposite directions speeding up with a growing electronic whine like a propeller to a large B-17 spinning to life. Had he spread his limbs, He would have looked just like DaVinci’s Vitruvian man.

Beneath the noise Carlton could hear muffled shouting. He saw Mr. X and his CIA compatriots scrambling down the spiral staircase, this time in a more herky-jerky stumbling manner. The inside chamber began to spark and flash like a Tesla Coil gone crazy. Blue electrical charged lighting flayed out in all directions. The concentric coils of the collider now all seemed to be spinning in the same direction. The noise reached the level of a jet engine. Carlton began to feel a G-force unlike anything he could imagine. Like his whole body was being squeezed in a vice made from broken glass. The pain felt like a dental drill digging into a raw nerve and that nerve happened to be his whole body. He tried to scream but that was sucked back into him like a vacuum. There was a blinding flash, he was gone.

What no one could tell Carlton about his time travel theory was, not if it is possible but, what if his theory works? What happens when the very matter that makes up each atom in the body, where the corporeal casing that keeps your consciousness bottled up, is instantaneously disassembled, squeezed through a space time continuum at the speed of light, transported by worm hole or a tear in space/time itself and reassembled to different time and place. Would anyone survive such a journey? How is such travel possible if the earth, a ball spinning through space, was in a completely different location in its orbit back in 1963? Would he end up floating somewhere along the orbital path marooned in the cold void of space? Carlton was about to find out.

The next thing he remembered was a feeling of nauseousness. An upset stomach was the least of the results of this trip. The pain he initially felt disappeared as quickly as it began, replaced by tinnitus, but this ringing in the ears produced more of a high-pitched whine, leaving Carlton virtually incapacitated and unable to move for the first thirty-seconds of his arrival in 1963. Add vertigo and an uncontrollable need to projectile vomit into the mix and they’re side effects no amount of Dramamine can diffuse. But where was he?

Carlton leaned against a 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air warm to the touch from the mid-day sun. Judging by the make and model years of the other cars in the lot, He knew he wasn’t in Kansas anymore. After losing the contents of his stomach behind the car, Carlton steadied himself and stood to get his bearings. The day was warm, the sun shined bright, but something was off. He was standing in a parking lot behind the Texas School Book Depository. He could see the back of the Hertz Rent a Car billboard atop the building. The tinnitus was dissipating but there was a strange sound in the air, like a humming or a dull droning, like background noise at a ballgame mixed with something like white noise from a TV receiving no signal. Nothing was moving. Nothing.

He looked up to see a small flock of blackbirds frozen in place in the air. There was a large freight train on the railroad track behind him looking normal save for the static plume of steam perched still and stationary above the engine. Several people stood statue like in mid-step heading in his direction. Carlton had traveled back in time only to arrive at a place where time was frozen as well as everything else. This made no sense to Carlton’s knowledge of physics or quantum mechanics. It was as if he arrived in an actual still frame from history. “Unless…” he thought, “…We truly are living in a simulation.” If that were the case, Carlton Evers may have stumbled upon one of the greatest revelations to human existence. Before he continued with that realization, something caught his eye.

There were a few people alongside a fence to the right of the building, one man stood out. Dressed similarly to the ill fitted suit he now wore; a man was lighting a cigarette with a match cupped in his hands. Carlton moved in for a closer look.

The ground was a little unsteady for him, Carlton appeared to choose a path to the man a wino might take, swerving side to side until he gained his equilibrium. The tinnitus let up and was now at a level the same as the background noise filling the air. He approached the stranger, whose head was tilted, ready to light the smoke. Carlton recognized him instantly. It was Jack Kyleford, the man from the dossier. Carlton wasn’t sure if Kyleford could see him. It was a bizarre feeling getting no reaction not even an eyeblink at a finger snap. It was as if Kyleford was hypnotized, or Carlton was invisible.

Carlton needed to confirm the man’s identity. He noticed the man’s raised arms created a slight hitch on the suit jacket exposing his waist. Carlton could make out a badge clipped to the agent’s belt. On it, an eagle cresting the department of justice insignia of the special operations division indicated the origin of the badge. Confirming Carlton’s guess were the embossed letters F.B.I. all in caps. Opening the agent’s lapel, Carlton could see he was packing a gun. He set the lapel back in place. What was an FBI agent doing behind a fence near the School Book Depository? Carlton wasn’t sure what to do next.

He turned his attention to the wooden fence before him. A small tree on the other side had released a few leaves that hung midair, motionless above the ground. He stepped up to the fence and a familiar sight unfolded before him. It was Dealey Plaza lit bright by the afternoon sun. He saw the backs of the crowd lining the causeway. He could see Abraham Zapruder standing on the white concrete pedestal by the memorial holding his PD Bell& Howell Zoomatic Director Series Camera. It didn’t go unnoticed by Carlton that frame z007 was at this very second being shot.

Carlton saw the motorcycle cops leaning into the turn from Elm Street and the background noise was a bit louder. He saw the smiles and looks of anticipation on the people’s faces, and he saw the red brick corner of the School Book Depository. He looked behind him at the human statue, Agent Kyleford, and he shook his head in disbelief. “Oliver Stone was right. It was all a conspiracy. There was a second gunman, and that man was now sixty some years in the future and running for President.” Carlton was a scientist, he paused. He needed facts and proof before concluding. He headed for the School Book Depository Building and a rendezvous with an ex-marine and sociopath.

Carlton crossed the back fence and headed down the grassy knoll towards the building’s front entrance. He passed Zapruder on the pedestal and his secretary who was helping him steady his legs as he shot the infamous film. He proceeded up the sidewalk lined with onlookers focused on the street corner. A hungering curiosity caused Carlton to increase his speed. He arrived at the front steps of the building where he froze in place, foot on stair and just as immoveable as the rest of this world he inhabited.

He drew in a breath of surprise. At the top of the stair, he could swear he was staring right into the face of Lee Harvey Oswald. He glanced back at the motorcade still frozen in place. Down Elm Street he could see Jackie’s pink pill box hat, outfit and black hair. Kennedy was obscured behind a motorcycle cop.

Carlton began to reason. If that’s Oswald, there’s no way he could have made it to the sixth floor to fire those shots. For the second time that day Carlton felt a loss of equilibrium.

He replanted his foot on the ground and took another look. Carlton recalled something about eyewitness confusion that had come up during the Warren Report. He noticed the man had the name “Billy” in script sewn onto his work jacket by his left pectoral. Carlton would later learn the man was an employee of the School Book Depository. His name was Billy Nolan Lovelady, a twenty-six-year-old stockman. From a distance the man could have been Oswald’s doppelganger. Carlton climbed the steps and slid past the group of employees sitting and standing on the stairs awaiting the President’s motorcade. He entered the dark entrance of the Depository.

The small lobby was empty save for a cigarette machine and radiator rising from the linoleum floor. Despite the stark white foyer, there was a musty smell that filled his nostrils, like wet paper that had dried out in a tobacco barn. It permeated the whole warehouse. He saw a sign that listed the publishing companies renting space in the building. A set of stairs against a tiled glass wall curved upwards braced by a wood-white railing. Carlton began to make the climb.

The second-floor Southwest corner of the building was a secretarial pool. Visible was a half dozen empty desks with signs of work being suddenly halted and recently abandoned. Paper jammed in the Selectric and Underwood typewriters, file drawers partially opened. Coffee cups left on desks with wisps of steam on hold above them. He saw a sign that read, STAIRS in all caps and a jagged stair shaped line pointing the way. He continued on.

The third floor he could see an empty lunchroom with tables, chairs, and candy and soda machines. Half-eaten lunches and near empty bottles of coke were on the tables. The candy machine had the antiquated clear plastic pull levers. In the machine were Dots, Good and Plenty, Tootsie Roll, NECCO Wafers, Chuckles and even Candy Cigarettes. All but the later he remembered from childhood.

The machine also had a mirror and Carlton couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It was his own reflection of course, he knew that. It was what his image was doing that rattled him to his core. It would go from his normal reflection, then changing to what can only be described as glitch, into a film negative version of himself. A white man with dark eyes in a dark trebly hat flashed into a dark man with white eyes and a bright white trebly hat. A negative man, so to speak.

He tried to calm himself to figure out what was happening. It dawned on him after a fifth glitch “The Zapruder Film! It’s got to be.” Carlton understood the shelf life, unless adequately preserved, of good acetate film was 70 years at a maximum. The Zapruder film was 60 years old and may have already begun a process of decay. It’s possible he was beginning to fade from this plane of existence and return to the collider or disappear altogether. He looked at his watch. The second hand was sweeping around the face. This was not the ’63 Omega watch. It was a Movado watch from the twenty-first century. Mr. X must’ve started to prepare early and switched them. Whatever the reason, it was acting like a small magnet causing this time distortion. Carlton had no idea when he might be pulled back to his timeline. He had to get to the sixth floor. He had to know, did Oswald act alone?

Carlton arrived at the six floor. Here the musky smell was more pronounced. Dust particles glinted in the sunlight pouring through the far end windows. Stacks upon stacks of books rose to the thick wooden cross beams dividing the large space into thirds. He stifled a sneeze and walked towards the Southeast windows heading for the corner. The glitch effect was happening at seven second intervals as he got closer to a stack of books piled high on an angle blocking the whole corner window from view. The background noise began to return which indicated an open window. Carlton stepped around the boxes to find himself standing diagonally to a crouched Lee Harvey Oswald.

The first thing that struck Carlton was how puny the man was. Bent on one knee, Oswald held the Mannlicher-Carcano Model 38 carbine with scope to his side at a 60° angle with both hands. There were a set of boxes stacked two to three feet high in front of him creating the sniper’s nest. He was wearing a long sleeved, brownish, pattern woven shirt with a small hole in the right sleeve. Beneath it, a white crew neck tee shirt and dark khaki or chino pants, all that and his wiry frame balanced on pair of black Oxford work shoes.

By leaning a little to his right Carlton could only make out a profile view of Oswald’s face, but he could see a hawkish stare beneath a pinched eyebrow. Though almost chinless and an early receding hairline, Oswald reminded Carlton of a bird of prey’s hatchling, his tongue tucked between his lips as if he were just about to line up his shot.

Carlton could see the Kennedy motorcade heading directly for the building. The President’s limousine frozen about fifty yards back. He wondered why didn’t Oswald shoot with this viewpoint. It seemed to be a much easier shot. Then he noticed an object to his right near a column of stacked books. It was a brown three-foot piece of wrapping paper, long enough to contain curtain rods or a rifle, depending on if you were a DIY enthusiast or a warped little nobody who longed to be somebody, anybody… big. The paper wrapper was in mid fall as if it had just dropped off the nearby book stack. Carlton deduced that Oswald had just gotten into place only seconds before, indicating he was rushed and a possible explanation for the first shot missing.

Carlton had an idea. All he had to do was adjust the elevation knob on the scope and turn the power ring by the eyepiece setting it out of focus. This could disrupt Oswald more than enough to miss the shot. He could also just smack him over the head with a thick Scholastic Math book from one of the boxes.

The whole changing history conundrum was interrupted. The negative glitching increased, and Carlton began to flicker like a broken florescent light bulb. He felt the nausea returning, the vertigo, tinnitus and seering pain return. Oswald stayed unmolested in 1963. Carlton left 1963 in an eyeblink.

Inside the laboratory basement Mr. X and the launch crew were scrambling about, attempting to stop the collider. Carlton zapped into existence surrounded by the dancing blue electrical charge. To everyone else, Carlton had never left. They lost visual contact only for a lightning flash moment. The machine wound down, the power levels stabilized, and the spinning Hadron Collider slowed to a stop. Carlton fell to his knees dry heaving for there was nothing left to come up except for internal organs.

The medical staff entered with a gurney and lifted Carlton from the device and wheeled him to the decontamination room. No one knew that Carlton had travelled through time. They only saw a man scream in pain and drop to his knees to wretch. They had no idea they were looking at the first Nanonaut in history, and from history.

Mr. X was livid. Cheeks flushed and ears red as he pushed passed the medical team. “What the fuck was that, Evers?”

“I couldn’t in good conscience experiment with another human being’s life. It’s my theory, it’s my invention, the risks should be mine. For all I know you could have materialized in the Earth’s core or on the moon.” Carlton glanced over at the briefcase on the other side of the room. Mr. X caught the eyeline. He crossed over to the attaché and lifted the foam. His pistol, and silencer were in the holster and stock were just where he left them. Before travelling through time, Carlton changed his mind at the last second and never took the protection along with him. He was a scientist for Christ’s sake, not James Bond.

Then X opened the center sleeve in the attaché, empty. He followed with the front. He removed the manila envelope. He peeked at its contents. Satisfied he tossed it into the briefcase, locking it. He turned slowly to Carlton. “Reset the launch, we’re going to try this again. Get undressed.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” Carlton said. “The experiment didn’t work because of the brittle state of the Zapruder film itself.” He scootched up in the bed and continued, “New film can be very fragile let alone sixty-year-old acetate. The scanning process created a molecular decay chain reaction. It would’ve been safer if we started with something relatively recent. You didn’t perhaps film your wedding day, did you?”

Mr. X was in no mood. He took up his attaché and signaled for his men to follow him. He held up the omega watch and signaled to Carlton’s wrist. They traded watches. X spoke without eye contact as he put on his watch. “Professor Evers, seeing as Uncle Sam footed the bill for your device, the government will be taking possession of L.O.R.I. immediately. Your services are no longer required. We’ll be bringing in a new team.” With that, the men in black turned and left. Professor Carlton Evers wasn’t about to let that happen.

President John Kyleford was elected that November. His first action had all files on the JFK assassination released through the Freedom of Information Act. The new President specifically requested the release of an FBI file that, up until this day, contained information the CIA considered too sensitive and a threat to National Security.

It was a two-page report his younger self wrote as a twenty-four-year-old FBI agent stationed in Dallas on another November day sixty plus years ago. It described his attempts to get to Oswald on the day of the shooting. He discovered a copy of the Presidents route in an envelope addressed to Alek Hidell’s post office box. Alek Hidell was Oswald’s alias. The same name he purchased the gun under. There was no return address.

Kyleford attained the letter with a warrant based on Oswald’s possible participation in the Bay of Pigs and “Operation Mongoose.” That day Special Agent Jack Kyleford was on his way to detain Oswald. Before he could, he was intercepted by two CIA agents who were not conspiring to kill the President but bent on covering up any entanglements related to “Operation Mongoose.”

The President’s second executive order was to begin a complete overhaul of the Central Intelligence Agency by rooting out the agency within the agency. The divisions that created clandestine operations without oversight like Mongoose. He also added a firewall to the NSA. Checks and balances was the order of the day.

“Operation Lancer” was exposed within the Department of Homeland Security but remained classified within the very top echelons of the government. It was revealed to be an attempted hit on the younger Kyleford to get him from writing the report that implicated the CIA in the first place. The agency knew Kyleford had written one but had no idea where it was these past decades. It was a ticking time bomb as far as they were concerned, and the best solution was if it was never reported. They were willing to sacrifice John Kyleford’s contribution to history to diffuse that bomb. The entire plan, like the conspiracy, was a coverup.

It would never be known who sent Alek Hidell the map, despite the Mexican postage, but it was certain he never received it. Lee Harvey Oswald at least on that day, acted alone. Was he influenced by outside entities? Quite possibly.

What was a certainty is none of this would have come to light had not Professor Carlton Evers upon his return from the past contacted then Presidential candidate John Kyleford and blew the whistle on “Operation Lancer.” At first Kyleford was dismissive of the Professor, but Carlton knew he could convince him when he personally handed the President-to-be the FBI Special Agent badge Kyleford wore many, many years ago. Carlton had pilfered it as evidence, bringing it back with him from 1963, the year Kyleford mysteriously lost it.

Today is Tuesday. Professor Carlton Evers is staring again at Polaroid of Lori Sanders on the beach towel. He knows there isn’t enough data in that picture to risk another trip back in time. He also learned he had developed acute Leukemia from his first time-travelling excursion. The radiation exposure was never considered in the calculations. Its rapid progression meant he had months maybe weeks before he succumbed to the cancer. Carlton turned the photo over.

On the back of every Polaroid from that era there’s a ten-digit number representing the month of production, year of production, machine used, film type and day the film was produced. There’s a whole market on eBay for old Polaroid stock. Carlton ordered a box of the 600 film with that exact production number and found it. For a little less than 35 bucks he now possessed the same negative composite material needed. Added to Lori’s photo, it might provide enough data for the Haldon collider to send him back to Ocean City and 1983 and that beautiful beach day. If not, he had nothing to lose. Cancer and or Mr. X were waiting in the shadows.

This would be a one-way trip. But first a quick hack. By inputting a time code virus that could wipe clean all the data and software that controlled the Time Machine, Evers made sure no one could ever follow. There were too many unpredictable outcomes for his liking. It was better no one else have the power.

Carlton stepped into the chamber wearing a pair of Bermuda shorts, tank top under a blue Hawaiian shirt, knee socks, sandals and sunglasses from ’83. He wondered if he could be seen would his younger self and Lori figure out where he was from. He was going back not to engage but to observe one of the happiest days of his life. He would see himself as he wished to be remembered and Lori would be eternally young and not have died in a car accident the year following their meeting. He set the new composite photo of Lori Saunders into the slot revealing the faded inscription under the laser light. “2 Evers, 4 Ever. Love, Lori.”

Tentacles of blue lightning arced throughout the chamber followed by a blinding flash of blue light. Professor Carlton Evers was gone. History.

I.

“He is life's liberating force.

He is release of limbs and communion through dance.

He is laughter, and music in flutes.

He is repose from all cares— he is sleep!

When his blood bursts from the grape

and flows across tables laid in his honor

to fuse with our blood,

he gently, gradually, wraps us in shadows

of ivy-cool sleep.”

― Euripides, The Bacchae

***

They called it Morgellons disease. When I told the doctors about the vines that had begun their march through my veins. The grapes that had begun to swell under my skin, creating bulges and ulcers that stretched my skin, pulled at my joints. My pimples began oozing wine instead of pus. It hurt to walk, for my toes had been swollen with grape-sized bunions. It began about a month ago.

I was twenty-two.

My finals were next week. It was my senior year. All I had to do was make it through the next month, and then I’d be free. Free to pursue my insanity. So instead of being institutionalized, I left the doctors office, holed up in my dorm, and studied.

I looked over my classical literature. I was a Classics major. It had always been a point of contention with my parents. A useless major, they said. A silly fantasy, chasing after childhood dreams, rejecting common sense in favor of a beautiful but shallow dream.

Some people wrote. Some people drew. Some people sculpted clay. My art form was consumption: The Odyssey. The Iliad. The Bacchae.

The Bacchae.

Something about that story resonated with me, a deep, sacred sensation that wove its way through my soul. It was a feeling I had never felt before, a sense of belonging, of place. An identity. Where did it come from? And why, only now, was I feeling it?

I had found myself in the pages. Purpose. Life. Meaning. Love. Joy.

I gave up on studying and instead read and reread Euripides’s tragedy until I could practically recite it from memory.

And thus began my Madness.

II.

“Prepare yourselves

for the roaring voice of the God of Joy!”

― Euripides, The Bacchae

***

After failing my exams (an expected result, but still a painful one, especially my most cataclysmic failure: 13% in English, in what had previously been my best subject.) I resolved to dedicate the remainder of my life to madness. Contrary to popular belief, Madness, like any other skill, can be learned. Practiced. Mastered.

I freed the grapes from underneath my skin. Plucked them out and ate them. The wine that ran from my veins stained the carpet of my apartment, just like it stained my teeth. Red. Red wine.

My bed began smelling strongly of vinegar. Or perhaps it was piss. Piss and vinegar, ha, ha. I would wake up in the night clutching wet sheets, my body throbbing, the grapes growing larger and larger until my whole body was simply a mass of deformed flesh, and then shrinking back down again. Returning to normal. Except my skin was looser now. I was a vessel. A vessel for more grapes. More wine. More vines. My body was a vineyard, a winery. I was merely a field waiting to be tilled, a harvest of grapes waiting to be fermented into something greater.

No more college. No more job. I was a full-time Madman.

Of course, after three months of no rent and a foul smelling odor coming from my apartment, I was evicted. The rest of my savings went to paying for damages. Something about stained carpets. Alas, an unfortunate side-effect of my condition.

Madness, I have discovered, is a comfort. Insanity has freed me from those daily tediums. ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,’ right? I am no longer a dull boy. Now I’m sharp. Like a knife. Or a broken wine bottle, with deep red-hued pieces that get lost in the carpet and stick into your bare feet.

It’s funny, I’d always thought a psychotic break would be terrifying. No idea what is real or what isn’t. But I know exactly what’s real: the vines. The wine.

I drank a lot of it, the wine. More than before. I’d always enjoyed liquid courage on the weekends, but now, with no obligations, every day was a weekend. More time to devote to my new god, Dionysus. He had chosen me as his apostle, his servant, his protege. A new Pentheus, Man of Sorrow, except I will not make the same mistakes. I will remain reverent. I have been chosen. Of all the Madmen, every person with the dark seed within them, I have been chosen to let it flourish, let it sprout, let it grow, let my dark fruit give birth to the finest wine: Madness.

I wandered the vine-encrusted undersides of bridges, cut my feet on the broken glass and stones that lined my path. Follow the vines. Follow the vines. Follow the vines.

Once a boy holding a shining smartphone dumped wine on my head as I slept. It awoke me, cold, sticky, sweet. He laughed as he stuffed his phone into my face.

“Look at this loser,” he said with a cackle. “I bet you’re addicted to crack, aren’t you? Ain’t ya? Ancha? Ancha?”

Ancha. Ancha. Ancha.

His voice distorts, becomes a chant. Like a prayer to some ancient god.

Without thinking, my hand closes around his wrist. He drops the phone. The screen shatters. I see my wild eyes reflected in it, twin pits, deep, bottomless, empty.

“You’re gonna pay for that, you crackhead bitch!” he screams.

I stare at him with cold, dead eyes.

“ΘΥΜΑΣΑΙ?”

The voice was not my own, the words, a language I did not recognize. The question was as much directed at me as it was at the boy. If only I knew what I was asking. What I was being asked.

I let go of his wrist. White marks on his skin turning red. He ran. I ran. Opposite directions. I just knew I could not stay here anymore.

He left the broken phone on the sidewalk.

I was aware after minutes (Hours? Days? Years?) of running that I was being followed. My shadow was in front of me, illuminated by approaching red and blue lights, the rhythm of my heavy breathing obscured by the pulsating rhythm of sirens.

I stopped running, surrendered. A deep feeling in my stomach, somewhere between dread and peace, told me it was time.

III.

“O Dionysus, Son of God,

do you see our sufferings?

Do you see your faithful

in helpless agony before the oppressor?

O Lord, come down from Olympus,

shake your golden thyrsus

and stifle the murderer's insolent fury.”

― Euripides, The Bacchae

***

I was twenty-four, and the padded cell made it hard to breathe.

Not in the literal sense, simply in the metaphorical. Here there was no wine, no vines to follow. Only white walls, too soft for me to crush the grapes upon it.

It was still hard to breathe. In and Out. In was easy. Getting out, much harder.

I have to get out.

I had been there, in the place they call Harvest Hospital, for two months before I resolved to end my life.

I thought extensively of how I would do it, confined to four padded walls and two pills a day. Antipsychotics, they told me. I learned it was in my best interest to lie when they asked about my “persistent delusions.”

The vines were still here. The grapes were still here. The only thing missing was the sweet sweet wine.

I found myself picking at hangnails until they bled, comforting myself on the miniscule droplets of wine that shed from my fingers. When I could, I smeared it on the walls— the padded walls may have resisted my flesh, but the wine it absorbed hungrily, a stain— in words I did not recognize, but that thrilled me with some infernal meaning.

ΔΙΟΝΥΣΙΟΣ.

