MISC #10 Voting Thread: Once In A Blue Moon

Surrender


People like him, with so many people counting on him, did not surrender.

He couldn't remember how long he'd been fighting. The longer he considered it, the more years that were added to this apparent lifetime of war. He'd been fighting even before he'd realized it. Year after year, battle after battle. Blood stained the ground beneath him, the weapons in his hands, and even his skin. There was so much death, so much blood, on his hands.

He wanted to believe he couldn't remember a time when he'd been innocent, when his deeds hadn't stained him to the bone. The truth of the matter was he did remember a time like that. He'd been young; he was so very young. It had been another time, another place, another version of himself that had lived that life. He could remember when he'd been innocent; he just couldn't remember when exactly that had changed.

He didn't know how long he'd been fighting. He just knew that it had been so very long since he'd known any peace at all.

He walked upon the grass, as red and glistening as rubies. The prone forms of the dead lay behind him, their souls no doubt joining the stars now.

The dark wooden doors stood wide open, and he walked right through them.

Those stone floors and intricate rugs were more blood than stone or wool now. Holes and slashes marked the walls and floor, along with burns. Glass and rubble, gore and metal, were underfoot. It crunched beneath his boots; his steps were now slick with blood. He was unable to be quiet, though he had no reason to try to be.

She already knew he was here, after all.

The stench of death choked him, the taste of copper on his tongue and in his throat.

He was bleeding, but he knew it would heal. It always did, after all, no matter how much it hurt. But, oh, did it hurt.

Still, he walked. Pain arched through his legs, shooting through his torso, and finally stabbing him between the eyes. Everything ached, but still he walked.

Up the stairs he went, his progress slow, though he was unhurried. Anyone who had gone ahead of him was likely dead by now. She would wait for him, no matter how long it took.

He passed stair after stair, having to step over the limp form of an old ally more than once.

He treaded across the stone of the upper floor, opening those dark wooden doors.

There she stood, at the window, looking over the bloody scene that was sprawled out beneath her on the ground below.

His footsteps were still wet with blood, leaving a trail of where he walked. It pained the assassin within him, with all that careful training to be unheard and unseen. It didn't matter now, he knew that. She was perfectly aware of him, of his presence and all he'd done to get inside the building. She'd probably watched him, when she wasn't taking care of the other trespassers.

She turned, her curtain of midnight hair swaying as the skirts of her dress twisted around her. He knew he must be quite the sight to see. He had a busted, bleeding lip; a miraculously unbroken but also bleeding nose; cuts and the beginnings of bruises splattered across his skin. His powers had formed armor over his skin, creating gauntlets and boots of argent white, while much of the rest of his skin was cracked with that same glowing hue. He dripped with blood, both his own and the blood of others. He was streaked with death, sweat, and grime.

She, on the other hand, was nearly clean. There were only the barest splatters of blood, and she still was as elegant as ever. She was composed and regal, and so very clear-minded.

Perhaps that was the worst part.

"Hello, Princess," he greeted. It was a playful jab, a joke between old friends. She gave him that same, sweet smile, still calm and composed. It felt a bit as if nothing had changed, and yet everything had. He felt his heart pang in his chest.

"Hello, Reid," she greeted in return. She pulled away from the window, her steps gentle but clear on the stone floors. She faced him fully, her small smile perfectly composed as her power began to leak from her fingers. "I suppose they sent you to stop me."

He gave her a small sad smile, apologetic in every way. He hadn't wanted this. He'd never wanted it to come to this. They'd been friends, once, and if he were truthful, he'd had feelings that were more than that. If he were truthful, he'd admit that those feelings had still not left.

It was moments like this where he wished that he did lie to himself.

He didn't want this to be the way they met again, yet here he was. The monster had been unleashed on the enemy, and she stood before him as his enemy.

"At least they sent their very best weapon," she stated, something cold in her smile even as there was the faintest traces of warmth in her eyes. He flinched; the problem with friends is that they always knew where it hurt the most.

He was a weapon, after all. That was what he was for. That was his purpose. He got his hands dirty; he stained his skin and clothes and soul, so that others didn't have to. He was the monster, the weapon, the tool.

She'd laugh, if she ever heard him admit he was a tool.

Others had told him he was a hero, Ashild among them. Ashild said he was a hero, a savior. If he were a hero, then why did everything hurt? Why was he so very tired, with this exhaustion that went deeper than the bone? Why did people look at him as if he were the scum of the earth?

He had a thankless job. He knew it, had known it from the beginning. It didn't make it easier, to see what he thought of himself to be so perfectly reflected in the faces of others.

"Indeed," he replied, short and clipped. Her smile deepened, well aware of the effect of her words.