One of the therapists (one of many, an every rotating cast of professionals whose names and faces blurred together, psychiatrists and specialists and doctors and soothsayers and mindfulness coaches and every manner of well-educated quacks who claimed to understand what I was feeling, what I was.) inadvertently translated this phrase for me in a session.

“So what does Dionysus mean to you?” she asked.

I was startled into speaking.

“What?”

“Dionysus. The word on your walls.”

I was silent, mulling over this new significance. She continued to prod, but I ignored her. Dionysus. He was here, within me, exerting his influence. Closer than I’d ever imagined. It was a thrilling, almost sensual, realization.

It only strengthened my resolve.

I knew I needed to die. To kill myself. It was the final step in a two-year journey. The ultimate climax of Madness. I began my search. On the rare moments when I left my room, I was scouring the floors, looking for anything I could use. A screw. A broken bit of plastic. A discarded paper clip. Anything.

Nothing.

I scratched an itch. A particularly annoying pimple— a grape— I picked at until it oozed sweet wine. I sucked it away. A red ring left on the flesh of my arm where it used to be. An abscess. An absence.

I wondered if I could tear out my veins— the vines, ΦΛΕΒΕΣ— with my teeth. Perhaps I could. But probably not. I’m not crazy enough yet, I suppose. I must push myself further.

Once alone, I bite my shoulders, easily hidden underneath the cream white hospital gown. Deep red marks. No blood.

Not Mad enough. Never Mad enough. Get better. Get stronger. Rip and tear and bite and swallow the wine and the grapes and write His name on the walls. Dionysus. ΔΙΟΝΥΣΙΟΣ.

I am close. So close. Very close. I can taste the wine, smell the vines, lose myself in the sickly sweet sensation of Madness.

I bite again. This time there is blood. A small bead of it, like a dew drop on a spider’s web, crimson. Red wine.

Closer. Closer still.

I surrender for the night.

Perhaps tomorrow.

IV.

“His blood, the blood of the grape,

lightens the burden of our mortal misery.

Though himself a God, it is his blood we pour out

to offer thanks to the Gods. And through him, we are blessed.”

― Euripides, The Bacchae

***

Blood. Wine.

Blood. Wine. Grapes. Flesh.

ΑΙΜΑ. ΚΡΑΣΙ.

He is trying to tell me something. It is written on the walls. I cannot read it. Yet. I have tried to decipher the letters, and nearly succeeded, but I cannot decipher the words they spell. Meaningless collections of consonants and vowels. Letters without words. Words without meaning. A lost language.

Blood. Wine. Flesh. Drinking. Hunting. Darkness. Heat. Shattered. Broken fragments of memory. Memories that don’t exist.

What does it mean?

ΚΑΤΑΝΑΛΩΣΑΤΕ ΤΟΥΣ ΥΠΗΡΈΤΕΣ ΜΟΥ, ΑΝΕΞΑΡΤΗΤΑ ΑΠΟ ΤΙΣ ΣΥΝΕΠΕΙΕΣ. ΤΩΡΑ ΚΑΤΑΝΑΛΩΝΩ ΤΟ ΜΥΑΛΟ ΣΟΥ.

It was a voice without form, without sound, without substance. An echo from within.

“I don’t understand you! What are you saying to me?”

Now I am swarmed with doctors. I hadn’t realized I’d spoken aloud. I’m still screaming.

“What do you want, my lord? I’ll do it! I’ll do anything!”

One of the doctors, or nurses, or therapists, or just some random person, shoves a needle into my neck. The pain is short lived. But the darkness approaches. Perhaps I will meet him. Perhaps I will receive the answers I seek. In dreams. The sweet nectar of the subconscious rises in my throat like vomit.

I swallow. And then I am gone.

***

A black hole of memory. Dreams of parasitic grapes fermenting in my stomach. Innards turned to wine. A great black hole reaches for me, consumes the wine and flesh. A gaping hole. There is nothing. Nothing left. It has all been taken. Something sacred has been stolen. I cry out, my voice echoes, falling on deaf ears. Red spots dance in my vision, like mirages of grapes. A mouth stretches towards me, oddly familiar lips. Stained teeth. It sucks at my stomach, tongue licking my intestines, sucking away the wine. I am unraveling, eviscerated.

Then I am awake. Cold. Sweating. Afraid.

The mouth was mine.

V.

“The gods appear in many forms,

carrying with them unwelcome things.

What people thought would happen never did.

What they did not expect, the gods made happen.”

― Euripides, The Bacchae

***

The room is smaller now. Tighter. They give me three pills instead of one, and check on me at the top of every hour. I never leave. I have lost that privilege. I am “dangerous” now, unpredictable. There’s a red label at the top of my chart— I saw it when the nurse came in to check on me. She was afraid when she looked at me. Like she expected me to lunge, attack her.

She was pretty. Almost excessively so. It was hard to look at her, knowing that to her, I was an animal. A monster. This hospital was a zoo for her, full of degenerate monkeys. She’s forced to feed us, and every time she prays she does not get bit.

I found myself thinking about her long after she left. My food had grown cold. There were no shadows outside my door.

I wondered what it would feel like if we had met another way. Another time. Another place. She looked familiar.

But that is not what Dionysus wants for me. It is not what I am meant for.

But still…

I can so easily imagine soft blonde hair in my hands, kissing soft lips…

ΟΧΙ.

No.

There is a brief fleeting moment where I remember something. Understand something. Know everything.

The moment passes. I am gone.

***

Today is the day.

For twenty years I have been waiting in this gods-forsaken hospital. Scrounging what I could. Bargaining for what I couldn’t. ​​An unholy cocktail of substances has both kept me alive and doomed me to a premature death. I could feel it. The vines grew fat and wide in my veins. The grapes began to swell into my throat. But the premature death was, of course, inevitable. It was always supposed to happen this way. Every day I awaited the day I could sink my teeth into my flesh and tear free the vines, taste the grapes, sink into the dark pool of the afterlife.

My teeth feel sharp. My flesh willing. Knives and fruit. Scissors and paper. Corkscrews and corks. Teeth and flesh.

I am watching the door. It is midnight. They will be coming to check on me, and then it will be a whole hour before they come back. If all goes well.

All will go well. This is all part of Dionysus’s plan.

Door opens. Face peeks in. I am pretending to be asleep. Door closes. I could hear the footsteps as they walked away. Maybe it was the nurse again.

One-two, three-four, five-six. Right-left, right-left, right-left.

Gone.

A wine-hued haze descends over my vision. I am frantic, manic, devoted, motivated.

Teeth ripping into flesh. Staining the clothes, the sheets, the floor. Running down my lips, my neck, my hands. Sweet wine. Sweet death. Liquid death. I am coming, Dionysus.

ΠΑΡΑΔΙΝΟΜΑΙ ΣΕ ΣΟΥ. I surrender. To you, Dionysus. My Lord.

Vision blinking in and out. No. Not yet. I need to bite more, rip and tear, bleed, die.

Oh Gods it hurts, it fucking hurts, deep red agony, ripping, tearing agony. ΑΓΩΝΙΑ.

I am shaking. Sobbing. Suddenly afraid.

It’s not wine. It is blood. My blood. Death. My death.

I am not ready.

Please, don’t…

Too late.

I’m

…

VI.

“You who are so desperately eager

to see those things you should not look upon,

so keen to chase what you should not pursue.”

― Euripides, The Bacchae

***

ΕΣΕΙΣ. Ο ΔΟΛΟΦΟΝΟΣ ΤΩΝ ΙΕΡΩΝ ΤΕΛΕΤΩΝ.

I feel the words. They pulse like hot blood at my wrists, through my vine-veins, oozing from each pimple and scab.

Then I understand them. Hear them. As if spoken, although I cannot see their source.

“You. The Killer of Sacred Ceremonies.”

“Who is there?”

There is a deep, rumbling laugh. No. Not a laugh. Laughter is too human. This was some unholy expression of Eldritch amusement. A horrifying sound, a sensation too powerful to comprehend.

“You know who I am, boy. As I know you.”

It seemed too good to be true.

“D-Dionysus?”

“Indeed.”

The darkness around me swelled with purple light, undulating, vibrant.

I looked upon the face of my God.

I expected a bearded man, a crown of vines, deep black eyes. I expected the Dionysus that I had seen in statues, in myths. Strong, powerful.

What I got was an abomination, an incomprehensible mass of flesh and vines, thousands of blinking eyes, a nonexistent mouth that formed Ancient Greek words that I could only half understand. The stench of decay mixed with sickly sweet fermenting grapes. Dripping with wine in all shades and varieties, wines as old as time itself. Aged. Sweet. Sour. Wine that by sight and smell alone made you want to lean in, take a long, endless drink… Ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, the taste of paradise itself, if only I could just…

I screamed with the raw terror that only a dead Madman can produce. The sound seemed to feed him, to stabilize the roiling mass of flesh into something distantly resembling a face, if you squinted.

His many eyes watched, and waited.

Finally, I could no longer scream. The terror had abated into a kind of distant, manageable dread.

I looked down at my body, suspended in the void, and I saw… nothing. No vines pulsing under my flesh. No grapes swelling at the edges of my bones, bursting at my skin. Just the loose skin of an addict. Wrinkled, yellowed, scarred.

I smiled.

“Lord Dionysus.”

Now I could finally have the answers. Why I was chosen, why he sent me down this path.

He shifted the roiling mass of his body. As if he was cocking his head to the side. Amused.

“You have a question, I see. Ask, child.”

“Why?”

He stops moving. His malformed face surges towards me.

“Why what?” he spit. His sudden malice rendered me speechless for a moment. But only for a moment.

“Why was I chosen? To be here? To follow this path?” I only seemed to make him even angrier, so I continued, hurriedly. “I mean, was it boredom? Obsession? A random impulse? You must’ve chosen me for something.”

Some of Dionysus’s anger abated. His laughter was dark, cold. It tingled in my ears. Like wine in the brain.

“As if I’d ever ‘choose’ the likes of you,” he sneered in a garbled version of English. It sounded as if he was mocking me.

Suddenly I wanted to cry.

“Punishment, then?” My voice shook. “For… for what?” I was afraid to ask, but as I spoke Dionysus seemed more amused than annoyed. The twisted face he’d formed grinned, impossibly wide, with teeth stained wine red. His many eyes rolled in disdain. Then he fell still, his eyes almost seeming to mist over with a gloss of tears… if such a thing was even possible.

“I see… so you truly do not remember.”

“Remember what?”

Η ΑΜΑΡΤΙΑ ΣΟΥ.

ΤΟ ΕΓΚΛΗΜΑ ΣΟΥ.

Ο ΒΙΑΣΜΟΣ ΣΟΥ.

“I don’t understand.”

Dionysus smiles, that twisted, inhuman expression. Like he wanted to swallow me whole. Pop me between his teeth like a fat, fresh grape. Plucked from the vine.

“You used to be quite the partier, Everett.”

Saying my name stirred a memory that I didn't recognize. Tried to taste the memory of parties. Tried to remember the last time someone, myself included, had used my name. Found that I could not. All I knew, all I could remember, was madness. At 22, my life began. Everything before that had been consumed into a darkness that I could not understand. I didn't remember my parents. My friends. Only the Madness. There was only ever Madness. What everyone saw as a fantasy was my one and only reality.

“What?”

“Everett Sterling. That is your name, isn’t it?”

His grin was cruel. I couldn’t remember, and he knew it.

“What is this?”

I was seeing things. Things with dim house lights and bitter liquid. Not wine. Stronger.

“You found yourself in the wrong frat party. One populated with the wrong kind of Greek Life.”

“I… I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Dionysus’s voice became static, burning into my eardrums, slicing into my brain, ripping me apart.

“YOU DISTURBED THE SACRED RITES,” he roars. “YOU DARED TO LAY HANDS UPON MY MOST DEVOTED FOLLOWERS.”

The force of his voice is enough to blow the greasy strands of hair out of my face.

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

“Of course,” Dionysus says, his voice suddenly cold and calm again. “To you, it was just another house party. Your friend Marty invited you, yes?”

I did not remember a Marty. But I was beginning to feel sick.

“He was killed after what happened, of course. He couldn’t be left alive. He was one of my own. A satyr, trained to seek and find those with the seed of Madness within them. He saw potential in you, Everett. The potential for Madness. The good kind. The kind of Madness that makes artists great, that makes men into immortals.” His smile was rueful, bitterness and sorrow. Not regret. Merely tainted with the knowledge of what could have been. “Everett, you were, in fact, chosen… in a way. Marty was trying to save you by taking you to that house party. I mean, seriously. A business major? You would’ve been miserable in a nine-to-five, and you know it. It’s why you gave in to me so easily.”

“So… what changed? What happened? What did Marty do?”

“Marty did nothing beyond extending the invitation. His punishment was by proxy. A relatively painless death. But you… you did the real crime. You entered into MY TEMPLE, invited to one of the finest revels in all of human history, and you decide to do what you humans are always so fond of doing: drinking. And taking. Except this time you went too far. You found one of my Maenads. My most vicious warriors. This time you decided you needed her. You wouldn’t take no. This time you were the vicious one. This is the one event where my Maenads are not allowed to attack, where gods and mortals can come together as one. And you used that against her.”

“No…” I pressed my knuckles into my neck. They are red, raw, thin. “No. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t do that.”

“You DARE accuse me of lying, boy?”

“No. No, no. I just… I couldn’t… I don’t remember…”

“FOOLISH. You know what you did. You’re just afraid to admit it. Afraid to admit that you are capable of such a thing. I’m sure you’ve heard the saying: Alcohol doesn’t change one’s character. It merely intensifies it, reveals that which might otherwise be hidden. You are, deep inside, nothing more than an abuser. A user. A predator. ΥΒΡΙΣΤΗΣ.”

“I couldn’t. I couldn’t. Please, there must be some mistake… I would never defy you, Lord Dionysus. I devoted my whole life to you. To Madness. Please.”

“You merely served the punishment you were given. You think you are more noble than any other madman? The woman who drowned her kids in the bathtub because she thought that was the only way to save their souls? The men who devoured the flesh of their brethren to survive in the harshest mountains, bargaining with God to excuse their sin? Better yet, do you think you are any better than the women who fight back against their abuser, who live a life of pills and therapy just to come to terms with someone else’s senseless violence?”

“No. No. I just… I just…”

“You just refuse to accept that it is over. You wasted your life thinking you were better than everyone else, believing yourself to be chosen, the heir to my eternal rewards. Even before you fell victim to my curse, you thought you could do no wrong. Women were merely objects to you. Even holy women.”

I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Silence now. I grow tired of this talk,” Dionysus says. “We are going in circles.” Vines separate themselves from the mass, creeping towards me.

“Wait!” I yell, my voice finally coming. “What… What will happen to me now?”

“The same thing that happens to every other man like you. Just another shade tied down in the Fields of Punishment for eternity.”

“But…”

“But what, fool? You think yourself deserving of some special new punishment? Nay, boy. I do not dare lump you in with the myths of Sisyphus or Tantalus. Your tale will not be immortalized. You will not be remembered. Already, my Maenad has forgotten you exist, lost in a manic slurry of more joyful memories. She will recover. You will not.”

“But… It’s not… It’s not fair…” I was gasping now, the words coming out of me in desperate bursts.

Each and every one of Dionysus’s eyes lit up with fury.

“What do you know of fairness, ΑΝΟΗΤΟΣ? You dare to face your sin with indignity? This is your burden. You must bear the consequences of your actions.”

The dread was intensified into terror again, but this time the terror cut too deeply to formulate a scream.

“Di… o… nysus… My… Lo… ord…” My voice is disappearing. My already pale skin is growing paler, translucent. Transparent. Fading. “No-o-o…”

“Goodbye, Everett.”

And thus ended my madness.

Jane

I have long fallen in love with my cozy little cottage, sitting right outside the skirts of a lively, bountiful forest. Softly humming a little tune, I thinly slice the freshly baked loaf of bread sitting on my kitchen counter. The toasty smell wafting in the air summons deep rumbling sounds from my empty stomach. My mouth waters as I spread a generous amount of light, velvety butter on my bread.

Just as I am about to wolf down my buttered bread, I hear panicked shouts right outside my door. Slightly disappointed, I snatch a slice and rush out the door.

A young boy, anxiously crouched over the limp figure of what appears to be a young girl, is desperately crying out for help.

Dear god.

The children are so severely malnourished that I can see their bones protruding from their paper-thin skin. I rush forward and crouch down. I am shocked by the cuts and bruises covering their tiny bodies, but I am forced to collect myself to address the most pressing matter at hand.

I look into the boy’s eyes and give him a comforting nod, “Don’t worry, I’m here to help.”

Upon hearing the word “help”, the young boy promptly faints with relief written all over his face.

What a strong, caring child.

With as much strength as I can muster, I carry each child into my humble abode. I slowly trickle some water into their mouths until both of them regain consciousness, “Shh, shh. Don’t speak, please try to stay calm and just eat.”

I use two fingers to pull off bite-sized pieces from my fluffy bread and gently stuff each piece into each of their mouths, one at a time.

“There we go, you guys are doing great!”

At last, the color has begun to flow back to their faces.

I lift the children into my bed, and I quietly tuck them in. The muffled cries of my grumbling stomach and the lonely, half-eaten loaf of bread end up forgotten as, overcome with exhaustion, I collapse onto the ground.

Ren

The body sitting and resting on my back feels as light as a corpse. I’m even more worried about the fact that Em hasn’t said a word for the past few hours, behavior that drastically contrasts her usual talkative self. But her silence is understandable, considering the circumstance. Only a few days ago, we had both decided to run away from our orphanage without so much as a morsel of a plan in mind.

We may be starving and looking death in the eye but I don’t regret my decision at all, and I’m certain Em feels the same. The so-called “orphanage” was more like a match factory disguised as a home for orphans; the “caretakers” trained all of us how to handle the matches without regard for our safety at all. Em and I would’ve been able to endure it all if not for the horrendous disease that was rapidly spreading throughout the den. They called it phossy jaw. And little Mary was the very first victim. The sight of her violently shuddering on the floor with a swollen, decomposing jaw before drawing her final breath has been burned into my mind, haunting me to this very day. I refuse to let Em fall victim to the same demon. She was my ray of sunshine, my only source of comfort in that hellhole.

Despite the burning pain flaring up from my bony feet, I trudge forward one step at a time, telling myself one step forward is one step closer to freedom. When I see the distant lump sticking up from the ground gradually enlarge as I step forth, adrenaline rushes into my veins and I muster what little strength I have left to sprint towards it. My heart is thudding fast and loud as a drum, and I haven’t had enough water to sweat but I can feel the heat rising to my head.

As I near the door, I pause mid-step.

Wait a second. I don’t feel her breaths anymore.

Up until now, Em’s soft breathing had tickled my neck like a feather, and my notice of its absence sends my heart six feet under. I slowly set Em down on the ground and I check for heart beats, breathing, anything indicative of life. My heart drops even further.

No, there’s no way. We’ve already come so far. It can’t be…

I cry out in anguish and let out a guttural scream, a desperate plea for help.

As if to answer my cries, an angel descends from the heavens and gifts me the comfort of her aid, ““Don’t worry, I’m here to help.”

Please. Please save us. Please save Em.

And my world is suddenly sucked into a pitch-black darkness.

Ren

“Please, Miss Jane, let us help out around the house!,” I plead, “You already let us stay here free of charge, and you refuse to accept so much as a few words of gratitude, the least we can do is pull our own weight!”

Em eagerly nods in agreement, eyes full of energy and brimming with joy, “You’ve taken such good care of us for the past few days, and you’ve even offered us a place to stay, we are more than willing to offer our aid!”

Flustered, but evidently pleased to see the improvement in our health, Jane gives us each a light pat on the head, “Well, if you two insist.”

I grin wide enough to make my jaw sore, “You won’t be sorry, miss, I promise we’ll be useful. We’re willing to do anything if it means we can help you!”

Jane laughs, but I catch a hint of worry in her eyes, “My dear children, while I appreciate your offer to help, you mustn't make such promises to just anybody.”

“Oh, but Miss Jane, you aren’t just anybody!”

Jane affectionately ruffles my hair with a warm, glowing smile, “That’s nice to hear, dear Ren, thank you for your kind words.”

But it’s true... you saved our lives.

At this moment, I make a solemn vow to protect Jane, no matter the cost.

To protect every hair on her head, from her cozy, fireplace smile to her cheery little hum.

Jane

It’s only been a year and I’m already used to living with my two little helpers, Ren and Em. They fill my little home with so much life and joy that it feels as though they have been here from the very start. I absentmindedly wrap my fingers around the wooden handle of my pitcher to fill some glasses with water, and end up pouring out some air.

I sheepishly turn my head to look around only to discover that both children have witnessed my embarrassing slip of the mind.

I sigh, “Please forget what you just saw.”

Ren and Em, visibly suppressing giggles, vigorously nod several times and burst out the door with half-eaten loaves sticking out of their mouths. I can hear their giggles pass through the door to dance in my ears like a musical tune, and I can’t help but grin.

I slide a rope through the handle of the pitcher and secure the two ends in a tight knot, then slip on the makeshift necklace.

I call out, “Ren! Em! I’m heading into the forest to refill the water, alright?”

Em rushes back in through the door to cling onto me with a hug, “Miss Jane, why don’t you let Ren and I do it? You should stay here to rest!”

I pat her on the head, “Thank you for the offer, but I can’t let you two do all of the work, can I?”

Seeing words of protest begin to form in Ren's mouth, I quickly hush him, “Besides, it’s quite unhealthy to stay inside all the time. I’d like to get some fresh air every once in a while. Don’t worry, my dears, I’ll be back in no time!”

Jane

Humming, I lower the mouth of the pitcher into a gurgling stream and wait for a rush of cool water to flood in.

I notice some movement out of the corner of my eye but I choose not to pay it any heed, dismissing it as a wild creature or gust of wind.

I should gather some berries for jam…

With more water slipping out than rushing into my pitcher, I set it aside and cup my hands to drink straight from the stream.

The sensation of cool, refreshing liquid blessing my dry throat only leaves it begging for more.

“Nnngh!”

A sharp pain abruptly pierces my heart and my body is thrown into the rough bark of a looming tree. A dark cloud of smoke arises from the throbbing point of pain on my chest and my vision blurs. Panic seizes my heart and I tightly clutch my chest hard enough to make my knuckles turn white as a ghost.

No...I have to get home...I mustn't stay out for too long or the children will become anxious...

I shudder as my thoughts are disrupted by a booming voice that consumes my mine and shakes my soul to its very core, commanding me to “SLEEEEEEEEEP.”

Em

The light, tapping footsteps approaching the door spark excitement in my heart, and I dash over to the door to greet Miss Jane.

I creak open the door and run, barefooted, through the dirt until I am close enough to throw my arms around her neck, “Miss Jane, what happened? It’s pitch-black outside and we were worried sick!”

A sickeningly sweet voice trickles out of Miss Jane’s mouth, and a shiver runs down my spine, “My sweet, sweet child, there’s no need to worry about me. I assure you, I am perfectly fine. Look, I have the water right here!”

Miss Jane drunkenly holds up a half-empty pitcher with a jagged crack running down its side.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“M-Miss Jane? Are you sure you are feeling fine?”

Come on, Em, what’s wrong with you? How could you even think of doubting Miss Jane?

I shake my head at myself, but I fail to control my shaking limbs.

Miss Jane smiles and puts her hands on my shoulders, “Of course. My dear Em, why don’t you call me mother? I don’t mean to impose but I truly see you as my very own daughter.”

I freeze in shock, and a warm fuzzy feeling starts to melt away my irrational suspicions, “Miss Jane…”

I hear a soft creak behind me and the smell of Ren’s chicken soup fills the air. Ren must’ve overheard our conversation, because he’s standing in the doorway with his jaw hanging.

*SMACK*

My stinging cheek causes tears to uncontrollably well up in my eyes. The warm, snug feeling that had filled my heart slipped out through the fresh cracks.