"Let's see if you measure up, then." She then muttered under her breath and flung a spell towards his head.

He ducked. Another spell flung his way, and he deflected it with the pearly armor on his forearms. He flung them away, one after another, stepping ever closer to her as her voice grew louder and faster, her spells growing in speed and power as well.

One connected, hitting him square in the chest. He gasped, stumbling back, hand grasping at the wound.

"I don't want to fight you," he said, finally, though he could admit his timing could be better.

"Then don't," she said simply. She still radiated power, her magic sparking at her fingertips, even as she lowered her hands enough to not be an immediate threat. She would give him dignity, give him time, if only for old time's sake.

He still faltered, though. He hadn't imagined that would be her response, even though he could think of no alternative.

They stood there, old friends and new enemies, in the same room.

He didn't want to fight her. He never wanted this. He was here now, though, and that was the problem.

"Why are you here, Reid, if you don't want to fight me?" she asked.

That was the question, wasn't it? He knew the answer; he'd been told to. That had been his job. That was his task. The weapon was to be used, not to question orders.

That was before he had to actually face her. Before he had to face Issa, who watched him so carefully now.

How many battles had he fought now? So many. Too many battles. It was adversary after adversary, battle after battle. He sacrificed himself, and everything he was, over and over again. And for what? Thankless people, and a thankless life, and the same miserable corrupted system that screwed people over again and again?

"Think about it, Reid," Issa began, knowing she fully had his attention. "What has all of this gotten you? Nothing changes, nothing improves. No one cares about what's happening to people like you when people like me are gone. You're lost, and alone, and just waiting for orders again."

He took a step back.

It would be different if something changed, if something good came out of it all. He didn't need, didn't want, that gratitude if only something good came about because of it. But he protected the world, precisely as it was. Order would be restored, and the less extreme evils of the world would stretch their power again.

"They don't treat you nearly as well as they should, either," Issa continued, making his heart pang in his chest again. She was stepping nearer, as if sensing his hesitation. "They tell you you're a weapon, and then they don't even give you the care that even a blade requires. You haven't got a friend in the world, Reid."

Except her. The words were there, though they went unspoken.

It was sad, pathetic even, how alone he felt.

Ashild claimed they were friends, but she said lots of things. She told him he was a hero, after all.

When did heroes ever consider the offers their enemies give them? Shouldn't they immediately finish the job, dismiss anything that came out of their opponent's mouth? Shouldn't they return the world to peace and order, or at least the illusion of it?

Ashild liked to lie. She claimed he was a hero, but she also made sure he was aware of what he really was. He was the monster, chained and caged until they needed him, because of the powers that gave him armor and claws and fangs. He was a tool meant for a specific task. He was the weapon.

He wanted to be a person again.

Ashild told him that he was a hero, but he wasn't a hero. He wasn't even a coward; he was just tired. He was tired of his personality being a carousel of masks. He was tired of being an assassin, because no matter how others tried to explain it away, that's what he was. He was tired of nothing changing. He was tired of fighting, tired of the blood on his hands with nothing to show for all the sacrifices.

Heroes didn't surrender; they didn't change sides. They kept going on, accepting only victory or death.

He was not a hero, not yet. He'd change things, make it better.

He'd have to choose, between different parts of his life. He had to choose between different sorts of loyalty, because hadn't that always been his problem? He was loyal to a fault, always willing to go the ends of the world for someone else's sake, so long as they asked.

In the end, he supposed he was more loyal to his friends, to Issa, than he'd ever been loyal to his cause.

"Join me," Issa said, standing in front of him now, only the slightest bit of space between them.

Slowly, carefully, he kneeled before her.

"Okay," he replied, his voice a whisper, "I'm yours." He looked up at her, to see her smile. The warmth had returned to her features, and it was better than any victory that had come before.

Months later, Reid watched with Issa beside him as the fires burned on the horizon. He felt only a bit of remorse, hoping the people could forgive him. He hoped they would see what he was doing, and that it was all to help them. He wanted to give them something better. He wanted something better for them than he'd ever been able to give them before.

People like him weren't supposed to surrender, yet here he was. He was in a position like no one else's, though. Revolution did not happen every day, and only so many found themselves at the center of it all.

It was rare to surrender and be all the better for it. He would give the people that had depended on him a brighter future than they could have ever imagined because of it.

As it happened, sometimes the only way to rid the world of all it problems and pests was to burn all that had been, and rebuild from the ashes.

You Either Die a Hero

Choices. That's all we are, just collections of choices, trails of thread winding their ways through the Minotaur's maze, running from something so inexplicably terrible that we rush ahead blindly while masking our decisions born from utter panic with the facade of reason. At least, I'd been running.

My breath came in short laboured gasps, exhaustion pumping through me like burning gasoline. People hurried out of my way as soon as they caught sight of the porcelain-like cracks down one side of my face and the missing right arm still oozing purplish liquid. New Yorkers had the tendency to ignore even the most outrageous spectacles, but a man with glowing white eyes bleeding the wrong colour blood would grab most anyone's attention.

The 50 Street Subway was packed with people coming home from work, so even with the wide berth they tried to give me I still had to physically push through piles of struggling limbs and rush hour body odour, which slowed me down enough that fear threatened to loosen my bowel. The Hargar throbbed dangerously just outside of my Kinn perception, held at bay only by the Butcher's ward for now. It had better last until I could reach where I was going, I'd had to trade an arm for it. The Curse's very presence terrified me to the core, enough to not feel the pain coursing through my body, or care about the Council's law of concealment. I was getting reckless, desperate and pissed off, none of which was a good sign, and all of which was the least of my problems.

I burst out of the Subway onto 8th Avenue with my balls in my throat and the Devil itself on my heels. Christmas decorations blanketed the street, banners and giant ornaments and an incapacitatingly overwhelming amount of lights. There were children, lots and lots of children, everywhere I looked. All of them joyous, lively and fragile, and at the very sight of them a hand tightened around my heart and squeezed. The morality of my action had crossed my mind countless times, but in no other instance was it as brutally real as this one. But I had no time and, I told myself, no other choice. Those were the magic words, no other choice. My life was defined by "no other choice". A cowardly excuse that I wholeheartedly deluded myself with.

So forward I went, the alarmingly numb slabs of meat that were my legs worked rhythmically to propel me down 8th Avenue toward possibly my worst ever mistake in a long line of questionable decisions. Several bystanders gawked at the one-armed glowing guy barrelling pass them, curiosity, incredulity and confusion speckled across their features. One boy pointed, laughed and called me Santa Clause. That could very well be true, if Santa Clause was seventy pounds lighter, is a half Mage who always pissed off the wrong people, and instead of carrying presents in his bag he carried potential genocide.

The Butcher's ward shuddered without warning and I almost missed a step , just barely regaining my balance in time. Uh-fucking-oh. Normally the sheer panic alone would have given me a surprising burst of strength, but I was already running on fume and terror at that point. I had a sudden and distinct impression that I was going to die.

I turned the corner onto 47th Street just as the ward spluttered and dissipated, and just like that the full weight of the Hargar was on top of me, knocking the air out of my lungs and my eyes out of their sockets, throwing me to the pavement. My left eyeball popped and liquefied before I could propped my meager pool of power in place to form a shield. Someone who'd survived the 6th Elder's Curse, namely one, my old Master Alex Kirsh, had said that the Curse itself was far from the worst part. As the Hargar draws Kinn to manifest itself, between the coalescing presence of power and the suffocating dread that rose from the bottom of whatever emotional depth you never even know you had, the inevitably crushing weight is enough to drive even mad men insane. I was feeling that now, the despairing finality of being completely outmatched.

I was so very close. My destination was in front of me, I could see it with my remaining eye through of curtain of purple blood. It couldn't end this way, it mustn't. Snarling through cracking teeth, I started to chant the prayer to the Butcher of Sand Creek as the Hargar ate through my layered shields like papers. It was a colossally stupid idea, but at that very moment I could proudly say I'd had worse. See, the Butcher answered one's prayers by taking away something one owns of his choosing. At first they were small things, inconsequential, like excess fingernails, ear wax, strips of cloth off your shirt, a few bills off your wallet. Then, like the idiot I was, I got hooked, I grew dependent on him, and the price escalated. Strips of skin, portions of personal Kinn, and only a few hours ago, my right arm. So, how bad could this one be? Answer: pretty fucking bad.

Between one breath and the next, my left leg was gone, seared clean off as if cut through by a molten blade. Something inside me felt hollow, and I was pretty sure if a doctor cut me open, they'd find one kidney mysteriously absent. It was fine, I stubbornly repeated in my head, trying in vain to delude myself. The ward was up again, and that was all that mattered. I could live with one arm, one leg and one kidney, provided I lived at all. My pathetic squeals and groans of agony did not attract any attention, all passers-by had suddenly ignored me completely. That was part of my prayer, too. Had it been worth a kidney? Who could say? I just knew, at that very moment I could not stand any look of pity and concern, however rare these would be, from those people, not with the guilt of what I was about to do.