I look up in disbelief with a hand on my cheek, “M-Miss Jane?”

Ren put himself between me and Miss Jane, “Miss Jane, please calm down and let us right our wrongs. What have we done to anger you?”

“Please, call me mother,” replies a sugary voice dripping out from a twitching smile.

“M-m-,” Ren starts, but is interrupted by a harsh outcry.

Miss Jane, doubling over as though she were punched in the guts, let out a soft groan, “GO AWAY! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!”

Jane

I-I can’t control my body. It feels as though I’m a stranger in my own body… and my presence is being forced aside by another.

This other… “being”... seems to have access to the entirety of my past memories…

The demon in me drags my feet forth while lugging along the increasingly light pitcher of water, leaving a wet trail behind.

Though I remain a spectator of my physical form, I can tell that the perpetrator is becoming increasingly comfortable in my body, a disturbing thought that further alienates me from my own flesh. I can sense the demon’s intense craving for life essence as the energy is gradually sucked out of my soul.

And then it hits me. Oh god. The children. I have to protect the children. I have to fight for control.

I struggle and try to wrestle down the conflicting presence in my mind, and I must’ve taken it by surprise because, to my elation, I am able to take back control. My excitement and relief is unfortunately interrupted by the excruciatingly painful sensation spreading throughout my body at an alarming rate. My momentary display of weakness gave the devil a chance to snatch back control, and so I am once again a mere witness of my corpse.

I fight with all my might but can only gather enough strength to regain control for mere seconds at a time.

As my home comes into view, I am forced to make a decision.

If I use my short moments of control to explain my situation or tell the children to run away, they will only insist on staying to help me out. I refuse to put them in such a dangerous situation. I must scare them off so they will run away of their own accord.

Ren

Em, with her sweet but wary smile, cautiously approaches Jane with a steaming hot cup of honey lemon tea. The sweet and citrusy fragrant is soothing but also acidic, like the calm before a storm.

“M-mother, Ren and I made this tea just for you!,” Em accidentally trips over a crack in the floor, causing some of the hot liquid to spill over the edge of the delicate cup, into her quivering hands.

“EM! Are you alright!?,” I dash to her side and cradle her hand in mine, “Let’s run it through the cold stream.”

Jane’s head whips towards our direction, “YOU CLUMSY, FILTHY BRAT! You better stay here to clean up the mess!”

Em, slightly trembling, wobbles into my arms and starts to sob, “R-Ren… what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, Em, you didn’t do anything wrong,” I tightly wrap my arms around her and lightly stroke her hair to calm her down.

What went wrong? We’ve already gotten this far away from the match factory. So why? Why haven’t we been freed? What more must we do to secure our freedom? Our safety?

I should’ve known it was all just a facade. The whole situation was simply too good to be true. I was a fool to think that Miss Jane would be any different from the other adults. She only wants us here to work for her.

Jane

It pains me to look at the devastation and betrayal swimming in Ren and Em’s eyes, but I must harden my heart if I am to save their lives.

I am using every single drop of strength I have to keep the devil in check, but I can feel its growing thirst for the young lives that are constantly within arm's reach. So far, the devil has resorted to countering my efforts by using honeyed words to convince the children to stay. But such trickery can only go so far. Love and trust must be earned, and once they are lost, they are not easily regained.

The thought relieves me, but it saddens me all the same. It seems I still have a long way to go before I become selfless enough to completely close off my heart. Despite knowing that everything I am doing is for the sake of the children, the selfish side of me just wants to spend what little time I have left in control of myself with them as their mother.

Though, ironically, the idea was devised by the devil to fool the children into staying, I have come to find the idea rather endearing after giving it some thought. Truly, Ren and Em are like my very own children, and I love them with all my heart.

Oh, what I would give just to hear them call me “mother” one time. Just once, for real, and to me.

Sigh…I’m getting weaker by the day. My body is increasingly slipping out of my control… I have to think of a solution before I am forced to give in to the devil…

A little voice that I have long pushed to the back of my mind called out, “Oh but there is a way to protect the children.”

I know… I know what I must do, but I can’t bring myself to do it…not yet… not while there’s still hope.

Em

Snuggly huddled in bed with Ren, I turn to face him, “Ren, I’m scared.”

“Me too, Em, me too…,” Ren sighs, and I can hear the exhaustion in his voice, though it’s too dark for me to see his expression.

“Did something happen to Mi—I mean mother?,” I ask in a shaky voice, “She was so kind and sweet before…”

“No, Em. She was never kind or sweet. It was all an act.”

I try to hold back my tears, but I can’t hide the tremble in my voice, “D-do you really believe that?”

I hear the regret in Ren’s voice, “Oh Em, please don’t cry, everything is going to be alright, I promise.”

His words of comfort only serve to break my fragile dam, and the salty Niagara Falls come pouring down from my eyes.

To my astonishment, rather than embrace me in an attempt to calm me down, Ren joins me, and we mourn together.

Ren

All of this started the night Jane came back from the forest with the pitcher of water…I wonder what possessed her to show her true colors. Perhaps she felt that after gaining our trust, we wouldn’t dare to leave her side no matter how poorly she treats us. Every once in a while, she speaks sweet nothings to us—hands them out like candy—but I refuse to be fooled.

I get lost in my thoughts while drowning in silent tears until I finally drift off to sleep.

Jane

I’m running out of time. I’ve stalled for long enough.

The shimmering, teardrop stars spread across the dark veil over the once sunny skies call me forth, into the abyss.

It’s time…

I wrap my feeble life force around my soul to bind it to my body once more. The demonic flames that scorch my soul are nothing compared to the feeling of having my heart shattered into innumerable pieces.

I crack the door open as quietly as possible, but pause a half-step out the door. In spite of better judgment, I slip back into the house and step across the floor on my toes to peek into Ren and Em’s room.

I smile melancholically as I watch the bodies slowly rise and fall with each deep breath. And then I notice their tear-stained eyes and soaking wet pillows.

It's as though they know what will happen...

The sight of their sorrow tears apart my heart but also steels my resolve.

Without further hesitation, I step out the door and fall under the cosmic embrace of the glittering night sky. In a trance, I return to the home of the devil, heading deeper and deeper into the looming trees. My bone-deep pain only continues to grow as I near the stream where I was cursed.

I step into the burning cold of the running water and I follow the direction of flow. It feels as though I am walking on a trail of sharp shards of ice, but each step lifts a ton off my shoulders and lightens the load on my shredded heart.

The devil fiercely claws at me from the inside, but I have never felt so at ease. I sing softly with the whooshing water and harmonious chirps that pinch the biting cold of the air and cut through the otherwise dead silence of the night.

I can tell that I’m nearing the end when I start to hear rushing water crash into the rocky earth far down below. The rumbling drums tell me the falls are waiting for my arrival, and I quicken my pace to reach them.

I sprint with the current as I am drawn in by the chasm that beckons me forth. When my feet finally reach the edge, I curl my toes and...

I jump.

Jane (Angel)

It has been years since my leap of faith, and my fallen spirit has at last been gifted wings to soar once more.

I may have freed my soul, yet my heart cannot help but still ache.

My trembling hand can do no more than longingly reach out every second of every day as I watch my beloved children from above.

My precious Ren and Em, oh how I wish I could speak to you.

I am tremendously grateful for being able to watch them grow up in my former home, though from afar.

Are those tears I see?

I try to lunge forward but am stopped by a divine force that holds me back like a ball and chain. Defeated, I frantically brush aside the fluffy clouds to get a better view and firmly press my hands against the barrier that traps me in the sky.

Oh, they're smiling.

Em's face is glowing brighter than the sun, and Ren's lips are tightly pressed into her stomach.

My (spiritual) heartbeat gradually settles down...and then it rises astronomically high before crashing down like a wave as I fit together the puzzle pieces.

Tears of happiness and yearning overflow my eyes and fall through the clouds. I slump forward and helplessly bang at the invisible wall that separates us.

Riiiiip.

To my astonishment, my fists fall through and I find myself tumbling out of the sky in a blinding flash.

Jane (Reincarnation)

I am floating in a dark void, curled up and alone. But unafraid.

Where am I?

A deep voice that I immediately recognize to be Ren's echoes in the air, "I think she deserves our forgiveness. She may have lost herself in the end but she did, after all, save our lives."

Em's voice vibrates my entire body, "I agree."

I feel a hand lightly push me back, "You hear that, my dear child? Your name is going to be 'Jane'."

The soft music filled the air around us as I danced with my husband, the same elegant tune I knew by heart that played whenever the Sugar Plum Fairy visited our court. All our subjects and visitors had left a few moments ago, and now it was just me and Hans, the man once cursed to be a Nutcracker. He picked me up and held me in the air as if we were putting on a performance for no one but ourselves.

Every night we danced a ballet around the castle. I never needed to think about the steps or worry about wearing out my pointe shoes; they never did wear thin and my feet were never sore. It was simply one of the magics of this world that I had grown used to.

It had been years since I needed to worry about such small things, perhaps more than a decade? I couldn’t be sure. I could still picture how this had all started, my beloved toy coming to life and protecting me during the battle against the horrid Rat King. How I was shrunk down to their size, or perhaps the world grew around me the moment the small war started. A battle that had been going on since the day the two enemies met, and I had seen the end of it.

Months passed by in a blink of an eye, and by the time we had traveled through the wintery fields that belonged to the Snow Queen and King and arrived in the land of sweets, I wanted nothing more than to be his bride. Not that my Hans had wasted anytime in proposing.

He set me down and placed a loving hand to my cheek which I leaned into with a smile. I loved every second with him. This place of candy and magic had long become my home, and even if we weren’t the crowned Rulers, I never wanted to leave.

“I love you,” I told him for what must have been the millionth time today.

He smiled back and rested his forehead against mine. “I love you too.”

We held each other close, my arms wrapped around him as we swayed to the music that slowly faded out. There would be another day of restoring peace to my Nutcracker’s sugary Kingdom tomorrow; even with the Rat King and his servants long gone there was still damage that needed to be fixed. This land had gone years without their King when Hans was trapped in that wooden form. I was told it was nothing short of a miracle that my love turned him human again, but I never thought much of it. I loved him and would do anything I could to help, it was as simple as that.

Hans slightly pulled away, his arm still around my waist. He gazed lovingly into my eyes for a few moments, but when he looked past me, he froze. Worry danced across my features as I wondered what he could have possibly seen before I turned to look for myself.

In the archway stood a tall man, his form covered by a large black cloak. His expression was blank, and his bald head was the only distinguishing trait I could see from here. I was thrown off as a wave of familiarity washed over me the longer I looked at this man.

“Uncle Drosselmeyer?” I asked, my voice filled with uncertainty.

My godfather simply gave me a small smile and opened his arms wide for a hug like he had done countless times when I was younger. The fabric of his cloak draped over his arms like bat wings. It had been years since I saw him, not since the night all of this happened.

I kissed my husband on the cheek before I ran into the familiar embrace.

Herr Drosselmeyer held me close as I could feel the tears prick at my eyes, it had been so long.

“Are you ready to go home?” He asked, his voice just as I remembered.

My head spun as memories of my past were brought back into the light, but I still looked at him confused. “I am home.”

He let out a small laugh as he exhaled through his nose and scooped me up into his arms. I rested my head on his shoulder without a second thought. He turned to leave our throne room and Hans didn’t say anything, he barely moved. All I could see was his expression slowly falling.

“Are you not coming with us?” I asked my husband, even though I couldn’t see him anymore now that I had been carried quite a bit.

“No,” Uncle Drosselmeyer answered for him. “He’s staying here.”

Something felt off about the way he said it, but I was still getting used to having him back to think much of it. It would take a bit before I relearned what each tone of his voice meant.

Godfather carried me towards the large double doors that lead outside. “Wouldn’t you like to see the castle?” I asked with a slight yawn. I was suddenly tired and seemed to get sleepier the farther we went from my husband.

“There’s no time for that Child. It’s time to bring you home.”

The entrance opened as we approached, however, I couldn’t see anything outside, it was difficult to keep my eyes open. I opened my mouth to say something, but I drifted off the second we crossed the threshold.

* * *

My head felt like it was spinning and my whole body felt sore…no, it was more than that- it felt wrong. I placed a hand on my head as I slowly worked to sit up. I hadn’t drank anything in ages, there was no reason for me to be feeling like this.

I blinked open my eyes and prayed the haze that seemed to cover my mind would fade soon. Large glass windows and doors greeted my vision, dusted in a layer of thick snow. I stared at them in confusion, there weren’t any rooms like this in the castle but it seemed so familiar.

I sat up straighter, my eyes widened in recognition. Something poked at my back and I immediately turned around; a large Christmas tree covered in ornaments and tinsel stood up to the ceiling behind me. This wasn’t possible- How could I be in my childhood home?

The plush bench I always used to fall asleep on during the Holidays almost tipped over as I scrambled off it. Everything was exactly as I remembered it: the tree, the decoration, the glass cabinet filled with mine and my brother’s toys against a wall.

Had godfather brought me here? Where was he? And where was Hans? I looked frantically around the room for my husband as I did my best not to panic, surely he was here somewhere.

My gaze fell to the floor after a few moments of searching, and that was when I noticed the small wooden nutcracker next to the bench. No- It couldn’t be. I sank to the floor and cradled the toy in my arms, the same silk handkerchief tied around its neck like I had done years ago. This couldn’t be Hans- I refused to believe that my husband was cursed to be in this form again.

Tears pricked at my eyes. Why was all this happening? This had to be a dream. I refused to let years and the love of my life slip through my fingers like this.

“Hans? Please tell me this isn’t you. Come back to me Hans,” I sobbed to the doll in my arms.

I cried more when I was met with no response.

Wind made the glass doors shutter but I paid no attention to them. For all I knew my husband was practically dead, a cold breeze drifting through the house was the least of my worries. My love had turned him human once before, why wasn’t it working now?

Someone cleared their throat from across the room and I looked up with blurry eyes. Harr Drosselmeyer stood in the corner of the room near the grandfather clock; he still had the large black cloak draped over him. “Clara,” he said as more of a statement than a question.

I held the nutcracker closer to my chest as tears fell down my face. “Why am I here? Why would you bring me back?”

His face didn’t show any emotions, just the slight hint of sympathy in his voice. “I brought you to that world as a gift, but it was time to go home.”

“That land was my home-!” I said, my voice breaking as I spoke. “I’m their Queen. I have people I need to help, I have a husband!”

The same look, nothing more than slight pity. “Not anymore. Go to bed Clara.”

I quickly rose to my feet, the wooden doll still clutched against my chest. It was the only thing I currently had of my precious Hans. “You can’t bring me back here after a decade and expect me to go to bed without questions.”

But apparently he did. My godfather disappeared in a blink of an eye. I raced towards the grandfather clock, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Uncle Drosselmeyer!” I commanded, my voice ringing through the parlor. But I already knew it was a useless attempt. He wouldn’t come back, at least not tonight.

I could feel my world crumble around me. How could he do this to me? Godfather was the one who gave me the nutcracker in the first place, he was there during the battle with the Rat King, he- he smiled at me and Hans before we left for the Land of Sweets. I never saw him after that until years later and now he forced me back to “reality”. I felt sick.

Footsteps echoed at the top of the stairs. “Clara? Are you still up Dear?”

More emotions than I could process flooded over me. Mother. It had been so long since I had seen her; or Father and Fritz. Would she even recognize me after all this time?

She appeared at the top of the stairs, a soft smile on her face. The sight of her was enough to make tears form in my eyes. How had I gone so long without seeing her? Mother made her way to the parlor, her nightgown trailed on the floor behind her. She was just as I remembered.

She gave me a concerned look. “Clara Dear, are you all right?” Mother placed a hand on my cheek and wiped away the tears that had fallen as I looked up at her.

But that couldn’t be right- I had grown over the years, I should be almost the same height as her by now. Yet as far as I could tell I was no taller than the last time I saw her; when I was a child. Surely she hadn’t grown as well?

I looked down at my appearance for the first time since I had been brought here. I no longer wore the elegant light pink gown I had on when I was dancing with my husband. Instead, it was a white party dress covered in layers of tulle and a red ribbon…the same outfit I wore the night everything happened.

No… It can’t be- I couldn’t be a child again. I had grown up, I’d gotten married, I rule a Kingdom. Hans and I celebrated my twenty-fourth birth only a few months ago. How could I be twelve again?

Mother clearly wasn’t aware of the distress that ran through my brain. “Let’s get you to bed. It’s far too late for you to be up,” she said gently.

I didn’t know what else to do but follow her upstairs to my childhood bedroom.

Nothing had changed. The walls were still a nice cream color and the shelves full of my books and toys hadn’t even gathered a layer of dust. It was as if I never left. She sat me down on the bed, the soft pink comforter wrinkled underneath me.

She kissed the top of my head. “I’ll see you in the morning. Get some rest Dear.”

“Good night Mother,” my voice sounded hollow, but once again she didn’t seem to notice.

She lit the lantern on my nightstand and left the room without another word, closing the door behind her.

I kept the wooden nutcracker close to my chest. It was the only thing I had left of Hans. I still refused to believe this could be real. Even with everything I had seen, the thought of somehow being a child again was too much. Surely if I continued to tell myself this wasn’t happening sooner or later I would wake up in my proper bed, next to my husband, and I could tell him all about the horrible dream I had. But part of me already knew that wouldn’t happen.

I laid down on the bed and pulled the blanket up to my shoulders; I didn’t care if I slept in the party gown. Right now night clothes were the least of my concerns. I hated that I didn’t know what happened to Hans.

Was he still at home, left to wonder when I would return? Was he somewhere in this town forced into a child’s body as well? Or was he truly this nutcracker again? Cursed to think and see everything around him, but never able to talk or move on his own. As much as I wanted to believe I currently held my husband, I prayed that wasn’t the case. He didn’t deserve to go through that again. He never should have gone through that in the first place.

Tears fell down my face now that I was alone. My mind slowly tried to figure out everything that had happened. I needed to see Uncle Drosselmeyer, there were so many questions and I demanded answers. But it was painfully clear he wouldn’t come tonight; there was nothing I could do right now.

First thing tomorrow I would summon him to the house, and if he didn’t show I would walk to his home if I had to, no matter how long it took. But I would need rest for that. As sick as I felt at the thought of doing nothing, any plan I could think of would need to wait until morning.

My eyes were heavy from the tears and exhaustion that washed over me. Even if it would be horrible sleeping in a bed alone after all these years, I knew weariness would win rather quickly, and I was right. I drifted off after a few moments, the nutcracker still pressed against my heart.

* * *

The pattern of how mornings went when I was younger quickly came back as one of our maids, Louisa today, drew open my curtains and let sunlight pour into the room. She laid out a new dress and garments and ushered me to wash up before breakfast.

The washroom was the same. The hallway was the same. Everything about this house was exactly as I remembered no matter how dim those memories had become. It gave me horrible déjà vu.

The scent of eggs and sausage filled the air as I got closer to the kitchen. Everyone was already seated at the table, and part of me couldn’t help but wonder if I had slept in later than I was supposed to. I didn’t remember our old schedules anymore, and I hardly knew what time it was currently. Too many things ran through my head to even think about checking the time.

The fresh pot of coffee calmed my nerves the smallest bit when I spotted it, at least I could wake myself up a little more. I grabbed a cup and started to pour myself a glass.

“What are you doing?” Father asked.

I couldn’t help but look a little confused. “I’m getting a drink,” I answered. What was wrong with that?

“You’re well aware coffee isn’t for children, Clara.”

I wanted to tell him that I was hardly a child, but as much as the comment infuriated me I was well aware how foolish I would look if I said that aloud. I hated how I was back in this twelve year old body.

The glass was plucked out of my hand and replaced with a cup of tea before I could say anything. I had nothing against the black tea we always had at meals, but this was certainly a day that required more caffeine to get through it.

I would grab some later, right now I just needed to make it through breakfast. I took my spot at the table across from Fritz.

He hadn’t aged at all but at this point I wasn’t sure what I had expected. His toy sword leaned against the chair and he had on his blue soldier hat Father gifted him…I supposed last night. Fritz talked excitedly about all the battles he had planned out with his toy men and the friends he would compete in “dangerous” sword fights with.

He hadn’t changed at all, and I was surprised to see this slightly bothered me. I had grown up, I had matured. It was strange to see that he hadn’t done the same, but at the same time I wasn’t sure I could picture him acting any other way.

I suddenly remembered how he had tried to play with my wooden nutcracker and accidentally ripped its head off. There was no way he could have known the nutcracker was alive, and it really didn’t hurt Hans. But that didn’t stop me from feeling the slightest tinge of anger at the memory.

“You’re so quiet Dear,” my mother commented. “Did you sleep well?”

I hadn’t paid attention to their conversation and struggled to remember what the topic of discussion even was. I thought I had gotten better at zoning out while still being aware of what was going on around me, it was a rather useful skill some days as a Queen. But I suppose not.

I nodded, “Yes, although I’m still a bit tired.” The coffee would have helped with that.

“I’m sure you can rest some more once we’re finished eating if that’s what you would like.”

“Thank you Mother.”

I didn’t say much else during the remainder of our meal. I honestly wasn’t sure what else to say. I felt trapped in the decision of attempting to act as I did when I was a child like they expected or simply act as I normally would and tell them the truth if they asked about a change. But I would most likely be sent to an asylum if I did that.

Another maid, Bethany, cleared all of our dishes the moment we finished eating and quickly refilled my tea. Hans and I had servants at the castle but even though the situation was similar everything seemed slightly off. Had Father always insisted the table be cleared so quickly?

Mother politely placed her napkin in front of her and rose from her seat. “I should start preparations if I’d like to get everything done in time for dinner.”

That caught my attention. “Is Uncle Drosselmeyer joining?” I asked quickly. It was Christmas Day, and I knew he should be in town. I needed to talk to him as soon as possible.

Fritz grinned at the idea, “Can he? It’s much more fun when he’s around.”

Mother and Father shared a glance; no one ever truly knew what would happen when it came to Herr Drosselmeyer.

“We can certainly ask,” Father told us.

My brother looked rather pleased at that answer and I couldn’t help but feel relieved. With any luck I should be able to get things back to the way they’re supposed to be by nightfall.

We were all dismissed from the table and I quickly made my way up to my old room. I couldn’t stand being away from my nutcracker, but I didn’t want to raise any questions by bringing it down with me. There was no easy way to explain that I was almost positive my husband, whom they didn’t know I had, had been cursed into the form of a wooden toy again.

Relief washed over me when I saw he was still on the bed where I had left him. I sat down and moved the doll onto my lap.

“Oh Hans, I’m sure I can convince Uncle Drosselmeyer to send us back. I’ll make sure I find a way.”

There wasn’t a response. I hadn’t expected one, but unfortunately that didn’t make the lack of hearing his voice any easier to cope with.

If I absolutely needed to, I would find a way to accept that I had to be a child again, that I would need to redo almost a decade of my life. But I couldn’t bear the thought that Hans might be trapped like this once again. He had told me what it had been like to be cursed to be a nutcracker, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

I carefully untied the silk handkerchief from around his neck and placed it to the side. It really didn’t do anything to make sure the wooden head stayed on, it was simply a gesture to help calm me from my tears back then. I appreciate the attempt.

The rabbit fur of his fake hair felt soft between my fingers. It felt similar to his black locks, but it wasn’t the same. Of course it wouldn’t be the same.

I wasn’t sure what to do. I couldn’t simply pick up where this life had left off, I had no desire to be a child again. I had been through far too much to act like a clueless little girl. But even as a former Queen there was nothing I could do until Uncle Drosselmeyer arrived; he was the one who started all of this.

The bed slightly creaked under me as I laid down, perhaps some rest would do me some good. I could drift off and pray when I woke up it would be time for Christmas dinner.