With one arm, one leg and indescribable torment wrecking whatever was left of my pain receptors, I crawled across 47th Street and into Times Square. My final destination. I collapsed in the middle of it with my back against the pavement, and through countless pairs of legs and throngs of people and light I surveyed the sight of my salvation. So much more than an attraction or a symbol of American prosperity, in my Kinn sense the entire placed burned with unrivalled intensity of power. It was the magical heart of New York, the swirling cauldron in which millions upon millions of New Yorkers' faith was funnelled into then stored and refined to make the biggest fucking magical reserve in the Western Hemisphere. And little old me was lying right in the middle of it.

Shakingly, with my remaining left hand, I reached into my coat pocket and withdrew a small glass vial. It wasn't much to look at, that is to say it looked completely empty. But I clutched it to my chest with all of my dwindling strength as if my life depended on it, and of course it was. For inside the glass vial was the invisible breath of the Butcher of Sand Creek himself, which if the Butcher ever found out would cost me so much more than limbs, but that was irrelevant right then. The point is, the Butcher's breath is harmless on its own, but it was the most potent and volatile magical accelerant. Basically, I'm lying in a Square full of metaphorical gasoline, and in this tiny bottle I was clutching there's a burning match. Even better, the lid is Kinn-sealed with my blood, and so if I were to die, the lid would pop open, and ka-fucking-boom. New York goes bye bye.

Hysterical laughter bubbling up through from deep in my chest, I let the Butcher's ward drop as well as my own, opening myself wide open to a being that could squash me like a particularly annoying cherry. Why cherry, you ask? Hell if I know, I was in insurmountable pain and high off victory. Because there was no way in all the seven Realms would the 6th Elder risk the biggest genocide in the history of the world, ever, just to get rid of some insignificant bug like me. Checkmate, motherfucker.

Part of me was sickened by the very idea of putting so many innocent men, women and children at risk, even if every fibre of my being strained to believe that they would not be harmed. Another part of me burned with a dark and cruel glee. All my life, I had protected these people from monsters more terrible than their worst nightmares. Maybe this was just me getting even, maybe it's time they return the favour. I had broken every rule and violated every code that had and would ever be written, but of course, I had no choice.

Just as I had anticipated, the Hargar did not consume me immediately, instead pausing hesitantly. It was working, my insane, moronic, catastrophically ill-advised plan. I was effectively holding 8.5 million people hostage to save my own skin, the exact opposite of what a Warden should do. But it was of no matter now. I had won. Had I?

My old mentor, Alex Kirsh, was the best damn Poker player I had ever met. Me, I was the idiot who'd all-in just to show the other guy I've got balls, which is to say I was lousy at it. Now, Alex, he had tried to teach me Poker among other things, but just like most of his lessons, I had only managed to remember them when it'd have been too late. Lesson 1: Don't play the game if you don't know how to win. Lesson 2: Bluffing does absolute jack shit against a guy with a good hand.

The motherfucker I was taunting called my bluff. The Hargar descended upon me without warning like a pack of hungry wolves, tearing my body apart. The last thing I saw was the small vial in my hand, my salvation, popping open, and Kinn scorched my senses to ash in a kaleidoscopic cacophony of destruction and screams, before my soul was ripped from my body into an endless fiery pit.

Choices. That's all we are, collections of choices, trails of thread winding their ways through the Minotaur's maze, and I like the moron I was came looking for the beast to blackmail it into letting me go. Something told me I'd fit right in Hell.

Removed by author request

It had been a long day for Drake, and now that the sun was setting he decided it was high time for him and his trusted mount to rest until sunrise. Letting out a large yawn before adding in a "Woah", he pulled on the reins, though it was hardly necessary. His horse Jingo had been with him for years and could easily read his body language and feel what he wished for her to do. The horse stopped pacing and stood still, allowing Drake to get off.

He had been travelling for a good few days without much rest. Normally he was the kind of person to ride at a relaxed pace, but most recently the former bandit and now runaway was being chased by his former associates. There was no right or wrong in the current situation, and he knew that if he was caught, no one would listen to his reason or excuses... not that there was any for what he had done. Stealing from the leader was always a no-no, whether it be gold, trinkets, or a kiss from the leader's woman.

Now that he thought about it, it hadn't even been worth the risk. Letting out a sigh, he shook his head. It was so hard to keep himself out of trouble sometimes. Drake had always been the sort to thrive in adventure. Alas he had been an orphan without a family name fancy enough for him to take an easier road through life. Picking pockets was his way since childhood, and as he grew up, it turned from a mere survival tactic to a habit he couldn't resist. Joining a group of bandits had never been part of his plans, but when he'd been caught stealing from one, it was the easiest and more importantly the only way to get out of losing his head. Of course, there had been the ultimatum that he'd never attempt to steal from the group again.