I didn’t care about any of the many presents under the tree, although part of me was a little curious to see what twelve year old me had wanted so badly. My family always gave more gifts than I could count, but my husband and I simply did a single present each year. My favorite was a gold heart shaped locket that I never took off, but it didn’t travel back here with me. As far as I could tell everything that came from the Land of Sweets had to stay in that land.

The doll felt natural in my arms as if I was always meant to hold it, but it did little to stop the way my stomach turned at it not truly being Hans.

Only a few more hours and then this could all be over, I reminded myself over and over again as I slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

I woke to a soft knock as Lunetta slowly pushed open the door.

“Miss Stahlbaum? I was told to inform you your godfather has arrived.”

I sat up the moment I processed her words. “Thank you Lunetta- I’ll be down shortly.”

The maid nodded and closed the door behind her.

I wasn’t sure what time it was but that hardly mattered. He had arrived, and I could finally get all of this taken care of; I wouldn’t let him leave until he agreed to send me back. I held my nutcracker close as I made my way down the stairs, it took all my self-control not to run. As much as I wanted to rush, my parents hated when we ran in the house, I could spare a few seconds.

Herr Drosselmeyer stood near the bottom of the staircase, him and Father in conversation. It sounded like they spoke of his newest invention; normally I would have loved to hear about it as well, but I had more pressing matters at hand.

They turned before I had reached the bottom step.

“Glad to see you up and about, are you feeling better my dear?” Father asked.

I nodded, “very much. Would it be all right if I spoke with Uncle for a bit?”

My godfather’s expression was unreadable, but Father gave a small chuckle. “Of course, I’ll go see if your mother needs any help finishing up in the kitchen.”

He placed a hand on Drosselmeyer’s shoulder before he left the room, my smile dropped once he was out of sight.

“Send me back.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Clara.”

I could feel the irritation stir within me. “You were the one who sent me there in the first place, I know you were.”

“I was,” he confirmed, but he didn’t say anything else.

“If you sent me there once then you can do it again,” I said firmly.

He looked me over, and part of me wondered how he saw me. He knew I had changed; he saw for himself how much I had aged. But I had a feeling I was still a twelve year old child to him.

“I don’t have enough magic to send you back, just as I didn’t have enough magic to keep you there.”

I could feel my world start to fall apart. That couldn’t be true, I refused, there had to be a way to return to the Land of Sweets. I wouldn’t leave my husband just because this man told me it wasn’t possible to go back.

“Why would you even send me there if you were just going to rip me away from the life I had made?” I asked, unable to stop the annoyance from seeping into my voice.

His expression softened the smallest bit. “I gave you the gift you always wanted. I let you grow up, experience love, learn what it was like to live inside a fairytale.”

“And you took it away! If you knew this would happen from the start then it was never a gift, it was an act of cruelty,” I hissed. I no longer cared if anyone heard our conversation. They could think I was crazy all they wanted because I had started to feel that way. “I fell in love-! I had people who relied on me, I had a purpose. And you ripped all of that away-” My heart raced in my chest. “Now the man I love most is trapped as a nutcracker because of you-!”

Uncle Drosselmeyer stood there quietly as I had my little outburst and waited a few seconds to make sure I had finished speaking. “That toy isn’t your husband.”

Everything inside me shattered. Five words and I felt like I could no longer breathe. I knew there was the possibility, and under no circumstance did I want Hans to be trapped like this- But how could this not be? It was the same doll that he had transformed from all those years ago; the handkerchief was still around his neck when I found him.

My hands shook as I held the nutcracker closer to my chest. “How could you know that?”

“There are many things I can do Clara, but lying to you is not one of them.”

Tears pricked at my eyes, I really did have nothing left of my husband. I didn’t know how I would get home. I had no way to know what happened to my Hans. For all I knew he was waiting for me to come back, but it would never happen. I choked back a sob, what if he thought I had left him?

I sank to my knees and openly wept on the staircase. I didn’t care how unqueenly it was or if it would be viewed as childish; everything I loved had been taken away from me. I was allowed a few tears.

Uncle Drosselmeyer placed a hand on my shoulder. “The pain will fade, Dear. Soon this will be nothing more than a memory.”

That felt like the worst thing he could have said. “I will feel this way forever if I have to live without him. Hans is my husband, and nothing you can do will change that.”

He looked at me almost as if he were disappointed, but he didn’t say anything else.

* * *

I don’t know when I fainted or why. It might have been from the pure despair I felt, or perhaps Drosselmeyer made me if that was something he was capable of. All I knew was when I awoke I was back in bed, my right arm was wrapped in bandages. Mother said I had a fever and injured my elbow when I collapsed. I would be on bedrest until the doctor cleared me but that was all right; I had no desire to do anything anymore.

The nutcracker doll stood on my nightstand, only an arms length away, but I no longer knew if I wanted to reach for it. It felt wrong to not have it in my embrace, but if it truly wasn’t Hans…what was the point?

Everyone flowed in and out of my room as the days went on. Fritz wanted to make sure I was all right, although I could tell he was disappointed our parents wouldn’t let him open all the presents until we could do it as a family.

Mother had brought me one of the many boxes with my name on it, but she didn’t bring anymore when I left it unopened. I wasn’t in the mood for any more “gifts”. Father brought me a mug of coffee with breakfast which did make me feel a little better, I gave him a small smile in return. But I wasn’t sure how I could honestly enjoy anything with the knowledge Hans would most likely never be by my side again. The idea was too painful to think about.

The doctor came in a few days later to fully remove my bandages; there was a small bruise and a faint scar from where my elbow must have hit the edge of the stairs, but I could move it just fine. My fever had faded as well, although they were concerned I didn’t leap for joy at the knowledge I could end my bedrest tomorrow.

Drosselmeyer had left the day after our conversation, which I had been surprised to learn no one else had heard, although I supposed that was for the best. My parents didn’t need to hear their child yell about magic and being married. They already didn’t like it when we clung onto fantasy a little too much and there was no way they would ever believe what I had gone through, even if I got Uncle Drosselmeyer to tell them it was true.

As far as they knew I was simply their little girl, and I had fallen sick. They didn’t need to know how much I hated being in this house. Just as I had quickly forgotten about my life here when I traveled to the Land of Sweets, the memories of my Kingdom slowly became harder to recall. I couldn’t stand the idea that one day it might be gone forever.

Father had given me a notepad upon request and I wrote down everything I could, I only stopped when I had used up all the ink or my hand was too sore to hold the quill. It took two days before I had to ask for more parchment. I knew they were concerned for my sanity.

I had moved the nutcracker to lay next to me in the bed, propped up against the pillows. My stomach twisted whenever I looked at it but I couldn’t bear the thought of putting it somewhere else. It really was all I had left of that world.

After a week of my behavior Mother said I was allowed to stay in bed, as long as I came down for meals. I simply nodded my head. I knew I couldn’t act this way forever and I hate how concerned I must have made them. But it was hard to do anything when it felt like your heart had shattered into a million pieces.

I didn’t say anything as we ate and only gave short responses when spoken too. My parents didn’t press too much, they must have seen this as an improvement since I was out of my bedroom, but I knew that patience wouldn’t last much longer. I would mourn the separation from my husband for as long as I was alive, unfortunately, I knew I couldn’t show it. Soon I would have to act as if everything were all right again; even if that made everything worse for me, it would make things better for my family. That had to be what truly mattered, for at least that was something I could control.

* * *

A month had passed before I saw Herr Drosselmeyer again. The pages I wrote were the only things that kept my memories of the Land of Sweets from fading completely, some days I had to read them twice to recall all the details.

Once I had started to partake in conversations again, Mother allowed us to open up the presents. I knew Fritz had been not so patiently waiting for that. I received handfuls of sugar toys and chocolates, a new collection of dolls, and multiple new dresses covered in lace and frills.

I expected that I would need to act delighted when I unwrapped all the gifts I wanted a decade ago, but the sight of everything did fill me with joy. The only problem was I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing. I wasn’t nostalgic at the gifts, and I feared as my memories slipped away, my years would too. I didn’t want to have the mentality of a twelve year old again.

Someone knocked on the front door after dinner and Anneliese quickly moved to open it. It had been a couple of weeks since I had relearned the pattern of things, but I couldn’t think of any reason we would have a visitor this late.

The young lady quickly returned to tell us who was here. “Sir Drosselmeyer has arrived, he says he’s brought his nephew.”

My brows tightened in confusion. I had known my godfather all my life and not once had he ever mentioned having a nephew, I was only vaguely aware he had a brother. Perhaps they were a small child? Although if that were the case I wasn’t sure why their father wouldn't come with.

Father stood up from the table to greet our guests and I tilted my head a little to try and see. His nephew looked about my current age, perhaps a little taller than me. He had straight black hair that was a bit longer than boys normally had it cut and piercing blue eyes.

I felt my heart catch in my throat. It couldn’t be.

I had only come to my senses just in time to hear godfather introduce them.

“I’d like all of you to meet my nephew, Hans Drosselmeyer.” I didn’t miss the pointed look he gave me.

It took all my self-control to fight back the tears that started to form in my eyes. Was my Hans really here? This was far from how I expected to see him again, but if it really was him- the details certainly didn’t matter.

“Perhaps Clara and Hans should step out to get acquainted?” he suggested. “They’re rather close in age. I’m sure they’ll get along quite nicely.”

No one had any complaints.

The two of us left the room, and my heart pounded in my chest. I was almost certain, but I was too afraid to say anything on the off chance I might be wrong. What if this was simply a cruel trick?

Hans wrapped his arms around me the moment everyone was out of sight and I melted in his embrace. It was far too familiar to be a coincidence.

“Is it really you?” I asked, I didn’t even care that my voice broke the slightest bit.

“It is.”

Tears rolled down my face as I began to sob. Hans held me close as he placed a comforting hand on the back of my head. I had no clue what all of this meant for the future, I never imagined living a life with him here in this world. But I had my husband back. My beautiful, sweet, incredible Hans, and that was all that mattered.

He pulled back the slightest bit to reach into his pocket and pulled out a gift. “I hope this will make up for our time apart.”

I almost laughed at the idea of him giving me a present. All of this was in no way his fault, but I wasn’t able to stop the tears yet. I pulled back the gold ribbon on the small red box; it looked just like the ones he gave me at home.

I cried a little more when I saw what was inside: a golden heart shaped locket, identical to the one he had given me years ago.

This truly was my Hans, and now that I had him back, I would never let him go.

Wayback When

I can't get my body to be still. My foot continues to tap to the beat of my twitching eye. Couple that with my rebellious mind with thoughts like starving vultures. They prey on my worry and ever growing anxiety. Funny enough my surroundings suit my countenance. In a universities library,pass midnight and stressed out;I am no different from any other student. Although every other student doesn't have to catch up on almost a whole year of work like me. It's hopeless,this feeling festers as I page through all the options to make up credits. I do not know what this professor thinks, there is only one month left till holiday.

Feeling utterly wrecked I announce my distrust with the universal learner moan.Maybe if I bury myself underneath all these papers I could absorb it's knowledge.How perfectly normal do I look?

Before my stressed out tears could be pressured out, he comes.

A warm gentle touch on my shoulder jerks my body into an upright stance with simulatneous twirl of the neck. His smile greets me, it is an unwelcoming comfort. My teeth gritt against his infectious joy. Antonio,what are you doing here?

Mo,you seriously gonna ask me that,i was searching all over for you.

Annoyed by his sudden accusatory tone I ask him as nicely possible to leave me alone. My inner voice taps me on the shoulder,umm why is he so upset MO? Let's see,his stance has changed, hands on hips like a discerning father,eyebrows frowned with inquisitive eyes. Okayyy, I can confirm he is upset.

Antonio let it out?

MO,it's Friday.Ringing any bells?

My mind scoured ovet everu record,ripped open every transpondence recorded to get a resound, I have no idea.

Friday is or was movie night,I planned it for you,I mean uh us,never mind.

His body folded in and he pulled away from me, I feel terrible.

Tony I got a lot of work and you know I can't,I won't go back.

He melts just like that and reaches for my hand, to say he's gonna be my rock. Blushing like a schoolgirl (which I am technically) I hold it. His stare is transfixed to my eyes and mine at the floor, pull away from the alarming new sensations his close proximity brings. Embarrassed by the truth,that he eases me. So I might as well tell him my predicament because I know he will help. A serious tone latched onto every word I said in my explanation but melancholy danced on my thoughts.

Antonio, although he is too polite to ask,is definitely wondering why i just didnt get on with my life. My life huh,mine. Maybe it was the echo i feared the most,of their laughter, warmth. It sufficates me to kniw they not here, breathing the same oxygen into their lungs. Life stole my time from them, so i thought best to befriend death for a while. On my own burying their memory seems far less painful than embracing their absence. I will not go back home as i haven't these pass 2 years. I shall stay in this foreign country, and disappear.

A tear forms at the fringes of my eyes to see Tony agitated as ever looking over papers with me. Uhh what time (yawn) is it Mo?

Sloth-like response follows 1am. Fed up with this whole situation i pull the first paper i see, this is the one. Antonio interested takes the paper from my hands, im too nervous to look. You must write a 10000 word essay about a sophisticated 17th century civilization,choose one from the available countries. The options are Egypt,Kenya,Laos and Turkey. Pleasantly surprised I pick Kenya, a country me and my father use to study together. Him a history professor me a 5 year old eager to learn about true great adventures. A Mona Lisa snatches my face for a second. Antonio springs up, determined goes hunting for relevant books. Tired but refreshed by his resolve I slowly write down ideas. Not even 10 minutes pass and Antonio plops massive books onto the table sending a ringing groan throughout the old library. Grabbing at the books, Tony is catching his breath like an old man. History students don't get alot of walking in a day, too bust looking behind us. Sorry. I grab the books until Aha, Tony this is what I'm gonna do,Gedi the mysterious City of 17th century Kenya.

Antonio looks on waiting for a follow up explanation. Well go on..

The City is said to have once been home to a sophisticated Swahili civilisation for a long time. But it mysteriously was abandoned by all inhabitants. Historians today still don't know why they just left. Some new historians believe it was other African kingdoms wanting to make them slaves. I strongly disagree though.

Tony seems convinced this is a good choice, which gives me more confidence. A light blue light starts filtering in not to soon, so i go looking for a now searching Antonio.

One thing about him that gets on my nerves is his obessession with order and control. He hates spontaneity and risks. This is just totally opposite from me.Thinking of Tony where us he?

Tony!?Where are you?! Worried my feet directs my reluctant body around the creepy library, and there he is pulling on a painting. Strange.Whatare you doing Tony?Heis really clutching this paintings edge of what seems a depiction of tye 17th century King of Portugal John IV.Mo can you help me, I want to check the date of this painting, just to make sure I'm right about who I think this is.Soon enough I am tugging with all my might alongside Tony,perspiring for a while. Eventually we feel the effect of our determination in the sound of the painting nudging. Tony yanks it off and then I see it. A tunnel behind the painting about a meter from the ground. The tunnel seems to be made of old mountain rock with odd scratches along it. Curious I climb in, needing this distraction,Tony screams after me but follows me. His mumbles of annoyance infiltrate my brain as we crawl further my hand drops and I go with it.

A warm light envelopes me instantly revealing a room. In awe I see old books stacked up on shelves but no dust or sign of damage. They have not been touched by time it seems, later Tony steps out orderly and he straightens his Hoody out. This one particular book lures me in, it's smell reminded me of strangely enough,my father. Antonio let's his irritation subside as he takes in all these books. While he deals with his new crushes i page through this dust free book,with a golden cover with no title. Soon I realize this is a direct account astonishingly of a person in Gedi, Kenya. I cannot believe what I am looking at right now I call Tony over. Just like me he can't believe what he is seeing, how rare is it to find such a book that has a direct account of a civilisation. This proves there was settlers in Gedi, it must have been the portugese who wrote this account. I was so excited I frantically page through the book with such glee.

Then...

Wet,damp smell of dirt,chirping birds and a giant trees all around bombard my senses. The book is not in my hand anymore, I look back and no tunnel, no library. I grip Antonio's hand and turn to him for a logical explanation for all this,but none came.Just as astonished as me, his mouth gapes open releasing a loud gasp every minute. Antonio? Shaking his hand, Antonio? The desperation in my voice rose, Antonio?! My hands clasped the sides of his cheeks,Look at me, breathe with me, In Out . We did this until I couldn't hear his heart beating through his chest. He nodded to me to assure me he was okay, so I flung my arms over him like a lifeboat in a sinking. Clinging onto each other like frightened fools , unaware of what they done, where they are or what they about to go through. He pulls away while whiping a scared tear from running. His stare dislodges all tough feelings stuck in my throat. He rubs my back, attempting to soothe me with a knowing stare. Stare that says I know your sadness eclipses even the strangeness of a world.

He grips my hand and we walk on into the forest,no words. Hoping to hit a town, village just something. We trudge through this seemingly never ending dense forest we see humans. So relieved we run up to them without a thought. The lady is wearing a colorful skirt with no shirt.Her breasts are revealed and Antonio blushes. Look at him, a minute ago his hoody and the ground wasn't as interesting. The woman possibly surprised runs off,hopefully getting help. Tony what's wrong you look a little red, Free the nipple Tony it's the 21st century for God...Tony. I see men with large spears with full on animal skin running towards us. Their manner does not scream welcoming, so I grab Tony's hand and run.

We do not get very far before they catch up to us,to find us panting loudly in the forest. The men drag me and Tony back from where we ran. They however take us farther until we see a break in the tree line. I gasp when I see, a grand city with tall rock buildings similar to that of old Roman buildings. Children playing with what seems like a ball made out of plants, its as if we took a step back in time.Impossible.The man pierces the back of his spear into my back to nudge me forward, this makes Tony visibly angry.

His eyes seem to be burning with fury, but I whisper I am okay to settle him down. I know he wouldn't do anything because he never takes risks but I need him to be in a collected mood.He probably already has a plan.

The men lead us to a small rock building with a wooden door.A man with a friendly countenance ushers us into the home.Skeptical of everything I am seeing I see all the tools,decorations and lack there of.These all were used only from 17 to 18th century Africa before colonizers influenced their life completely. The men with spears leave us with this man.Their absence gives Antonio new confidence so he directly addresses the man,Excuse me sir, can you please tell us where are we? No response follows,only a title of a head and a lift of his eyebrows.So I ask in Swahili, just to test my hypothesis and suddenly he understands. My name is Bulwayo and Gedi,as we the call it is where you are, where you from?I catch some of the Sawhili words to understand as I only understand a little because my father taught me some.Wondering how to respond as Antonio is beginning to connect the dots,and he is not taking it well.Uhhh far South by the sea, many moons to get home.Surprisingly he understands even through my thick English speaking accent. The man insists we sit down and rest.Antonio was already seated trying to process everything, I've never seen him so shocked. Politely the man leaves us after he tells me he's getting food. Finally alone I turn to a perplexed Tony, so I snap my fingers to get his attention. Nothing. I slap him across the face and that gives me more satisfaction than I thought it would. Antonio can see it on my face so he protests with a grin and rub of his cheek.Tony what are we gonna do?Do you have a plan? Uhhh okay let's try and get some information from this man then we can...

SHHH

What was that?

I can hear little footsteps against the ground followed by giggles. Two little kids run in front of us with such glee until they see us. Their faces turn from smiles to curious frowns. One of the kids is what i think a 10 year old boy, he comes closer to us. I walks around us, possibly searching for peculiarities besides our clothes. They both jump when they hear the door open, so they scurry away. The man is back with fruits, herbs and fish in a basket. Only now do I notice when he walks in a limp in his step,from his right leg. Strange I am so caught up in myself I forget sometimes, I'm not the only one here,feeling,breathing with me.

Starving ,me and Antonio gobble down the fish the man cooked for us over a fire.He whistles out and this alarms the kids because they coming running in, a tall woman follows them not to so long after. She has beautiful dark brown skin,a gentle demeanor and like the man a friendly countenance.They all sit down forming a semi-circle around us.We eat they slowly chomp and stare,as if we are new a new Netflix show. The kids run off after dinner,while me and Tony struggle to keep our eyes open.We have not slept for almost two days. The man shows us to a room with a single bed on the ground. So tired I thank him and we collapse into bed together.

Morning comes and I feel like I had the craziest dream,I giggle thinking about it. My giggles stop when I become aware of my surroundings. A chicken staring at me, a rock house,no mattress and him. Antonio's arm is wrapped around me and I can feel his body cover mine like a large hug. His faint snores make me feel safe so I snuggle up closer and he holds me nearer. A yawn followed by a quiet gasp, Tony slowly trys to remove his hand from around me. Successful he moves away but I can sense his smile as he gets up. Pretending to just wake up, i stretch and whisper Morning Tony we are in the fricken 16th century, what cool. Not finding anything amusing he looks on with a blank stare,the room gets cold from his worry. We need to get out of here Morgan this is serious. Your problems got us into this,I'll just...sorry. My eyes wander so as not to give it a chance to show the hurt.I didnt mean it like that,Mo. I am sorry. We just need to get out of here,okay. Just after he said this the kids burst in and yank my hand. I go along with it and allow them to lead me. They bring me to the woman from last night, who has bucket with water in. She tells me her name is Furaha so I share mine. I can tell she thinks my names strange because eveytime she says it she checks my eyes to see I'm not joking. We have a long conversation about family,love and life while we bathe. Although most of it I vaguely catch like an untrained juggler most end dropping into confusion but I got the gist of it all.

She introduces her family properly to us and they take us in with open arms. 3 days have passed since we arrived and Tony is still obsessed with a plan to get out, so he spends most of his time in the house. I on the other hand have grown quite fond of the family.Today is beautifully sunny,people dancing in middle of the city to drums and shakes.Outside the house I watch the boys play with their kind father and something takes possession of me.An ugly beast that makes me loathe their happiness, and wish harm.Ashamed I look down, I feel a hand tilt my head up.Its Furaha,she says I should never look down when all around is such great heights of joy.She said to look down is easy, but to stay up when lifes beating you is true power.These words I take to heart and so I with them I charge into their house,right up to Antonio.His astonished look contrasts my composed confidence.We are going dancing now .No buts, you need to get out this house.

Before he can complain I pull him out the house and tell him to let loose. So we head to the center of the city by following a crowd. We arrive with all eyes on us but Furaha and her family dance with us for a bit which makes others ease.Antonio gets in touch with his latin heritage,going with the rythym. I have never seen him so relaxed,he's dancing with others and me also. The drums begin to beat faster so I find Tony, we move in-sync with the beat of the drum.He pulls me close, then pushes me out into twirls. He picks me up as we fall into a ball of laughter,he whispers into my ear wanna bring the tango to Africa. Before I know it we waltzing and gathering so much attention that the drummers start drumming to our steps.We whisked around the floor while my African wrapped dress begins to come undone. Tony can feel it so he clasps my waist to keep it intact and I smile.We danced even when there was just one drummer man left and no crowd. Eventually we thank the drummer and proceed to walk back. Banter gets thrown back and forth while we occasionally bump into each other by "accident".Antonio holds out his hand in fron to stop me from walking.We both hear a rustling in the woods, without question I go to inspect. Tony whispers for me to stop.I stop ahead behind a tree to find just beyond the tree line is a man. Dressed in what then would be associated with the fancy or esteemed. It seems he is relieving himself against a tree. Tony creeps up next to me that's when he notices something.He points at the particular emblem and he tells me that this is one of King John IV of Portugals soldiers.

Tony says we should go back and warn the others. We go and warn the whole family about the portugese.They in turn alert the chieftan who alerts everybody to leave. We go help people pack when we hear the gunshots, bam,bam. They here, we pack faster. Furaha gets the kids but Bulwayo is nowhere to be found. We are forced to run with the others as the gunshots got too close to the house. The whole night we ran,then morning came and the frantic search for loved ones began. The toilet mother over a child not in her arms, to the wails of a young girl searching for her baby brother. Amidst all this I see Furaha,holding onto her children like they are balloons that might fly away. We go up to her to hear if she knows what happened to Bulwayo. Furaha said she found out he was shot trying to helping two kids escape and that they lived. Baffled by her lack of tears,her lack of pure heart wrenching sorry I ask is she not sad he is gone. Without a flinch she reaches for my hand puts it on her heart and she takes her hand and places it upon my heavy heart. Her eyes reflect back a pain I know too well. Not Gone.Thats all she said but I understood.My heavy heart felt all the bit lighter. I embraced her and her beautiful sons. Held them tight before I let them go forever.

Let's go home Tony, don't be mad but I knew where the book was the whole time. It's just behind the tree where we landed,are you mad? I squint my eyes bracing for what hes going to say as we are walking back.Nothing.No response just silence,which makes it actually worst. We get the book and just page through it like I did before and we are back in the tunnel.Before I could say something Tony crawls out the tunnel and I'm now the one following him.

He's walking rather fast, I have to do a couple of jumps to catch up with him. He stops in front of my room,opens it because it's usually unlocked,steps in hands me a laptop and tells me to write.Write about this civilisation,these people and their wonderful culture. I began and I did not stop only for toilet breaks,food breaks,walk breaks and a couple of naps but mainly just writing. See we were gone for 4 days but somehow now it has been 28 days in the 21st century so now there is only 2 days till hand-in.

After some tears,a transportation into the past, nearly becoming a slave to the portugese I have finished the essay. I give it in and the next day I get my mark back from Mr Almeida. He calls me up to him after class and says that the essay was by far one of the best he has ever read. But I only can give me a C minus because of the fiction. I got a warning to not make history fiction and that made me laugh since history now is fiction written by the well-fed,trigger happy,in this case portugese, but at least I passed. I walked out of classroom back to my room. Standing their with a book titled time travel for beginners, was Antonio. He asked me how it went,he chuckled rather loudly when I told him after everything I only got C minus.

In a more serious tone I told him I'm finally gonna go home this year, and face the 5 stages of grief,lovely.I need to unknit this tight scarf of pain around my neck and breathe.

I'm proud of you Mo oh and I was not mad at you when we left, I just really wanted to finally do thi... Yes we kissed, my feet grew wings I swear, I can't believe he actually took the risk.Not really a risk because i would have kissed him one second later anyways. And If you want details you are in the wrong place little naughty.I am a 17th century lady now,sauce is scandal,oh me oh my,just kidding. (Note history degrees dont give you comedic timing skills.)

I'm sure my dad would have liked him... after a couple of years...maybe.

Anyways,I love you dad,thank time it brought me back to you.

You’re too eager, said the man, and you don’t know how to survive, which is why you might. This here area of obstacles, you’re gonna tink we set them up for you, we didn’t, we didn’t even set up the course, we’re just letting you go, and these here obstacles, are not designed for you, it may seem like we would have something to do with them, we’re just setting you up against them, we don’t know more about them… not anymore

The kid looked at the man.

So why are you setting me up against them, said the kid. The older kid looked at him almost stunned. You’ve already lost, said the older kid. No I haven’t, said the kid. Then stop talking like that, said the older kid.

The man looked at them both in a way the older kid deemed as forcefully paternal, and if not forced then mainly off-putting, and spoke: We are setting you up against these here obstacles because we need food, and we are getting weaker by the minute. And we are in charge because we’ve been here longer, and so we know about what things work and what things are presented as needing to work, as to be fulfilling a function. And you don’t, yet.

So you’re using us, said the kid angrily and spread his fingers gesticulating around his head.

Yes…, said the man.

Older kid looked down at his feet. Not for much longer, said the older kid.

To be more correct, said the man suddenly like he was hasting himself to finish words before nightfall, we are not using you any more than that I give you orders, perhaps in some other way, that has not been made clear to us.

Do you want a name, said the older kid.

A name, said the kid.

Some of them have names, said the man, well most of them, all of them probably, if you’d ask.

My name is Cassius, said the older kid and added: I’ll call you Norman. This older guy is Herman.

And so, said the man called Herman, are you ready to part?

The boy called Norman looked up at Herman, then at Cassius.

How long will I be gone, he asked.

Does it really seem that he would have the answer to that, said Cassius with an anger that seemed more directed at Herman and himself.

-

Sometimes I feel violent, said Norman as he and Cassius walked towards the exit, not like I’m gonna hit somebody, just violent

Normal, said Cassius and didn’t look at Norman but kept his gaze on the exit.

You know, every exit is likely an entrance, said Norman in a way that seemed to annoy Cassius.

Norman kept his head down, crampingly holding on to the small pile of paper that he had lifted of Herman’s desk.

You don’t have to tell me that, said Cassius. Every opportunity… he paused, as they kept walking.

It’s still a great shot, is it? Said Norman with a for him unusually childish tone of voice.

When they say that they’re giving you a shot, said Cassius gruntingly as they ducked under some fallen beam, always remember to ask what’s in it.

-

An office building. Bleak, dark. Outside a forrested area, small walkways to walk on. Bushes not to go through. Herman walked slowly, his friend asked him: Aren’t you speaking?

Herman blushed a bit.

I try not to say things I’m too tired to counter, said Herman.

-

Ready, set, go, is that it? Said Norman as Cassius didn’t tell him what to do.

It’s the wrong question, said Cassius eventually and added: to quit smoking, I’m not sure is the way to go about to do that.

And now? I mean… there’s must be some sort of direction? Norman looked like he was panicking.

Maybe you’re answering your own question, said Cassius and lit a cigarette. Look man, I’m gonna smoke a cigarette. Will I get photographed, hunted, slandered while doing so...? maybe.

So… began Norman.

Cassius made a face like he was swallowing vomit.

I mean, what… said Norman

Hey, said Cassius, what can I tell ya.

Anything, exclaimed Norman.

Well, Cassius took a drag of the cigarette, I kinda did, didn’t I.

Cassius paused for a second, then looked at Norman a little while, sensing that he probably shouldn’t say more, he hurried: You know what Herman would say… something about why are ya wasting time asking about that… then he would claim that he didn’t make the rules.

Norman forced a sigh.

Cassius sat down on a plank sticking out from the rubble and stared at the ground.

There’s something to… schhh, he stopped himself and looked around a bit. There’s something, he lowered his voice and started whispering, there’s something about a bear, right.

A b-, began Norman with a doubtful expression.

Shush, said Cassius and continued whispering. Remember that song they used to sing at kindergarten… “the bear is sleeping the bear is sleeping in it’s quiet quarters, he’s not dangerous, if you’re careful, but you cannot, but you cannot…”

“Ever in him have faith”, added Norman whispering as well.

Don’t mess with the bear, and remember that nuthing’s for free, said Cassius and raised his voice a bit. And don’t walk on my heels.

Cassius ran.

-

Norman walked slowly around the torn-down buildings. Flung his arms like an ape, made noises like a horse. He was finding, by echo of his own shouting, that the surroundings seemed to be far away - from him and the rubble. And that Cassius probably was further away still. He thought of Herman, and laid himself down under cover of an old seemingly unused umbrella that he spread out as a tiny ceiling and shelter from the rain, that was bound to get harsher any minute.

-

And so, said Herman's friend, before I leave you to your walking...

It's no bother, said Herman

... what will happen to those you meet? Continued Herman's friend.

If- started Herman and was quickly interrupted by his friend who said:

A lot of "ifs" make a man out of would, Pinochio.

Herman looked annoyed with the comment.

Well, said Herman, in case I'd encounter someone I haven't met recently, I run the risk of... well the risk would be of "erasing"…

Them? Said Herman's friend.

In a way, said Herman.

There was silence, then Herman's friend said: and what, where are they taken?

Herman laughed, a chuckle. Rumours say that The Bear is what would take them, he said mistrustingly, like dust to the ground or fog to a horn - either way, The Bear would...

Herman quieted down.

Herman’s friend laughed, high-pitched and deafening.

Isn’t that a bit much to credit a bear with? Said Herman’s friend.

Herman closed his eyes slowly, then opened them again. Not a bear, he said slowly, the bear.

-

Cassius was moving through. The rubble had been replaced with high grass, which meant that he likely was outside the circle. Perhaps he was on his way to enter another, he had been, possibly, in many. There was also, he reminded himself, the possibility that he’d been to none of them. Based on the rumours regarding cloning, he might have been to none of them. It was said the cloning did not work the way you think, he had himself noted that down. Something about constant pressure, and loopholes. Meanwhile… the diversions, and the obstacles. He knew that obstacles and diversions could trade places, alternatively only by name, but…

Cassius was slowly moving down a hilltop, sliding on his bum with his hands steady in the ground, like giant machineries in the grass that had suddenly become cut short (a clear sign of nearby Activity),

But…, whispered Cassius out loud, what’s in a name.

He was tired now, something in the air was filling him with a sudden dreadful sleepiness. Whatever Activity was ongoing, signs were that they were going to be trouble.

-

Norman woke up, slowly. He felt a panic, like a cold eel crawling quickly down his back, nestling in his clothes. He didn’t dare move, in case there was an actual eel. As long as he just lay there, the thought of it being panic and not an eel calmed him, soothed, a bit. He almost laughed, and added to his list that it was probably not sent by the bear, since the bear likely didn’t have contact with eels. More likely, the eel was something separate, and a sign that something separate from the bear was approaching him could be a good sign. He still felt a sudden fear the eel was going to devour his face, and so he got up quickly, bumping his head in the umbrella doing so. A small shockwave ran through the rubble and he stood very still. Had Herman been there the boy, Norman, would surely ask him what to do. But in the shockwave the boy had nearly lost track of his name, Norman, and so the name Herman seemed at once closer to him, which made it difficult to even imagine questioning Herman for advice. He had a sense that Herman wanted him to grow up to be just like Herman, to walk around base-camp and handing out orders and lack of advice, a bit like Cassius seemed to be failing at, or perhaps succeeding. The boy was confused, and the tremblings seemed to not quiet down. The boy, Norman, walked quickly through the small paths in the rubble. He did not even have time to bring the umbrella.

-

Herman and his friend met in the morning. They immediately, on his friend’s mention, started talking of the bear, again.

Is it large, the bear, said Herman’s friend.

Once again, it’s a rumour, said Herman and added: and yes, very large.

How large? Said his friend.

It depends on your size, said Herman. But large, always large.

His friend seemed unsatisfied with the answer, and Herman added: it’s a rumour. More likely what is getting lost is in the pathways between the rubble and the obstacles, in the diversions. And some is likely taken by the robbers who dwell in the rubble.

The robbers? Said Herman’s friend, seemingly a bit shaken.

Well, said Herman, …yes.

-

Ever since the eel had left, Norman could still feel it on his body. Moving more like a snake since, it did not seem that the eel moved around as much as grew, around his body. For an instance he regretted leaving his umbrella and considered going back for it, though not daring to look behind him and with a general sickness and tiredness developing around Herman’s words of the importance of bravery, he kept walking. He could feel the sickness, like a gas being pumped into his throat. He spat on the ground, and made a strange high-pitched noise doing so, which to his fear seemed to echo around the path where he was walking. Pretty soon he noticed shadows up the hillsides – if you could call the lumps of rubble hillsides – staring down on him. He could only assume that they were staring, for their faces were covered in shadow. He had heard of the robbers. He picked up his pace.

-

Herman started worrying, ever since his talk with his friend that morning, and sat by his desk in a sunken position. His talking, his own, about the bear… it was too much, he cried out. He feared he had made the bear bigger, for he believed, why wouldn’t he, in the bear almost as much as the rumours themselves did. What else, he said out loud, would be forceful enough, he whispered, to take that much without… without even moving. He sat very still in his chair, as if the bear would be in the same room.

-

Cassius woke up in a sweat. The room he was in was bathing in a pinkish light. As from a sunset, or rise. Through a black curtain, not far from the bed he had been resting in, he could see daylight sipping in. He felt nauseous, and rested. A swift knock on a brown door, and a woman in a beige jumpsuit came in carrying a small tray with a bowl of porridge on.

What’s your name, she asked.

Cassius, he said.

She laughed, then stopped.

That’s a powerful name, she said.

Thank you, miss, said Cassius and tried to stand up but sat down almost immediately on the bedside.

Sit down, you’re not well, hurried the beige woman.

I need to go, said Cassius.

Eat, said the woman.

No, said Cassius with a sudden grin, you’re an… I know, you’re an obstacle.

The woman sat down the tray on a small table by the bed.

… or a diversion, continued Cassius, either way, I need to go.

-

What if we just kill ya and take your stuff, said one of the shadows, moving slowly down the hill of rubble. In the shadows place, Norman saw through a mask of tears filling his eyes, there was suddenly a boy, not much older than Norman, if that.

Another shadow moved down after the first, revealing another boy, slimmer than the first.

Are you sick, said the second.

If bitten by the sickness, said one of the boys, it’s important not to move too fast, or too much. It makes the poison spread. He walked closer to Norman. Better to suck the wound and spit, he said and laughed, it’s the best medicine.

Other than medicine, added another boy.

Hm, said the first boy.

Why do they call you robbers, said Norman suddenly feeling lighter, what.., he was feeling dizzy, like the crawling of the snake was fastening while tightening it’s grip and the shadows of the boys crawling on his body

What do you take, he mumbled.

He passed out, the shadows of the boys moving restlessly around him.

-

Cassius looked at the porridge, the woman had left. He had still not moved from the bedside. The nausea was settling. He wasn’t going to eat the porridge, and as he sat there, not eating the porridge, that calmed him a bit. As he was still in charge, albeit of not eating porridge. Suddenly, he heard rumblings from another room. He got up, trembling, and walked over to the door. As he looked out he saw two small shadows carrying a pale-looking boy. It was Norman, and he looked like he had a fever. He felt his own forehead, which felt cold and stared at the boys setting down Norman on the wooden floor. Norman, hugging himself, laid still and tried not to breath too loudly.

Cassius slowly made his way through the door, towards Norman and the boys, who were talking with the woman with big gestures, narrating how they had almost been mugged by the boy on the floor and had decided to save him when he fainted. The woman seemed to doubt them, but still gave them encouraging pats on their shoulders.

Norman, Cassius whispered and Norman looked up at him, as the boys and the

woman turned against him as well.

-

So, are you to release them?

Herman sounded sleepy, like he was holding back a yawn. He held the telephone close to his ear, careful not to miss out on a single word. He sounded sleepy though, and the woman on the other end of the line reacted to this.

Don’t you care about getting them back, said the woman.

I am asking you, are you to release them shortly? Said Herman.

You sound stupid, said the woman which with the childishness of the phrase made a response harder to reach for Herman.

I am merely used to this kind of bargaining, said Herman carefully. He was sweating.

You don’t sound clever, said the woman, because then you would be scared. If you were clever you would be scared. You sound stupid, mister, because you don’t seem scared.

Herman got annoyed. What do you want, he demanded as a noise rose and crows lifted from the bushes.

He is not dangerous, sang the woman softly, he is not dangerous, but you cannot…

The noise of a terrible roar was shaking Herman’s office, the woman’s voice was full of fear.

But you cannot, she sang.

In him have faith, whispered Herman.

I am starting to forget you, Herman, said the woman as the noise was accompanied by alarms.

How do you know my name, said Herman.

You don’t know how he works, still… said the woman and the phone turned off with a click.

Herman’s friend knocked hectically on Herman’s door.

We need to leave, Herman, now! He yelled.

Herman sighed - to his own surprise it sounded merely annoyed - and moved restlessly in his chair.

-

There was runnings, all over. Birds flew attacking what they saw as they were trying to quiet the noise, squaking themselves. Boys ran, girls ran. In between the houses of the little village, Cassius carrying Norman could see that it was a village as he dragged the kid out of the small cabin, they ran, girls and boys, boys and girls, none of them visible enough to outline anything other than moving bodies. The woman and the two boys might have been among them. Cassius carried Norman through the noise, towards the rubble. There were shoutings and screams from the bodies running, even laughter. Cassius chose not to listen, and moved, slowly, dragging Norman’s feet after his own as he went.

Norman came to on Cassius back. Where are you going? He asked with half open eyes.

If there’s one thing… said Cassius between heavy breaths, not advice, but…

Norman was barely listening.

Believe in that which is broken, grunted Cassius as he carried the kid with slow steps. The rubble, the broken buildings and remnants of villages, seemingly of the same material as the building they had just fled, laid before them.

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance across the blushing, dimly lit sky. With their evening arrival, the owl always came, too. Together, the two filled the endlessness that floated in on the breeze and rippled through the tall trees, echoing and whispering their secrets to the night. This evening was the eve the summer solstice, but it was no different; the owl had arrived and was perched on the same branch, beckoning Luna from the solitude of her bed just as he always did with an eerie cry.

The barn owl was magnificent, nearly all white except for the streaks of golden brown that marked his feathers. His loud screech reverberated through the night as Luna searched his eyes of amber hue, as if therein lay some powerful wisdom that would bring fulfilment to long held desires. As she leaned against the windowsill, the sheer curtain floated in the light breeze around her slender frame, accompanied by the moonlight to create a whimsical figure.

Intrigued as always by the owl’s arrival, Luna whispered the word ‘hello’. The owl responded by cocking his head completely sideways as if attempting to return her greeting. In response, Luna’s smile grew. The massive bird straightened and plumped his feathers, apparently pleased by her warm welcome. With a shriek of seeming joy, he spread his wings wide, boldly lifted from the branch, and flew off into the night. Luna followed his ascent against the backdrop of the moon until she lost sight of him. There was no denying that the owl was exceptional, both in appearance and intellect. Without fail, his nightly arrival always made Luna feel special, as if he was eager to visit her.

Luna retraced her steps on the hardwood flooring to her bed and then lay down upon its softness, quickly pulling the covers to her chin in an attempt to ward off the night's chill. It had been a strange day for she had not felt much like herself nor had she been able to complete her chores. It was unusual for her to leave dirty dishes on the table from a scarce eaten dinner, but she had done so, telling herself that she would clear them early the day. Beside the dishes lay handpicked flowers from the garden that she had not managed to place in the vase on the table’s center. Her strength had waned too quickly this day, and despite the desire to do much, Luna had instead sought the comfort of her bed much earlier than usual.

Luna tossed, struggling to find sleep while thoughts of her owl circled through her mind. The owl did not seem like just a nocturnal predator of the night. Instead, he gave ab impression much like a great mythical creature that Morpheus sent to her window each night to feed her hunger for companionship. Sighing, Luna hugged the pillow closer. Instinctively, she knew the owl had returned and watched from the branch outside the window, as if to guard while she slept. A soft smile upon her lips, contentment filled her as sleep finally invaded, and Luna dreamt a dream that arose from her heart’s innermost desires.

****

Luna was barefoot and walking through the forest while the brilliance of a full moon filled the sky and lit her path. It was as though her name had foretold of such a time. With each step, she could feel the coolness of the earth beneath, her toes sinking into the slender blades of grass. A vast array of colorful flowers spread as far as the eye could see, deep into the woods. As she walked, her fingers lightly trailed the tops of the foxgloves and ferns that grew. It was an amazing sight, a beautiful, magical world of enchantment, and Luna's heart swelled with a peace she’d long forgotten. She did not know where she was - perhaps in a dream of her own making – but still, she was well pleased to remain in the cradle of the dream’s welcoming hand. She had never felt more at home in the twenty-eight years she had lived.

She came upon a clearing in the quiet of the forest, the moon shimmering to reveal a multitude of freshly bloomed bleeding hearts and woodruff blossoms. She inhaled deeply of their fragrance and spun about in elation, her flimsy nightdress swirling about her in a celestial dance of pure visual delight. Eventually, growing a bit light-headed, she paused to catch her breath and became suddenly alert as instinct told her she was no longer alone. Looking about, she could see no one, but nonetheless, she knew someone watched her.

In silence, Luna stood for long minutes, the sound of her rapid heartbeat and heavy breathing the only things that filled her ears. Abruptly, an eerie sound, much like a cry, broke the silence of the moonlit night; a screeching echo, a foreshadowing of promises not yet fulfilled. Luna’s heart beat faster, as if in anticipation, at the sound.

The leaves behind her suddenly rustled, and Luna spun swiftly around to watch as a perfectly formed creature, a man, leapt from high in the trees to land only a mere few feet away from her. The man was tall and lean, although he gave an appearance of being massive at first glance. His coloring was fair, his hair was the shade of fine-spun gold with streaks of amber. His face was chiseled, composed of fine aquiline features and appealing to any observer. His eyes, a deeper amber gold in the night, watched her with an unabashed intensity and keen awareness. She shivered beneath his intense regard despite the warmth of the summer evening.

The quiet lingered betwixt them for endless moments as moonlight hovered all about, swirling and whispering echoes of greeting. Eventually, Luna managed a faint nod and the hint of a smile. “Hello,” she whispered, her voice sounding sweetly lyrical, even to her own ears, as it floated across the dew-filled evening air.

The man straightened to an even more impressive height with her greeting, pleased by both what he saw and the warmth in her welcome. He stepped closer still, the intensity of his gaze never faltering as he turned his head to the side as if to study her all the better. Oh, but he was a handsome man, a creature seemingly derived from golden beauty by the Gods of old.

He stood mere inches away, continuing his perusal of her much as one would a book. His lips curving into a handsome smile, he returned her greeting. “Hello, Luna.” His voice was as silky as finely woven fabric. “I have been awaiting your arrival.” He swept a long arm from his broad chest as if to welcome her to his forest.

Luna smiled and gave a small laugh. “You’ve been awaiting my arrival? How is that possible when even I did not know I would be coming to visit?”

The tall man smiled again, an ever glorious smile that only served to enlighten his already appealing visage. “My dear, time foretells all such things, and your arrival has long since been foretold. We have all been awaiting your arrival.”

Not giving her an opportunity to understand the words he spoke, he turned and began to move past her, lightly touching her hand to encourage her to follow. “Come, Luna, my child of the moon. It’s past time for you to meet Aurelia and all the many others. They, too, have been anxious for this event.”

Luna was mesmerized by this man’s appearance, his words, and even his lithe movements. As if hypnotized and without hesitation, she quickly followed, but struggled to keep up with the man’s steady gait as he moved stealthily and swiftly through the woods. It was nearly as though his feet did not touch ground, so precipitous were his movements. Unlike him, Luna felt slow and clumsy, her gait weakened by her effort to keep pace with the man’s long legs.

Despite the steady pace, questions surfaced and lingered. Where on earth was she and where was this man taking her? Here she was, blindly following someone she did not know to a place about which she knew absolutely nothing. Had she lost her mind? No, she seriously doubted she had. Instead, she felt drawn to this beautiful, godlike nymph of a man beyond reason and understanding, and she was willing to go wherever he might lead. The man had mentioned someone else though. What was the name? Aurelia? Who in heavens was Aurelia?

“Sir,” she called after him. The man paused only slightly, but cocked his head to peer back at her in question as he continued on his path.

“Yes, Luna?”

“Whom might Aurelia be?”

The man turned back and smiled back at her. “Aurelia is one with the forest and all of us. It will not be long now before you will meet her.” He gave a reassuring wink, as if promising there were more secrets yet to be divulged. “But Luna, come, we must hurry. They are all waiting.”

Of a sudden, she realized that he had called her Luna more than once. How on earth did this man know her name?

“Sir, might I impose upon you to ask another question?” Luna’s breath was labored in her efforts to keep up with his quick pace.

The man stopped, so abruptly that Luna nearly collided with his broad chest as he turned around to face her. He smiled broadly and cocked his head to the side again as he reached a hand to stead her, the deep pools of amber in his eyes keenly alert. “Yes?” he asked.

Luna rocked back on her heals, attempting to steady herself. My, but his smile was a handsome one. It was enough to make any lass unsteady on her feet. “Good sir, you know my name, but I fear I am at a disadvantage and do not know yours,” she managed, ever aware of his overwhelming regard.

“Indeed,” he said with a bit of humor lacing his deep voice. “I apologize. We have not been formally introduced. I am Strix, a creature that inhabits the darkness of the night.” His eyes pierced hers as he posed his next question. “But my dear, Luna, are you quite certain you do not know me?”

Surprised, and a bit confused by his words, Luna studied him closely, overcome by the intense amber gaze. Of a sudden, awareness filled her and she gasped. Oh, indeed! She did recognize this stunning creature of a man! Here and now, in the flesh of a man’s handsome body, stood her nocturnal visitor, the beautiful barn owl. “You?” she managed in a whisper, her voice laced with surprise at the realization of who he truly was.

The smile on Strix’s face grew, and with it, his chest broadened to its full breath and scope. He was obviously quite pleased by Luna’s recognition.

“Come, Luna, we have tarried too long. We must go,” he said, this time taking her small hand in his strong one and beginning to move again. It was obvious this forest was his home, and he knew exactly to where he was going even if she did not.

Luna could not wipe the smile that filled her face as she followed Strix, her magnificent barn owl. Amazed delight filled her until she thought she might burst. Her owl was here in the moonlight and embodied in the guise of a man. And such a beautiful specimen he was, too! It was nigh unbelievable. She had always known there was something quite different about the owl but little had she realized he was a mythological creature who lived in an enchanted forest. Nor had she ever dreamt a day would come when she would be introduced to his humanlike form or be able to converse with him in such a place.

The two reached a large clearing and Strix stopped, pulling Luna close beside him. The moonlight was bright, easily filling the clearing’s perimeter. “Do not be frightened,” he reassured Luna. She felt the strength in his embrace and thought it much like an oxymoron: strong and firm while also silky soft, both aspects providing overwhelming reassurance and comfort.

Strix made a sound much like the calls she’d heard each night as he’d perched on the branch outside her bedroom window. However, this time his cry was much softer. Within seconds, the leaves rustled and branches of shrubbery moved to reveal more than a dozen woodland creatures emerging from their cover. Leading them was the most illuminating, beautiful woman Luna had ever seen. She wore a gown that gleamed bright white in the moonlight. Her hair, also white in color, fell to her knees, creating the effect of a brilliant aura. Flowers filled the streaming strands of hair and atop her head, lay a wreath of colorful blooms. She moved with a delicacy born of woodland nymphs and fairies that flutter about the flower strewn English gardens. Transfixed, Luna could look at none other save this beautiful goddess of the woods. This must be Aurelia. Yes, she most certainly was one with the forest and creatures for she was utterly, thoroughly enchanting.

Aurelia smiled her welcome and walked toward Luna, stopping before her to press a kiss upon her cheek. A complete, undeniable sensation of joy moved through Luna with the act and warmed her as much as any sun-drenched afternoon in the garden.

“Hello, sweet child of the moon.” As she spoke, Aurelia placed a wreath of colorful flowers upon Luna’s head. “Welcome to our world,” she said and stepped back to survey the fruits of her handiwork. Luna’s face was glowing in the moonlight, her obvious joy in the moment radiating from within.

Luna felt like she was sleep walking in a lovely dream. “Thank you,” she said, managing to find her voice but feeling a bit awkward as she spoke. She had never met the queen of the forest before, after all. Here was such an unimaginable and exotic world that she needed to pinch herself to ensure it was all real. She had thought herself beyond surprise after finding out who Strix really was, but she could not have been more mistaken.

Aurelia smiled. “You are not dreaming, Luna, for we are all quite real. This is our home and now it is your home, too. Please, come and meet the rest of our family.”

Luna realized her thoughts were no longer merely her own thoughts and that here, in this enchanted fo9rest, everything was transparent. It did not frighten her, however, but instead seemed to provide a measure of comfort. She eagerly accepted the hand that Aurelia extended, and together they moved to meet the woodland friends that had gathered to fill the clearing.

Aurelia took her to a vibrantly colored creature who had the appearance of being light as a feather. “Meet Flutter, Luna. She is one of your garden’s butterflies. She speaks so fondly of your gentleness.” Aurelia continued, pointing at yet another petite creature comprised of muted colors. “This is Quodora. She is the little hummingbird that flits about your garden, drinking of all your flowers’ nectar.”

Wide eyed, Luna stared in wonder as Aurelia moved with ease about the clearing, introducing all those she had seen in other forms in her other world. There was Lepus, the little brown rabbit she had watched hop through the fields, famous for partaking of all the carrots in her garden. Nearby stood Equis, the black horse who loved to roam the meadows. He bowed his head in a bid for an affectionate pat from Luna. On the edge of the clearing was Luce, the grey wolf whom she'd often glimpsed and closely watched from a distance. He was as imposing in this form, but there was no such thing as fear in this wondrous place. Here was a world ripe with newly discovered pleasures, and there appeared to be nothing but love and accord amongst all things.

Much later in the evening, Luna helped herself to a cup of mulled wine and then wandered in search of Strix. She eventually found him lounging nonchalantly against a massive oak tree at the clearing’s edge, studying her much as he had done since first encountering her. Indeed, she wondered if he ever paused in his regard so intense and warm was his gaze.

An unfamiliar shyness encompassed and overcame Luna, but she smiled as she moved to stand beside her wonderful owl. In response, Strix cocked his head in that all too familiar way and returned her smile. Luna’s heart skipped a beat- it was nearly bursting, it was so full. She had so much she longed to say.

“Oh, Strix, I wish you had brought me here much sooner,” she eventually spoke, her nerves aflutter with something akin to exultation.

“My dearest, Luna, you were not yet ready,” Strix reached out and lightly lifted her chin with a long, lean finger, looking deeply into her eyes before he replied.

“You are most likely right, Strix, but I do believe I am ready now,” Luna said, looking up at him with an astute awareness and the sweetest smile he’d ever beheld upon her face.

Luna knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that the world she had left behind no longer held any sort of appeal. She could not leave this woodland fantasy and all those who inhabited it – not now. It would devastate her to return to her the world she had once inhabited. A fear suddenly filled her that this night would end and tomorrow she would find herself alone, back at the edge of brutal reality. No, she would not allow it. She would not leave this wonderful place for it was the personification of that for which she had always longed. A newfound peace and determination rose inside, sufficing her face with a luminous light.

Strix caressed her cheek with affection, noting the glow that emanated from the depths of her being. His golden eyes filled with undying love. “Yes, my sweet child of moonlight, I believe you are at long last ready,” he said, pulling her into the crook of his arm and shielding her with the span of his widespread pinions.

****

It was late the following day when Luna’s sister, Moira, headed to the cottage. Luna was a loner, especially since her husband’s passing two years past, but nonetheless, it concerned Moira when she didn’t hear from her sister for extended periods of time. Seeking reassurance, Moira hurried along to the cottage, hopeful Luna was well and simply enjoying her solitary life like usual.

Entering the stone cottage, Moira immediately saw an assortment of dishes and food spread across the table. This was very unlike Luna for it was evident she had not finished her meal nor had she tidied up. Moira also noted the dying flowers atop the table. Lightly Moira touched the flowers, aware they had been plucked from the garden only a day or so before. What was going on? The cottage looked forsaken. Worriedly, Moira climbed the narrow staircase, calling her sister’s name.

Upstairs, she found the bedroom door ajar and it groaned as she pushed it wide. She was surprised to find Luna still in bed. Was she ill? Fearing the worst, she hurried to the bed only to gasp, scarcely believing her eyes. Luna lay against the white linen sheets in the early evening twilight, a lingering smile upon her lifeless face.

Moira did not know how long she’d stood by the Luna’s bed before, from the open window, a loud shriek sounded and startled her. Tears streaming down her cheeks, Moira strode to the window to close it. Surprised, she found a large barn owl perched on the tall tree’s branch. He cocked his head sideways and peered inside with a look of inquisitive curiosity before straightening and suddenly releasing an eerie cry again, as if echoing the sorrow reflected on Moira’s face. Abruptly, the owl took flight, and Moira watched him, transfixed by the majestic beauty despite the sad situation. The owl flew high in the sky, creating a magnificent image against the fullness of the rising moon.

The moon, the beautiful full moon. Moira was sadly reminded that her mother had named her child for the moon. Luna. Moira hoped her sister had found peace and was now one with the moon’s everlasting illumination.

Moira leaned out the window and wiped her tears as she whispered a small prayer. “Fly away my beautiful, Luna. Fly far away with your owl, across the meadows and trees to a new place where I hope you will find eternal happiness.”

Moira lost sight of the owl. She sighed and gave a final glance at the moon before closing the window. Instinct told her the owl would not return now that Luna was gone. Moira wiped at her tears. It would not do to linger or to wish for things beyond her ken. She had to trust that Luna was now in a place that would bring her much deserved peace. Thus, with a surety of purpose, she began to do what must be done.

Author's Name: Cynthia D Calder

Cinderella was a husk of the woman she should’ve become.

Gone was the bright young girl with stars in her eyes and a smile like the glimmering crescent moon. She’d been stolen, like the growth of spring by winter, by the death of her mother. She’d withered further with the death of her father the following year. Whatever shriveled parts remained had been gutted by the cruelty of her stepmother and stepsisters. Cinderella had but skin to give, and still, they demanded more.

A once-rich heiress reduced to a maidservant in her own home, Cinderella had learned to deal in scraps. She’d spent the past twelve years living in them. Scraps were her bed—stuffed in a sliver of the attic. Scraps were her clothes—ancient dresses patched over so many times you couldn’t make out the original fabric. Scraps were her meals—crusts of bread and lentils.

But in the seams between these scraps lurked Cinderella’s dreams—the only thing she could ask for and receive in abundance. They hardly resembled the gilded thoughts that filled her stepsisters’ minds: fantasies of marrying rich, of fame and recognition for their “talents.”

Cinderella winced as Empusa’s bark-like voice hit (and missed) an especially high note. She couldn't be more thankful for the music room’s door, barring her from the full sound. With a shake of her head, she resumed her sweep of the hall.

No, Cinderella’s dreams were blackened things, twisting in her mind like burned webs. Each time she lifted a broom, she dreamed of slamming it over her stepmother’s head. Each time she mopped a spill, it was her stepsister’s blood she was washing. Each cup of tea poured was poison. Each linen hung to dry was—

A squeal split the air, and with it, Cinderella’s thoughts. The singing stopped, and for half a heartbeat, Cinderella let herself imagine a fit had struck one of her overlords dead. But that couldn’t be it. The squeal wasn’t of terror—it was excitement. Bubbly murmurs were quick to follow.

Cinderella propped her broom up and pressed her ear to the door’s keyhole. She winced at the sting the metal drew. The bruises on that side of her head were still fresh from yesterday’s beating.

“A gala!” Her eldest sister, Abadonna, shrieked. Her voice was the easiest to pick out—the high-pitched screech of nails against a chalkboard.

“Oh heavens, really?” The younger, Empusa, cried.

“Yes, yes. Settle down now. Let me finish.” Cinderella could feel the dismissive wave of her stepmother’s hand. “It says here there’s to be a gala, hosted in honor of the prince’s coming of age. Every young woman of status has been invited and must be escorted by their guardian. Following a banquet, the prince is to select the fittest girl to be his bride.”

Cinderella’s eyes widened. The gala itself was no surprise. While her stepsisters were cruel and crude musicians, their name warranted them invites to nearly every event in town. But a royal gala? One where her stepsisters had the chance—no matter how slim—to become a princess? And eventually a queen? Free to subject any and all the kingdom’s citizens to her terror?

The thought made Cinderella's stomach sick.

But it drew a delighted giggle from her stepsisters. They continued to babble on, discussing dresses to wear and talents to showcase. Cinderella groaned at the thought of the elaborate gowns she’d be forced to sew and countless errands she’d have to run on top of her already endless chores.

At least, at the end, she’d be rewarded with a night alone—

Cinderella stopped.

A night completely alone.

Normally, her stepmother would’ve stayed behind to keep an eye on Cinderella, but the invite had requested that the girls be presented by a guardian. And with every woman of status in attendance, the neighbors would be out too. The whole street would be next to empty.

It was the perfect opportunity for Cinderella to escape.

Without warning, the door burst open. Abadonna crashed straight into Cinderella, the force sending both girls tumbling to the floor.

At least it’s mostly clean, Cinderella considered as her cheek slammed into the hardwood.

The blow to Cinderella’s face was followed by a sharp strike to her shoulder. She cringed.

“Watch where you’re going, scum,” Abadonna snarled. She righted herself, tugging up a horrid magenta dress before Empusa—behind her—had the chance to step on it and trip her.

Empusa scowled. “I’m sure you already know all about the gala, eavesdropper.” She turned up her nose and feigned an inspection of her nails. “At least the time we would’ve spent explaining it to you can be used to make our dresses. We’ll need three mulberry silk dresses in six days' time.”

Cinderella grit her teeth. In her head, she was telling the pair to take their mulberry silk and shove it up their asses. But aloud, she could only say, “Yes ma’am.”

~*~

The steady drip of the solution onto the skin-like slate was Prince Carlos’s sole focus. Was the motion incredibly riveting? No, it was actually pretty boring. Was the solution some new, insane concoction of toxic chemicals? Well, kind of—it was just bleach.

Right now, Carlos was knee-deep in the prep-work for what would become a super-interesting-insanely-cool experiment. Like the rest of his lab work, this part was the most tedious. He had to measure exactly—

“CARLOS!”

Carlos fumbled the dropper, nearly knocking his glasses askew as he moved to keep it from spilling. With a slight tremble, he set his supplies down on the metal lab table. The prince straightened his white coat, sparing himself a moment to prepare to face the man behind him.

His father was the spitting image of intimidation. Even though he was half Carlos’s height, the king had the ferocity of a soldier and the width of a tank. With the slightest hint of a glare, he could send anyone shaking. The recent addition of a glimmering cane did little to deter his might.

“Have you been down here this whole time?”

“Only the past few hours.” Carlos stacked some papers to keep his fingers from twitching. “I’m preparing a sample to test—”

“It’s incredibly dark in here.” The king squinted as he scrutinized the white and silver metal of the chamber, along with the various boxes of supplies. His eyes landed on Carlos’s desk, fit with a large, white lamp. “Is that obnoxious thing the only source of light?”

Carlos held back a sigh. “Would you like to see it? My experiment?”

The king grumbled, curled mustache twitching with the motion. “I doubt I can see anything.” But he shifted towards it, resting his bejeweled cane against the metal desk.

“Here,” Prince Carlos stepped back to give his father a better view. “It’s not much to see now, but this here—” he pointed to the tray with a white-gloved hand “—is synthetic skin. I’ve been saturating various samples of it with different levels of chlorine-containing cleaning products. The recently synthesized hygocoal—”

The king pulled back with a scoff. “You’ve been pouring bleach onto paper while I’ve been running around sorting the details for your courting gala?”

Carlos’s expression soured. It’s hardly my gala. He shook his head and continued. “I came across this theory the other day. Hygocoal contains certain compounds that produce odd effects when bonded with chlorine—”

“—The staff already issued the invites,” the king cut in, “You must come with me and ensure—”

“—Normally, chlorine’s application to skin causes mild irritation and redness, but in a heated setting, when exposed to these compounds—”

“—I’ve acquired the histories of the most suitable women, and we should review—”

“—The chemicals can weld into the skin’s cells and warp its biomolecular structure, giving the subject the acute ability to produce—”

In a burst, the king grasped Carlos’s shoulders. “You’re going to be married in a week!”

“People can manifest heatwaves!” Carlos shouted back.

The king gave his son a stern shake. “Carlos, listen to me. You need to focus more on your future. On this country.” He motioned to the room around them. “These experiments, your lab . . . it was fine to tuck yourself away back here when you were younger, but you’re nineteen now, nearly an adult. You have to start stepping into your role as this country’s leader.”

The king’s brows sloped. “Because I won’t always be around to help you fill it.”

Carlos’s gut twisted. “I hate when you say that.” But up this close, he couldn’t deny it. The harsh truth crept in through deepened wrinkles, darkened age spots, and a slight glassiness in the king’s eyes.

Carlos’s father drew back. “Just come upstairs, please.” He retrieved his gilded cane. “We need you.”

The prince’s chest sagged. “Okay.” His voice fell flat. “I’ll be there in a second.”

~*~

“Okay, so here’s the plan,” Cinderella whispered. Anticipation laced her veins, growing deeper the closer time crawled to the start of the gala. There was only an hour left to go. An hour and she’d be free.

Still, the excitement came tainted with wariness. Just to ensure everything was square, Cinderella figured she ought to run the plan by her friends first—her “friends” being the crows that wandered into the chicken’s feeding lot.

When they first started dropping by, Cinderella used to shoo them away. But over time, the crows proved to be better listeners than the hens, so she let them stay to chat.

Cinderella had spent the week leading up to the gala endlessly plotting. Well, half-plotting (mostly fantasizing if she was being honest). At the very least, she’d spent the entirety of her morning chores analyzing exactly what she’d do.

The plan ended up being fairly simple. Wait a good half-hour after the trio of wretches leaves. Pack supplies in the meantime, along with some of Stepmother’s jewelry. Once it’s dark, sneak out the back and head for the treeline. Cut through the woods, then the cemetery. You should arrive at the port close to dawn. Sell off a bit of jewelry for the ticket fare.

Then she’d be out. Free. Cinderella grinned at the thought.

The crows paused their pecking at lentils just long enough to nod. How sweet. Her plan was crow-approved.

Cinderella’s eyes drifted past their yard to the horizon. Dusk had fully settled in, painting the sky a rich lilac. It wouldn’t be long now. She had—

“CINDERELLA!”

Her stepmother’s shrill cry left Cinderella’s ears ringing. Frightened, the crows squawked and fluttered off.

“COME DOWN HERE AT ONCE!” she hollered, “YOU LEFT A GOD-AWFUL MESS IN THE CELLAR!”

Cinderella’s insides crumpled. She could’ve sworn she’d left the space spotless after setting fresh hygocoal in the furnace. The new fuel was a hassle, but it took less to heat more, making it worth it in the winter.

Had she missed a spot? Who knew? It seemed like nothing she did these days was ever to her overlords’ satisfaction.

But soon, it won’t matter what they think. One last sweep of the cellar and you’ll never have to touch a broom again. Well, at least not to clean up after them.

The thought was a small glittering hope, just enough to lift Cinderella’s step as she trudged downstairs.

But the second Cinderella’s dirty slipper graced the cellar floor, every good feeling evaporated. One moment, she was staring her stepmother in the face, picking out the wrinkles of disappointment stemming from her frown. The next, the world was a blur. Two figures slammed into Cinderella from either side, throwing her body forward.

Thorn-like nails scratched Cinderella’s hardy skin as her stepsisters wrangled her. Cinderella thrashed in their grasp, refusing to let them restrain her arms.

Her stepmother lunged at her ankle. There was a click of a chain as a weight crashed down on Cinderella’s foot.

She froze.

“Did you think we’d lost our ears? Our eyes?” Abadonna hissed, her high-pitched voice whistling close to Cinderella’s ear. “We’ve seen how strange you’ve been acting all day, the dirty little secrets you’ve been whispering under your breath.”

“How did you trick yourself into thinking you could slip away so easily,” Empusa joined in with a raspy chuckle. “You’re as dense as those stupid birds you feed.”

Cinderella’s feet slipped out from under her. Her stepsisters lifted the maidservant’s writhing frame, carrying her closer to the furnace. They dropped Cinderella on the cement, stone stinging her raw skin.

Her hope guttered. The spark died with another snap of the chain, this one around the furnace’s base.

The wretched trio drew back to examine their work.

Cinderella’s stepmother nodded. “That ought to keep her put.”

Empusa offered her a leering smile. She had the nerve to wave. “Don’t have too much fun while we’re gone!”

Without a glance back, her stepmother and sisters ascended the stairs. They slammed the door behind them, pitching the cellar into darkness.

Through blackness and burning tears, it was impossible to make anything out. Still, Cinderella’s fingers managed to find the furnace door’s latch. She pried it open, allowing the fire’s orange glow to light some of the room.

Flakes of ash spewed out, burning where they touched Cinderella’s skin. She welcomed the pain. It bled through the redness of her hands into her veins before slicing down into her bone.

Tears raced faster and harder down Cinderella’s cheeks. All her rage, all her loss, poured out from her in liquid form. Her dreams of freedom were ashes, nothing more than the soot sizzling against her form.

The pain in her hands, her heart, drew a cry of pure agony from Cinderella’s chest. She curled her now-blackened fists. Heat churned inside and around them.

Let them burn. She thought to herself. Deeper and brighter than any false hope. The pain mounted.

Let me burn. Let me burn. Let me—

A spark rippled across her knuckles.

Cinderella stopped, chest pausing mid-sob. Was that really what she’d seen—a spark? Could the tears have washed her vision? Was her fiery head going mad?

But Cinderella could feel the echo of searing flames. She could make out the fresh scar against her knuckles, an oozing black.

Cinderella willed the fire to return. She closed her eyes. Burn.

Flames sprung to life at the tips of her fingers. They flickered, no stronger than a candle’s light. Cinderella drew a breath, summoning more of her power, fueling the fire—

Flames spread, dipping down into her palm. They leached wider, then taller, arcing high enough to scorch the ceiling.

The heat dried the last of Cinderella’s tears. Her smile widened, growing large enough to let a bubbling giggle escape. She relished the way her laugh rasped against the crackle of her fire.

Stray squawks called Cinderella’s attention to the window at the ceiling’s edge. Crows had gathered there, their beaks poking through the bars. Her flames’ reflection glistened against their glossy wings. In unison, the crows sang:

From ashes to cinders

And cinders to flame

Her resolve has timbered

Risen is the dark dame.

The melody dissolved into rallying caws. Cinderella’s face brightened. She pressed a burning hand to the chain clamped over her ankle. Knives through butter, her fingers slipped through the iron links with ease. The maidservant pushed herself to her feet.

“Come, my friends!” Cinderella cried cheerfully, “We have a gala to attend!” Freedom coursed through her veins, a drug making her head grow light. “We wouldn’t want our lovely housemates to miss out on all the fun we’re having!”

She was speaking to crows with candles for fingers. And the crows were singing back. A delirious cackle escaped Cinderella’s chapped lips. Is this insanity?

If it was, she’d been missing out on such a glorious feeling for far too long.

~*~

Thunder served as the organ chords announcing Cinderella’s arrival. The crows were her escorts to the gala. Flapping and cawing, they poured into the castle’s ballroom and circled the high ivory ceiling.

The guests cried out in alarm. Typical of the upper class when faced with any dilemma, they either fainted, clutched their pearls, or threw others into what they assumed was the line of fire.

Faces white, those closest to Cinderella stared at her as if she were evil incarnate.

Personally, Cinderella considered herself to be more of an omen.

Burned and soot-stained, Cinderella was a dead hope resurrected. A dreadful promise wrapped in a patchwork dress and frazzled hair, delivering to the gluttonous what they deserved.

Cinderella’s eyes honed in on her targets. Her stepmother and stepsisters had fallen into the third category of “rich-people-reactions” and were fighting over which one of them was going to serve as the shield.

If only they knew it wouldn’t matter who was chosen.

Fire—a living weapon—burst from Cinderella’s hands. Anger roared through her system, flooded her vision with red, her heart with pain. She poured every ounce of that pain into her flames, burning brighter and brighter and—

A small voice, lighter than a bird’s whistle, cut through the bloodrush of her rage.

“You’re stunning.”

Cinderella froze. Some of the red dissipated, bringing the white-gold of the ballroom back into her view. She turned.

Directly behind her, framed by smoldering pearl streamers, was the prince. His eyes were wide, bronze face slack-jawed. His full focus was trained on Cinderella, with her drab clothes, splotchy skin, and frizzy hair.

A dozen cynical replies bubbled in her throat, but not a single one graced her lips. The sincerity in his eyes froze her. Could he really think . . .

The prince took one slow step towards her. Then another. Glass crunched under his boot. The sound was louder than any scream that pierced the air.

“I—I’ve been researching this phenomenon,” the prince said. For the life of her, Cinderella couldn’t recall his name.

“It’s more a theory than anything. Well, at least it was.” The prince shifted his stance. “I’ve never read a true account of its occurrence, much less witnessed it in person.” The prince extended a hand to her. “May I?”

Every trace of heat left Cinderella’s fingertips. It sank back into her veins, rising up to color her cheeks.

Stiltedly, she offered him her hand. The fire had scorched from her palm up to her forearm. Without the flames, it was a shriveled, horrid sight.

The prince accepted her hand as if it was pure gold. He examined it in awe.

“Incredible.” Luminous eyes found hers. “What’s your name?”

“Cinderella.” The word was a whisper.

“Ella?” The prince questioned. He smiled. “Even your voice is exquisite.”

I must be going insane. Or maybe the prince was. But Cinderella had seen crazy people before, and none had looked as handsome as he did.

He’s just flattering me to diffuse my fire. But Cinderella had heard lies before, and none had sounded as true as his words.

The prince’s grip on her hand tightened. He dropped to a knee.

“Would you grant me the honor of becoming your husband?”

This is a fever dream. Any second now, Cinderella would open her eyes and find herself still chained to the furnace with crows pecking at the cellar window.

She squeezed her eyes shut and counted to three. But the prince’s hand remained firmly clasped around hers. The room was still white-gold and glistening.

This wasn’t at all how Cinderella’s plan was supposed to go. But she was here now. Instead of selling off jewelry to a ferryman, Cinderella was being presented with the highest title of the land and all the riches she could ever dream of.

No one would ever look down on her again.

She’d never have to endure another beating or settle for scraps.

It was an escape coated in twenty-four karats, and it came with a built-in shield. Even better, it came with his bright eyes, his glowing smile.

Cinderella squeezed his hand. “I do.”

~*~

“Can you heat this for me?”

Cinderella accepted the vial from Carlos with withered hands, cupped gently around the glass. With a flutter of her lashes, she loosened an ounce of her power, just enough to bring the solution to a boil.

Two days had passed since Carlos and Cinderella’s wedding, and since the ceremony, the happy couple had spent every minute in Carlos’s lab. Cinderella found the space surprisingly cozy. The bright light and metallic sheen radiated an odd sort of comfort, accentuated by the steady hum of machinery.

“Fascinating,” Carlos marveled.

Cinderella swore she’d never get tired of the way he looked at her.

Once the solution was thoroughly heated, Carlos took it back with a gloved hand.  His fingers brushed against hers, sparking a warmth in Cinderella’s chest.

They shared a smile before pulling apart.

“So how’s this supposed to work again?” Cinderella asked.

Carlos grimaced. “The procedure is rather dull, I’m afraid. We’re just testing different variations of disinfectants on bird feathers. I’m trying to find the most optimal way to clean them without affecting the bird’s natural scent. That way, if we were to nurse a fallen chick back to health, it could be readopted by its mother and not abandoned due to its change in smell.”

With a slight tremble, he lifted the vial. “This particular variant utilizes the masking agent in sulfur-hexafluoride to—” The prince cut off with a sharp shake of his head. “It’s actually really tedious. I shouldn’t bore you with all the details.”

Cinderella blinked. “You’re not boring me at all.” She loved the way Carlos looked when he was explaining his studies. Excitement lit his face, making it shine brighter than any star. Even now, she could see the hint of a glimmer entering his eye.

Cinderella leaned closer. “Tell me more.”

THE END

The mines of Asphodol were lit by the reddish-white glow of the flame gems set in the ceiling at ten foot intervals. Long, snake-like tunnels ribbed with veins of grey rock with veins of red running through them were filled with the scrape of chisels, chipping away at the walls. Workers armed with chisels and buckets attacked the walls, prying free chunks of the strange stone. Grey powder sprayed from the walls with each thunk of the chisels, raining on and sticking to the people below.

Dust stood by himself at one of the veins of grey stone. His chisel left grooves through the rock, the familiar grinding of the metal on stone was almost soothing. He had outlined a sizeable portion of stone and was working the grooves deeper until he could pry a sizeable chunk loose. He had been at his work for hours and had hours more to go before the dinner bell would sound.

Dust was small for his fifteen years and thin besides. His pale skin and ratty cotton clothes were covered in a patina of fine, grey residue from years of digging at the walls of these tunnels. His pale hair was so full of powder it floated free with the smallest shake of his head. Like everyone and everything else in Asphodol, the fallout from the mines was a permanent feature of his life.

After hours of work, Dust managed to pull free a piece of stone bigger than his fist. He dropped it in the bucket at his feet and returned to his digging. When he filled the bucket, another worker would take it away and empty it into the larger barrows. It would then be taken away. Dust didn't know where it went or what it was for, he only knew that he had to continue to work.

Anyone who couldn't or wouldn't work...well, the Shadows took them.

The Shadows oversaw all the workers in Asphodol. They could watch through the darkness between lights and even travel through it, crossing vast distances in a single step. Some said this ability is what gave them their name.

Dust had been working in the mines for as long as he could remember. He could not remember a time before the mines; few of them did. He glanced down the line of workers, each one absorbed in their work. A few sections down, Sharp worked at his own vein of rock.

Sharp was the only friend that Dust had, if he could be called a friend. He loved to talk and would do so with anyone willing to listen to him. Dust, being a

quiet one, was all too happy to do so. Sharp told lots of strange tales. Things his Guardian had told him about other places; places with things called “plants” and open spaces with nothing above but something called a “sky”. Dust didn't believe these wild stories, but they were fun to listen to and there was precious little fun in Asphodol.

They were not working near each other today, so Dust had to content himself with the rhythmic grinding of his chisel for company.

Time passed as it always did, the day passing slowly, although it was hard to tell in the monotone light of the flame gems. Eventually, the whistle would sound and Dust would be able to put down his tools and begin the long trudge back to the caves where he lived.

But before that time came, a shriek split the air.

Tools were dropped or flung down in surprise as the workers turned from their duty to look towards the source of the sound. A woman, Dust knew her name was Shale, stood back from the wall, her hands cupped around something. Dust knew what it was she was holding. The same thing they all hoped to hold one day. The thing that kept that all at work as much as the threat of the Shadows.

Shale opened her hands, revealing her prize to the light. It was black and oily-looking, about the size of Dust's smallest finger. It had no legs and no discernible head. Its body was bulbous and soft, wiggling across her palms. The workers around Shale stared in awe as she lifted her hands to her mouth and shoved the creature in. She swallowed, gasping as it passed down her throat.

Black veins began to crawl across her neck, up toward her head and down toward her chest. They ran down her arms, pushing outward as they passed through the skin of her hands. Her face became a maze of black veins, her eyes turning black as pitch, whites and pupils swallowed by darkness.

Shale had become a Shadow.

As the transformation ended, two shapes stepped out of the darkness between the light from the flame gems. They walked toward Shale, hands extended. They had the same black veins and black eyes that Shale now bore. She took their hands, not bothering to look back at the workers around her, and stepped with them into the shadows. They vanished.

The workers slowly returned to work, shaking off the awe and fear of watching a Shadow created in their midst. It was a rare thing to see, but one often spoken of. After all, it was exactly what they each hoped to achieve one day. To find a shadowseed and ascend to the ranks of the Shadows.

The Shadows were the overseers of the mines but they had other tasks as well that none of the miners were privy to. They had privileges the miners could never dream of and powers they could not begin to fathom.

It was difficult to focus on the work after witnessing Shale's change. The speed at which it had happened and the immediacy of her departure were unnerving. Dust had always thought that if he became a Shadow he would be able to say good bye to his fellow miners, to Sharp, to his Guardian. But now, he wasn't so sure.

After another few hours of work, the dinner bell sounded. Dust turned with the rest of the miners and followed them up the tunnel toward the Cavern. They dropped their tools at the mouth of the tunnel and moved into the open space of the Cavern.

The Cavern was a massive open area amidst the caves. The roof of the Cavern was so high up that it was swallowed in darkness. Part of the space was taken up with crude tables and benches made of hacked stone. The rest of the area was designated for various tasks. One section for cooking and preparing meals, one for laundry, one for repairing or crafting tools.

Dust waited in line to receive his dinner for the day, then took it to an open space at one of the tables. The workers in the Cavern were those too old or too young for mining. They did the other menial tasks necessary to keep the miners fit for work. Dust's Guardian, Sot, was not here; he was probably among those chosen to haul water from the hot springs in one of the deepest tunnels. Sot was often chosen for such work; he was not well liked.

Dust ate his portion of dry bread and mushroom soup without appetite. The sight of Shale's transformation lingered behind his eyelids, replaying over and over each time he closed his eyes. It sickened him, even as he found it fascinating. He had never seen a shadowseed before; it was revolting. For the first time that he could remember, he worried if he would have the courage to ingest it if the time ever came.

After finishing his meal, Dust rose and left the Cavern. He took one of the old hauler's tunnels that sloped down sharply. These tunnels led to the hot springs that provided the miners with their water. It also led to Dust's favorite place.

Taking a turn away from the lit tunnels, he followed a few darkened shafts, moving by memory, until he came to a large opening lit by brilliant red light. The floor in front of the tunnel's opening fell away to reveal a vertical shaft that plunged downward. A few feet below the lip of the floor, molten rock bubbled and flowed. Liquid fire lit the open space brighter than any place Dust had ever seen. It was comforting and awe-inspiring all at once.

Dust moved away from the tunnel mouth, following the ledge a few feet to the right. Part of an old shovel lay on the ground here. Its head was half melted, but had cooled into hardened metal once more. He felt like that shovel sometimes. A half-broken thing that could still be used. It comforted him for reasons he could not explain. He sat and basked in the warmth and light. He would not have much time, but he enjoyed these stolen minutes of peace in this strange bright place.

Soon enough, too soon, he had to leave. He followed the tunnels back to the Cavern and turned left, past the dining space, following a tunnel that led to the living quarters. The quarters were nothing more than square rooms, five paces by five, cut into the walls of the tunnel. A thin sheet was pegged to the frame of the entrance to give a semblance of privacy. The inside of the room was black —no flame gems hung from the ceiling. Dust felt around the floor by the entrance until he found the small store of matches and lit one. He used it to light a small square of lightstone. The lightstone was a porous yellow rock that gave of a soft light when lit.

Sot was not here either, Dust noted, his small pallet of rags was empty. Dust settled down on his own bundle of old cloth and leaned back against the wall.

as tired as he was, he never felt comfortable sleeping until Sot returned from his work.

It wasn't long before the partition was pushed aside and Sot tottered in. He was an old man, back bent from years of labor. His dark skin had a greyish hue to it and his white hair was thin and receding back from his forehead. He had dark eyes set beneath bushy white eyebrows and his thin mouth was barely discernible through his shaggy beard. His body was all knobby bones and sharp angles with little more than skin holding it all together.

Dust could barely remember when Sot had been strong enough to work the mines. For most of his life, his guardian had been relegated to more menial tasks. Most people looked down on Sot; his weakness was cause enough for ridicule in a place so dependent on strong backs.

But to Dust, Sot was everything.

Sot was the only person who seemed to care about Dust. And not just his ability to work, but to really care about his well being. Dust would never forget that. It was one of the reasons Dust wanted to become a Shadow. He would have the power and the privilege to protect Sot, maybe even see to him having easier work.

It took Dust a moment to notice the large bruise forming on Sot's cheek. Fighting between workers was rare as the Shadows policed the tunnels meticulously. And Shadows themselves rarely dished out punishments of a physical nature. It would not do to deprive themselves of able hands.

“What happened?” Dust asked.

“Oh, nothing serious,” Sot answered easily, knowing immediately what Dust was referring to. “Lord Slade thought I ought to be moving faster. Just gave me a little slap. Nothing to get worked up over.” The old man hobbled over to his pallet and lowered himself carefully.

Slade was one of the most powerful Shadows in Asphodol. He was also the most punitive. He took any excuse to knock a worker around and seemed to take particular pleasure in it.

Dust hated Slade. Hated him in the way one hated the stones or the darkness. Useless, but no less fierce for being unsolvable.

“It wasn't much of a blow,” Sot continued, “barely even touched me. Sha's Mercy protects me.” He leaned his head back, eyes closed.

Dust hated when Sot invoked Sha or his supposed mercy. Most of the older residents of Asphodol held Sha in reverence. Their god, who gave them life. The Lord of Neth Gellin, where one day, they might dwell in bliss beneath his benevolent hand.

Younger folk, like Dust, had their doubts about Sha. Not his existence, necessarily, though none of them knew for sure. Just that nothing about their lives seemed blessed by any god.

“Best get to sleep, boy. Tomorrow comes quick.”

Dust didn't respond, he just laid down and rolled to face the wall. He knew there was no point in debating with Sot about the bruise. It wouldn't kill the old man and short of that, Sot wouldn't hear a complaint about it. He held an odd reverence for those whose sole purpose seemed to be to make their lives miserable. But again, it all came back to Sha. This was His will, and the Shadows merely enforced it.

The new day came quickly, as Sot had said, the bell tolling through the darkness to signal a return to work. Dust rose slowly, barely pulling himself up before Sot was hobbling out the doorway.

What followed was a typical day; a small meal followed by hours of chipping and digging at the veins of strange rock that lined the walls of the mineshafts. By the time the bell sounded for the midday meal, Dust was covered in the usual fallout from the mining. He hated the grey powder that clung to the miners like a second skin, getting everywhere and on everything. Of all the things to hate, however, it was a small one.

After the midday meal, Dust found himself working alongside Sharp. Most people didn't speak much while they worked, but Sharp had mastered the knack of chattering away while working. As usual, he was well into one of his strange tales within minutes.

“And they have these things called 'trees'! They're kinda like stones, except softer, and they're alive!” Sharp's prattle never bothered Dust, but soft stones that lived were too fanciful for even his patience.

“That's ridiculous.” Dust shook his head in annoyance. Tales were usually fun, but he felt that Sharp sometimes just liked to see how insane he could make his stories sound.

“I know!” Sharp didn't seem to catch Dust's waning interest and took the response for enthusiasm. “But that's how it is, I'm telling you! And Treb also says they have these green things that grow on them. They're called leaves! And sometimes, they turn colors and fall to the ground!”

Treb was Sharp's guardian and he was well known for being crazy. Sharp had told Dust, and anyone else who would listen, a number of wild stories much like this one. That water could fall from the air. That there were creatures who could be made into food. That all the people of Asphodol actually came from other worlds. Nonsense like that was common for Treb.

The day wore on like that. Dust chipping away at the wall, filling his bucket with chunks of stone. Sharp going on and on about strange, wonderful places that were full of light and miracles.

Dust was so lost in the rhythm of his work that he almost didn't notice the movement in the stone. It started as shimmer in the rock. Like a bubble formed of solid grey. As Dust clawed around it with his chisel, it grew outward. He had never seen anything like it. Finally, he set the tip of his chisel against the protrusion and pushed.

The bubble burst and a small, black shape wiggled out. Dust barely had time to drop his chisel and cup his hands around the dark shape, catching it in his upward palms.

It was a Shadowseed. A large one. Much larger than the one Shale had found. It was commonly believed that the larger the Seed, the stronger the Shadow. Dust didn't know if that was true, but it seemed plausible.

The Seed was as big as two of his thumbs pressed together. Its bulbous, wriggling body was almost weightless in his hands. He knew what he had to do, but he hesitated. It seemed so unnatural, to put this thing in his mouth and swallow.

Unnatural, but simple.

All he had to do was force it down and he would be among the most powerful figures in Asphodol. But something held him back.

“Dust, what are you—” Sharp's question cut off as he looked over Dust's shoulder and saw what sat in his cupped palms. “Woah...”

They both sat their, staring at Dust's prize. This could change everything.

“What are you waiting for, Dust?” The question was simple but also not. Dust could not explain the sense of wrongness the creature gave off, but it unnerved him.

“I know, I know,” Dust mumbled back. “Just give me a minute.”

Dust started to raise his hands to his mouth, but stopped again. His stomach turned at the thought of this creature being inside of him. He just needed a minute to gather his courage, he told himself. Just a minute to prepare himself for how everything was about to change.

“I'm sorry, Dust.”

Sharp's voice cut through Dust's thoughts right as the chisel struck his head. Dust fell to the side, his head ringing, his empty hands dropping to his side.

Dust's vision blurred, sharpened, and blurred again.

It was hard to focus on anything. His hands felt around his face and came away wet and red. What had happened?

His vision cleared slightly, resolving itself into an image of Sharp standing over him. Sharp would help him. Sharp was his friend.

Then he noticed the bloody chisel in his friend's hand. And the other hand....it held a squirming black shape. Dust barely had time to process the scene above him before Sharp squeezed his eyes shut and forced the Seed into his mouth.

The transformation seemed to occur more rapidly than Shale's had. Or perhaps Dust was just so addled he could not keep up. One moment his friend had been swallowing the strange creature. The next, a black eyed monster leered down at him, black veins craving a horrible map across his pale face. After that, the space above him was empty.

Dust spent the rest of the day lying on his pallet in his quarters. His wound had been treated with a strange paste and covered with a rag. It was not a terrible wound despite how it felt and he would be expected at work the next day.

Dust awoke to fingers prodding at his wound. He sat up with a yelp to find Sot kneeling over him. He could see the pain in the old man's eyes. Sot was concerned for his health, Dust knew. But he would also be disappointed when he learned how Dust had gotten the injury.

Sot, dear pious Sot, was always going on about the blessings of Sha. How Sha gave gifts to those who deserved them. How Sha's servants — the Shadows — were the most blessed.

And Dust had lost his chance to receive that blessing. Sot would be devastated that Dust had failed so.

“I'm sorry—” he began, but Sot waved the apology away.

“You have nothing to be sorry about, my boy. I heard all about it. A shame to be betrayed by a friend.” The old man shook his head in sadness and leaned forward again to press a damp cloth to Dust's wound. He must have pulled the old rag away to inspect it for himself. Sot had plenty of experience with injuries.

Dust ached to tell his guardian the truth. How he had been too weak, too cowardly to take the blessing. How Sharp had only struck because Dust had hesitated. But he could not bear to admit his shame to the one person who had always cared for him.

“Its not easy, boy,” Sot said, softly. “Believe me, I know how hard it can be to hold that power in your hand. To know that it is only one small action away. I know it too well.”

Dust was shocked. Sot knew already that he had the chance and missed it. “How —” but again, Sot cut him.

“Let it be, boy.” The old man smiled, weakly. “Perhaps Sha's blessings are not for the likes of us.” Dust remained silent, though questions ran through his mind. Had Sot also not been able to ingest a Seed. How did he know that Dust had failed?

He wanted to press his guardian for answers but darkness had begun to close in on him. His head fell back onto the bundle of rags that served as his pillow and sleep was upon him.

The next week passed in the usual monotonous way. Dust ate, worked, and slept. His wound improved; he no longer got dizzy and the scab on his temple was fading. He rarely had any time to talk with Sot; it seemed the old man was being pressed hard in his duties. Dust hated that, but he had no one but himself to blame for it. If he had taken the Seed, things would be different.

But he hadn't. And as Sot had said, Dust had no choice but to let it go.

After more than a week back at work, Dust returned to his quarters, exhausted and ready for sleep.

But Sot was not there and so he waited, slumped against the wall, awake. He had almost dozed off when the sound of voices and heavy feet jogged him to wakefulness.

Three men pushed through the partition, carrying a fourth between them. Dust knew immediately who the fourth was. The three men set Sot down on his pallet and left. They had no time to waste administering to someone like the old man.

Dust crawled over and examined Sot. His face was a mess of bruised, swollen flesh. His breathing was shallow and one of his arms hung at an odd angle. Dust didn't know where to begin to help his guardian. All he could think to do was cover him with the rags from his own pallet and hold the old man's hand.

In his desperation, he even offered a prayer to Sha.

It did no good that Dust could see.

He wanted to wait for Sot to awaken. To ask him who had done this, even though he was sure he knew who it was.

Slade.

It occurred to Dust that Sot might not awaken. That he might die here and now, and Dust would be left alone.

He could not bear that thought. Not after all he had done in raising Dust. His patient demeanor and his care was unusual in Asphodol and Dust didn't know what he would do without it.

He could not help Sot here. He had no medical knowledge and he did not believe that further prayers to Sha would help.

Instead, he gave in to an impulse that Sot had always suppressed. Retribution. He was already thinking of how he could do it. He realized in that moment that he had been planning this ever since Sharps betrayal. A way to punish one of the Shadows. To get some small manner of vengeance, even if it meant his death.

Dust left their quarters, walking quickly. He took the haulers' tunnels down until the flame gems stopped and followed the dark tunnels to his favorite spot. The brilliant flame-lit cave welcomed him with its warmth. He grabbed the ruined shovel for the first time, feeling its weight. It was heavy and part of the head still had a bit of an edge.

He retraced his steps to where the last of flame gems lit the meeting place between two tunnels. Without stopping to think, he leapt upward, swinging the shovel with all his strength. The blade struck the flame gem, shattering it in a burst of heat and light.

The tunnel was plunged into darkness, the next flame gem just visible fifty paces away.

It did not take long for the response Dust had been anticipating. A figure stepped out of the darkness near the flame gem, turning to face Dust. Even from this distance, Dust could tell it was Slade.

The Shadow was tall and slim with a pale, bald head riddled with black veins. Slade grinned at Dust in a way that said he was going to enjoy the pain of punishing the boy.

Dust wasted no time in turning to run down the dark tunnel. He didn't pause to make sure the Shadow was following; he knew Slade would be after him. He heard the footfalls of pursuit, confirming the guess he had made regarding the Shadow's ability to jump through the darkness. Jumping from shadow to shadow would be much more difficult if the whole tunnel was shadow.

The darkness that gave the Shadows their strange abilities would hide Dust. For a time, at least.

Dust raced along, the pounding of his pursuer ringing through the tunnel. He didn't have long before he would be caught.

But he was almost there.

He made a turn, the last turn. Just another hundred or so paces. The dim glow of the cave was coming into view.

Dust burst into the flame-lit cave, so bright no shadows could live within it. He ducked to the right and plastered himself against the rocky wall. Slade stalked into the chamber, raising a hand to his eyes and hissing at the bright light.

That momentary distraction was all Dust needed.

He stepped away from the wall and swung the shovel with all the strength he could muster.

The metal head of the shovel shattered with a dull ringing sound as it struck the back of Slade's head. It didn't do nearly the damage Dust had hoped it would.

But it did enough.

The Shadow pitched forward into the liquid flame. A gurgling, hissing scream accompanied his fall until the magma sucked him down and covered him.

Dust leaned back against the wall, panting. He had done it. He killed a Shadow.

Sot might still be dying. Dust might still be alone soon. But he had gotten his revenge at least. And he had done what no one had ever considered doing before.

He was about to walk away when he noticed movement on the ground by the edge of the pit. A small, black shape was wiggling along the edge of the pit.

Dust knew it immediately for what it was. Slade's Seed had abandoned him. And now, here it was, struggling to escape the heat and the light.

Dust bent down, picking up the Shadowseed between his thumb and forefinger. He didn't hesitate this time. He immediately stuck the creature into his mouth and swallowed.

His whole body seemed to burst aflame from the inside. His veins burned and he watched as the black veins crawled through his pale flesh. His eyesight blurred and came back sharper than ever. His whole body thrummed with energy and power.

Dust had become a Shadow.

Title: "ChronoGate: Guardians of Time"

09-Nov-2023

Word count - 4921

Chapter 1

The Invention of the ChronoGizmo

In the year 2145, in the bustling metropolis of Neo-Atlanta, two friends, Max

and Leo, lived seemingly ordinary lives. They had known each other since

childhood, their bond unbreakable. Max was a brilliant but struggling

physicist, constantly seeking to prove his worth. Leo, on the other hand, was

an adventurous soul, always eager for a new challenge.

Their lives were about to take an extraordinary turn, as Max unveiled a secret

project he had been working on for years. Max's inspiration came from his

father, a renowned scientist who had mysteriously disappeared when Max was just

a child. The only thing his father left behind was a series of cryptic notes

that hinted at the potential of time travel.

Max had always been driven by the desire to prove his father's theories and

honor his legacy. And the culmination of his work was the ChronoGizmo, a device

that could potentially unlock the mysteries of time travel. It was a

contraption made of wires, gears, and whirring mechanical parts that seemed

straight out of a steampunk novel. To the untrained eye, it appeared to be a

chaotic mess of machinery, but Max believed it held the key to changing the

course of history.

One fateful evening, Max couldn't contain his excitement any longer. He

decided to reveal the ChronoGizmo to Leo. The two friends had spent countless

hours together, dreaming about adventures and the possibilities that lay beyond

their ordinary lives. Max thought Leo might be just the kind of daring spirit

he needed to make the ChronoGizmo work.

As he explained the intricacies of the device to Leo, the basement where they

had set up their makeshift laboratory felt charged with an electric energy. Max

spoke with fervor, his eyes gleaming with the promise of what lay ahead. He

described the theories, the prototypes, and the countless experiments that had

led to this moment.

Leo, always up for a challenge, couldn't help but be drawn into Max's vision.

He saw the gleam in his friend's eyes and the unwavering determination that had

brought them to this point. Leo had always been the risk-taker in their duo,

the one who never backed down from a dare or an adventure. This time, it was no

different.

Max revealed the ChronoGizmo with a flourish. Leo's eyes widened as he took in

the chaotic arrangement of gears and wires. It looked like a mad scientist's

dream, and Leo couldn't help but be both awed and a little intimidated.

With a mischievous grin, Leo said, "So, Max, when do we take our first trip

through time?"

Max hesitated for a moment, contemplating the risks and consequences. But he

knew that with Leo's unwavering support, they could make history together –

quite literally. He said, "Tonight, my friend. Tonight, we take the first leap

into the unknown."

As the clock struck midnight, Max and Leo stood before the ChronoGizmo, ready

to activate the device. The swirling vortex opened before them, a gateway to an

uncharted future. Without thinking, Leo impulsively jumped into the portal,

disappearing into the unknown.

Max watched in awe and fear as his friend vanished. He had no idea what lay

ahead or whether Leo would ever return. But he couldn't let his friend face

this adventure alone. With determination, Max took a deep breath and followed

Leo into the unknown, ready for an adventure that would redefine their lives.

Chapter 2

The Leap into the Unknown

Max and Leo had embarked on a journey into the unknown as they stood before

the swirling vortex created by the ChronoGizmo. The portal had opened with

Leo's impulsive jump into its depths, and Max was left with no choice but to

follow his best friend into the great unknown.

As Max tumbled through the portal, his senses were overwhelmed. He felt as

though he was being pulled in every direction at once, and the world around him

blurred and shifted. It was a disorienting experience, and for a moment, Max

wondered if he had made a grave mistake.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the chaos stopped. Max found himself

standing in what seemed to be a different time and place. The surroundings were

vastly different from the Neo-Atlanta they had left behind. Max's heart raced

as he took in the unfamiliar sights, sounds, and smells.

Leo stood a few feet away, equally bewildered but grinning with a mixture of

excitement and relief. "Well, Max," he said, "It looks like we've arrived

somewhere. But where, exactly, is a bit of a mystery."

Max checked the ChronoGizmo, and the readings were off the charts. They had

successfully traveled through time, but pinpointing their exact location proved

challenging. The device's screen displayed a jumble of numbers and symbols that

seemed to defy interpretation.

With a shrug, Max said, "We might not know where we are, but I suppose that's

the nature of time travel. We'll need to rely on our wits and adapt to the

situation."

They decided to explore their surroundings cautiously. What they had assumed

to be a quaint, old-fashioned street turned out to be a lively scene from the

Prohibition era. Flapper girls in fringed dresses and men in sharp suits

populated the street, dancing to the distant sound of jazz music. Leo marveled

at the authenticity of the scene.

As they strolled through the bustling 1920s, Leo couldn't help but enjoy the

vibrancy of the time period. He interacted with people of the era, sharing

stories and laughter, always careful not to reveal their origins or the

ChronoGizmo. Max, on the other hand, was more focused on figuring out how they

could return to their own time.

After hours of exploration and making new friends, they decided to make their

way back to the ChronoGizmo, hoping to retrace their steps and return to

Neo-Atlanta. But when they reached the spot where they had initially arrived,

the portal had disappeared.

Max's heart sank as he realized they were trapped in the past. He frantically

tried to reconfigure the ChronoGizmo, but it seemed unable to generate another

portal. It appeared that they were at the mercy of time itself.

Leo, ever the optimist, patted Max on the back and said, "Don't worry, Max. We

may be stuck here for now, but we've got each other. And who knows, maybe this

is the adventure we've always been waiting for!"

Max couldn't help but smile at Leo's resilience. He knew that they would face

many challenges in this new time period, but with his best friend by his side,

there was nothing they couldn't overcome.

As the two friends ventured further into the Prohibition era, they began to

embrace their new reality, immersing themselves in the culture, making new

friends, and even using the ChronoGizmo's knowledge to their advantage.

Little did they know that their time-traveling escapades were about to lead

them down an unexpected path, uncovering mysteries and secrets that would not

only redefine their adventure but also reshape the course of history.

Chapter 3

Roaring Twenties and a Risky Return

Max and Leo, having embraced their new reality in the 1920s, immersed

themselves in the vibrant culture of the Prohibition era. The sights and sounds

of the roaring twenties were a far cry from the Neo-Atlanta they had left

behind, and both friends couldn't help but revel in the adventure that had

become their lives.

The Prohibition era was a time of speakeasies, jazz music, and flapper

fashion. Leo was in his element, donning a stylish suit and striking up

conversations with the locals, who were always ready to share stories and

laughter. He made friends with the bootleggers, the jazz musicians, and even

the gangsters. Leo was a natural in this world of hidden secrets and daring

escapades.

Max, on the other hand, was more focused on solving the puzzle of the

ChronoGizmo and finding a way to return to their own time. His inquisitive mind

was relentless as he tinkered with the device, trying to configure it to

generate another portal. But the more he worked on it, the more it became clear

that the ChronoGizmo was a one-way ticket to the past. It could travel through

time but not back again.

One evening, as they sat in a dimly lit speakeasy, enjoying the smooth tunes

of a jazz band, Max shared his concerns with Leo. "We might be having the time

of our lives here," Max began, "but we're essentially stranded in the past. The

ChronoGizmo doesn't seem to want to take us back to our time."

Leo took a thoughtful sip of his drink and then replied, "Well, Max, perhaps

this is where we're meant to be. Maybe our adventure was never meant to be a

quick trip back home but a journey into the unknown."

Max sighed, knowing that Leo had a point. It was in moments like these that he

appreciated his friend's optimism and adaptability. Leo was right; they had

made friends, experienced a different time period, and learned so much about

the world. Perhaps their adventure was far from over.

As weeks turned into months, Max and Leo continued to explore the Prohibition

era, immersing themselves deeper into the culture. They learned to dance the

Charleston, to appreciate the nuances of jazz, and to savor the excitement of a

secret nightclub.

One day, as they wandered through the bustling streets of 1920s New York City,

they stumbled upon a lead that piqued Max's curiosity. A local historian

mentioned an underground society that held knowledge of mysterious artifacts,

some of which were rumored to have time-altering properties.

Max thought that this society might hold the key to their predicament. If

there were time-altering artifacts, perhaps they could use one to return to

their own time. It was a long shot, but it was worth investigating.

Leo, always up for adventure, was enthusiastic about the idea. They decided to

seek out this underground society, embarking on a quest that would lead them

through secret passages, mysterious codes, and encounters with enigmatic

figures from the past.

As Max and Leo delved deeper into the underground society's secrets, they

began to realize that their time-traveling escapades were about to lead them

down a path they could never have anticipated. Mysteries and dangers awaited

them, and their journey was far from over.

Chapter 4

Family Secrets Unveiled

Max and Leo's quest to find the underground society that held knowledge of

time-altering artifacts led them deeper into the mysteries of the Prohibition

era. They followed clues, deciphered cryptic messages, and navigated the hidden

passages of New York City in search of the elusive group.

One night, while exploring an abandoned warehouse, they stumbled upon a hidden

chamber that was filled with ancient documents and artifacts. Max's eyes lit up

as he examined the dusty scrolls and intricate devices. It seemed they had

uncovered the treasure trove of the underground society they had been seeking.

As they pored over the documents, they discovered references to a

time-altering artifact called the "ChronoSphere." Legend had it that the

ChronoSphere possessed the power to manipulate time itself. The only problem

was that its exact location remained a mystery.

Max and Leo knew they were close to a breakthrough, but they needed more

information. They returned to the speakeasy where they had initially heard

about the underground society, hoping to gather more insights from the local

historian who had been their source.

The historian, a wizened man named Walter, was delighted to see them again.

Over glasses of bourbon, he revealed that the ChronoSphere had last been seen

in the possession of an infamous gangster, Samuel "Timekeeper" Sullivan, who

had ruled the criminal underworld during the Prohibition era.

Max and Leo's curiosity was piqued, and they decided to dig deeper into

Timekeeper Sullivan's life and his possible connection to the ChronoSphere.

They tracked down a series of old news articles, police reports, and

confidential documents that detailed the rise and fall of Timekeeper Sullivan.

As they delved into these records, Max's heart nearly stopped. In one faded

newspaper clipping, he saw a familiar face – his own father, Professor Charles

Bennett. The article revealed that Professor Bennett had been investigating

Timekeeper Sullivan and the ChronoSphere when he mysteriously vanished. Max's

father had been on the cusp of a breakthrough, but he had paid a heavy price

for his pursuit.

Leo, who was reading over Max's shoulder, exclaimed, "Max, your father was

closer to the truth than anyone realized. Timekeeper Sullivan may hold the key

to the ChronoSphere and, potentially, the secret of your father's

disappearance."

Max's hands trembled as he realized the magnitude of the discovery. It was as

though their journey had come full circle, connecting the past, present, and

future in ways they had never imagined. The quest for the ChronoSphere had

become personal, and they were determined to find it and unlock its secrets.

As Max and Leo continued to investigate Timekeeper Sullivan's life, they

uncovered a hidden vault that was said to contain the ChronoSphere. It was

located in the heart of the city's underground, a place where only the bravest

dared to venture. The duo knew they would have to confront their deepest fears

and face unimaginable dangers to reach the ChronoSphere.

Their journey was about to take a perilous turn, as they prepared to descend

into the hidden depths of the city. Little did they know that the secrets they

were about to uncover would not only change the course of their adventure but

also reveal a shocking truth that would alter their perception of the past,

present, and future.

Chapter 5

Partners in Crime and Romance

Max and Leo's quest to find the ChronoSphere had taken a personal turn, as

they realized that Max's father, Professor Charles Bennett, had been deeply

involved in investigating Timekeeper Sullivan and the time-altering artifact.

The duo's determination grew stronger with every passing day. They ventured

into the hidden depths of the city, following a trail of cryptic clues and

dangerous encounters that led them closer to the hidden vault rumored to

contain the ChronoSphere.

Their journey was fraught with peril, as they navigated through treacherous

tunnels, avoided traps, and outwitted rival treasure hunters who sought the

ChronoSphere for their own purposes. Max's scientific expertise and Leo's

street-smart ingenuity made them a formidable team, always managing to stay one

step ahead of danger.

As they inched closer to their goal, they couldn't help but reflect on the

extraordinary adventure they had undertaken. The Prohibition era had become

more than just a time period to explore; it had become their home. They had

made friends who had become like family, and they had come to appreciate the

vibrancy and spirit of the era.

However, amidst the danger and excitement, another unexpected development was

brewing. Leo, with his adventurous spirit and infectious charm, had captured

the attention of a local woman named Anna. A jazz singer at one of the

speakeasies, Anna was a free spirit who had always longed for adventure. She

and Leo were drawn to each other, and their connection deepened with every

passing day.

Max couldn't help but notice the sparks flying between Leo and Anna, and he

couldn't be happier for his friend. As their adventures continued, Leo and

Anna's budding romance added a new dimension to the journey. They became a

dynamic trio, with Max's scientific expertise, Leo's daring spirit, and Anna's

vivacious charm.

The relationship between Leo and Anna was a testament to the unexpected twists

that life could bring. In the midst of their dangerous quest for the

ChronoSphere, they found love and companionship. Max, who had always been the

more reserved of the two friends, marveled at the way their adventure had

brought about such profound changes in their lives.

The trio worked together seamlessly, drawing on each other's strengths and

supporting one another through the challenges they faced. Max's love for

science was balanced by Leo's zest for life, and Anna's free-spirited nature

added a touch of romance to their adventures.

As they finally reached the hidden vault rumored to contain the ChronoSphere,

they faced their greatest challenge yet. Timekeeper Sullivan had left behind a

series of complex traps and puzzles to protect the precious artifact. It was a

race against time, as they deciphered the riddles and evaded deadly snares in

their quest to reach the heart of the vault.

The moment they finally laid eyes on the ChronoSphere was a revelation. It was

an intricate, jewel-encrusted device that seemed to pulse with a mysterious

energy. They had found what they were looking for, but they had no idea of the

consequences it would unleash.

Their adventure had taken them to the brink of discovery, but they were about

to face a reality they could never have prepared for. The ChronoSphere held the

power to alter time itself, and its secrets were not to be taken lightly.

Chapter 6

The Temporal Syndicate Revealed

Max, Leo, and Anna stood in awe of the ChronoSphere, a powerful artifact that

held the potential to manipulate time itself. They knew that they had to handle

it with the utmost care and responsibility, as its consequences could be

far-reaching and unpredictable.

Their sense of triumph was short-lived as they heard a chilling sound – the

unmistakable footsteps of someone approaching the hidden vault. It was clear

that they were not alone, and they had precious little time to decide their

next move.

The trio quickly hid the ChronoSphere and retreated deeper into the vault,

their senses on high alert. They watched in silence as a group of shadowy

figures entered the chamber, cloaked in black robes. The figures spoke in

hushed tones, discussing their plans to seize the ChronoSphere.

As Max, Leo, and Anna listened, they realized that they were facing a powerful

and enigmatic organization known as the Temporal Syndicate. The Syndicate had

infiltrated every era, manipulating time for their own sinister purposes. Their

goal was to rewrite history in their favor, accumulating power and wealth by

controlling pivotal events.

The trio's encounter with the Temporal Syndicate was a turning point in their

adventure. They knew that they could not allow the ChronoSphere to fall into

the wrong hands. It held the power to alter time, and the Syndicate's plans

could have catastrophic consequences for history.

With their hearts pounding and adrenaline surging, Max, Leo, and Anna made a

bold decision. They would confront the Temporal Syndicate and prevent them from

seizing the ChronoSphere. Their alliance had never been more critical, and they

prepared to face a foe unlike any they had encountered before.

The confrontation with the Temporal Syndicate was intense and filled with

suspense. Max, with his scientific knowledge, devised clever strategies to

outwit the Syndicate's members. Leo's daring spirit and Anna's quick thinking

were instrumental in their efforts.

A cat-and-mouse game ensued, with Max, Leo, and Anna using the ChronoSphere's

unique properties to their advantage. They manipulated time to create

distractions, alter the environment, and gain the upper hand. The Syndicate,

despite their power and resources, found themselves in a battle of wits with

the determined trio.

The stakes were high, and the battle raged across different time periods. Max,

Leo, and Anna encountered historical figures, engaged in epic showdowns, and

used the full potential of the ChronoSphere to thwart the Syndicate's schemes.

The adrenaline-fueled action and clever tactics kept readers on the edge of

their seats.

As the final confrontation unfolded, Max, Leo, and Anna faced a leader of the

Temporal Syndicate who revealed a shocking truth. The leader, a figure known as

the "Time Master," disclosed that their actions were not just about power and

wealth. They believed that the ChronoSphere held the power to correct the

course of history, to undo the injustices and atrocities that had plagued the

world.

The revelation was a plot twist that challenged the trio's perception of the

Syndicate. Were they truly villains, or were they misguided idealists

attempting to right the wrongs of history in their own way?

Max, Leo, and Anna were faced with a moral dilemma. They had to make a

difficult choice – to thwart the Syndicate's plans and protect the stability of

history or to support the Time Master's vision of a just world, even if it

meant rewriting history.

The story entered a complex moral territory, as the trio navigated a gray area

where the lines between heroes and villains were blurred. The consequences of

their decisions would have far-reaching effects, not only on their own lives

but on the very fabric of time itself.

Chapter 7

A Race Through Time

The confrontation with the Temporal Syndicate had led Max, Leo, and Anna to a

moral crossroads. They had learned of the Syndicate's true intentions, led by

the enigmatic figure known as the "Time Master," who believed that the

ChronoSphere held the power to correct historical injustices and create a just

world.

The trio stood in the chamber, the ChronoSphere still in their possession, as

the Time Master made his passionate case. Max, with his scientific mind,

understood the potential implications of altering history, the delicate balance

that had kept the world intact.

As the debate raged on, Leo was torn. He had always been the adventurer, the

risk-taker, but the idea of rewriting history on such a grand scale gave him

pause. Anna, too, felt the weight of the decision. She had always longed for a

better world, but the consequences of their actions were uncertain.

The Time Master's offer was tempting, a chance to undo the wrongs of history,

to prevent wars, oppression, and suffering. But Max was cautious, knowing that

tampering with time could have unintended consequences, perhaps even leading to

a worse future.

As the trio weighed their options, a sudden commotion outside the chamber

interrupted their deliberations. The Syndicate's other members, unaware of the

internal conflict, were closing in. Time was running out.

With a shared understanding, Max, Leo, and Anna made a swift decision. They

couldn't trust the Syndicate's vision for the ChronoSphere's power, but they

also couldn't risk its misuse. In a daring move, they activated the

ChronoSphere, creating a temporal disturbance that disoriented the Syndicate

members and allowed them to escape.

The trio raced through time, pursued by the Syndicate, as they sought to find

a safe haven. Their journey took them to pivotal moments in history, from

ancient civilizations to the modern era. They had to outsmart the Syndicate at

every turn, using the ChronoSphere to create distractions, change their

appearances, and even lead their pursuers into historical traps.

The battle was intense, and the stakes were higher than ever. Max, with his

scientific expertise, devised intricate strategies to outwit the Syndicate.

Leo's daring spirit and Anna's quick thinking were invaluable as they navigated

the complexities of time travel.

As the chase continued, the trio encountered historical figures who became

unexpected allies, their fates intertwined with the adventurers. These

alliances added depth to the story, as the past and present collided in

thrilling and unexpected ways.

Amidst the adrenaline-fueled action, a surprising twist occurred. The

Syndicate's internal divisions became apparent, as some members questioned the

Time Master's vision. Doubts about the consequences of their actions began to

surface, and a faction within the Syndicate considered an alternative path.

The divide within the Syndicate presented an opportunity for Max, Leo, and

Anna. They reached out to the dissident members, attempting to convince them

that rewriting history was too dangerous. The dissidents, swayed by the

adventurers' arguments, helped create a rift within the Syndicate, leading to

internal conflict.

The climax of the story saw a showdown between the two factions of the

Syndicate. Max, Leo, and Anna, with the ChronoSphere in their possession, had

to make a final decision – to intervene and prevent the Syndicate from altering

history, or to allow the internal conflict to play out, potentially resulting

in their own escape.

The story's tension reached its peak as the fate of the ChronoSphere and the

balance of history hung in the balance. The adventurers' actions would

determine the course of history, and their moral choices would define the

legacy they left behind.

Chapter 8

The Temporal Guardians

The internal conflict within the Temporal Syndicate had thrown their chase

into disarray. As Max, Leo, and Anna continued to evade their pursuers across

different time periods, they couldn't help but feel the weight of their

decisions.

The ChronoSphere was both a blessing and a burden. It held the power to change

history, but it also came with a great responsibility. Max had always believed

in the importance of preserving the natural course of events, while Leo and

Anna had seen the potential for positive change. The debate raged on in their

hearts.

In the midst of the chase, Max's scientific mind was racing. He had been

tinkering with the ChronoSphere, trying to understand its true capabilities.

What he discovered was a way to utilize the device without altering history

permanently. With great effort and precision, he could use the ChronoSphere to

reverse the Syndicate's manipulations, restoring the natural flow of time.

This discovery led to a pivotal decision. Max realized that they could be the

guardians of time, ensuring that history remained intact while correcting any

harm the Syndicate had caused. It was a daunting task, but Max, Leo, and Anna

were determined to accept this responsibility.

However, doing so required a tremendous sacrifice. Max, the brilliant

scientist, would have to stay behind in the depths of time, manipulating the

ChronoSphere to safeguard the past and future. It meant that he would be

separated from his friends, his home, and the life he had known.

The emotional weight of the sacrifice was palpable. Max, with a heavy heart,

knew it was the only way to protect the integrity of time. Leo and Anna,

equally torn by the decision, pledged their support and promised to return to

visit Max whenever they could.

In a heartfelt farewell, Max activated the ChronoSphere, creating a temporal

rift that transported Leo and Anna back to Neo-Atlanta. They returned to their

own time, carrying the knowledge of their adventures and the importance of

preserving history.

Max, in his solitude, took on the role of the guardian of time. His days were

spent navigating the complexities of the ChronoSphere, ensuring that history

remained untouched and that the Temporal Syndicate's actions were reversed. He

corrected wrongs, preserved significant events, and maintained the balance of

time.

The years passed, and Max became a figure shrouded in legend. Stories of the

guardian of time were told in hushed whispers, and his dedication to preserving

history became a symbol of hope and responsibility. He had made the ultimate

sacrifice for the greater good.

Leo and Anna, back in Neo-Atlanta, lived their lives with a profound sense of

purpose. They became protectors of the ChronoGizmo, ensuring it wouldn't fall

into the wrong hands. The adventures of their past had shaped them into heroes

who understood the importance of maintaining the integrity of time.

Their friendship remained unbreakable, and they continued to explore the

wonders of time within the confines of their own era. Together, they used their

experiences to contribute positively to their society, influencing events in

ways they knew were right.

In a poignant reunion, they occasionally used the ChronoGizmo to visit Max.

The moments spent with their friend were bittersweet, filled with laughter,

reminiscence, and shared experiences. Although they couldn't remain together,

their bond endured, and the sacrifices they had made were a testament to their

unwavering friendship.

As the years turned into decades, Max, Leo, and Anna realized that they had

made a lasting impact. The temporal rifts they had created had reshaped history

for the better, leading to a brighter and more just world.

The story concluded with a sense of peace and happiness, as Max, Leo, and Anna

found solace in their roles as guardians of time. They had sacrificed for a

cause they believed in, and the world had benefited from their choices.

In the end, the adventure had brought them not only challenges and dilemmas

but also a profound understanding of the intricacies of time. Their journey had

taught them the importance of friendship, responsibility, and the enduring

power of unity.

Epilogue

A New Beginning

As the years passed, Max, Leo, and Anna continued their roles as guardians of

time. They watched over history, ensuring its integrity, and worked tirelessly

to correct any distortions caused by the Temporal Syndicate.

Their lives were dedicated to this purpose, and the bond of their friendship

remained as strong as ever. They found fulfillment in their responsibilities,

knowing that they were making a positive impact on the world.

However, a lingering question remained in their hearts – was there more to the

ChronoSphere and the secrets of time that they had yet to uncover? The

adventures of their past had taught them to expect the unexpected, and the

allure of the unknown called to them once again.

Little did they know that their journey was far from over. Unseen forces were

at play, and the world of time travel held more mysteries than they could have

ever imagined.

Part 2 of their adventure was on the horizon, and a new chapter in their lives

was about to begin.

Stay tuned for the continuation of Max, Leo, and Anna's temporal odyssey,

where new challenges, discoveries, and adventures await.

To be continued............

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