Which he had kept to quite diligently until most recently. What was he supposed to do when a pretty woman was offering herself to him so eagerly? Not that he could blame her, he was a fine looking man. Probably would've gotten away with it too if she'd kept her mouth shut. Maybe it had time for him to leave anyway, but those were speculative thoughts that wouldn't help him.

For now, he studied his surroundings, a pensive look on his face. As he had been riding by the coast, there wasn't much in the way of tree coverage aside from some bushes and ivy clinging on to the craggy cliffs that lead down to the seashore. It wasn't the most hospitable of places, but once Drake lead Jingo down, he could tell that there was enough cover from anyone passing by above. No one would be able to see him unless they came down the steep pathway, and hopefully they wouldn't think twice about it. It would make more sense for him to carry on somewhere safer after all.

Once Jingo was safely tethered, he set up camp, which in truth was him simply using a rucksack as a pillow after wrapping himself in a cloak. He would have fallen asleep as well if it hadn't been for the clouds dispersing, leaving the moon free to shine its light in the night. An irritated frown on his face, Drake grumbled incoherently as he sat up, ready to move his rucksack elsewhere where he would be shaded from the light.

At that moment, a sound caught his ear, bringing him to a pause. He looked to the seashore, eyes drawn to water rippling in one place. At first he could have sword it was a seal, but at second glance, it was clearly a woman.

Drake watched, eyes wide as he held his breath. She was the mostly beautiful woman he had even seen in his life. Her skin practically shimmer, seeming ethereal, with kelp strewn over her body like some sort of clothing, leaving barely anything to the imagination. Rippling like water, her dark locks shone under the moonlight, almost hypnotic to eye. She continued to rise from the sea, turning around so that at last her face could be seen. To say she looked perfect seemed an injustice; there had to be a better word to describe her, but Drake's mind couldn't muster any thoughts. As for the creature, she paid him no heed, her eyes fixed on the moon, a slight smile on her lips.

And then she danced. There was no music to accompany her movements but that did nothing to deter her, nor did it deter Drake from watching. He was mesmerized, eyes following each sway of the sea creature's hips, every flick of her wrists, every turn of her head. His breath was caught in a limbo; it was as if he had forgotten how to breathe, or perhaps watching her dance was what sustained his life.

At that moment time stood still... and then the dancing came to an abrupt end. The beautiful woman turned her head to the side, her dark eyes falling upon Drake. She took a step forward, then paused and quickly turned away, as if something had caused her mind to change. Without further ado she headed back to the water, slipping in as easily as if she was part of the sea herself, leaving no trace of her presence save her footsteps in the sand.

Drake remained where he was a while longer, simply watching the waves as he hoped for any sign of the creature's return. He had heard of sirens before, but she didn't seem to be an evil seductress to him. If anything, her eyes seemed to contain an innocence and longing he hadn't seen before. In the back of his mind he remembered tales of other creatures of the sea, those whose skins could be stolen to bind them to the thief.

"What are you even thinking," he grunted to himself, grimacing at his thoughts. None of those existed anyway. All fairy tales for young children.

At last he reluctantly got to his feet, stretching out his limbs. It was getting colder, especially by the seashore, and he needed to rest so that he could continue his journey in the morning. At least those were his thoughts, but something told him he might end up staying longer than that.

For now, his rucksack pillow and cloak were waiting, and it wasn't long before Drake finally fell asleep... though not before he remembered the name he had once heard.

Selkie.

---

The following morning seemed to drag on rather slowly for the runaway bandit. He wasn't used to remaining in a place for too long, and knowing there were at least a couple of people after him left him feeling antsy. However, any time his eye caught sight of the water- and that was more often than not- he realized he would not leave. He could not. That beautiful woman, he had to see her one last time, despite the danger. It was strange, this feeling. It wasn't as if he hadn't seen pretty women before, and frankly it was probably best for him to keep away from pursuing anyone while on the run. There was just something about her though... something otherworldly that had him captivated. It was as if a rope had him tethered to this place just like his horse was.

One more time, one last look and then I'm gone. If she really was a selkie... Then what? Drake let out a halfhearted snort, unable to be honest with himself. After all his heists, it seemed the longtime thief was having trouble thinking of himself as a snatcher of a selkie's skin.

"You stay here Jingo." Drake patted his horse, distracting himself from his thoughts. "I'll be back, get you some food." A little walk away from the water would help clear his head of frivolous thoughts, and with the horse fed and watered, they would be able to leave. If luck was on his side, the selkie would be there when he returned. If not, that was a sign that he wasn't to linger any longer.

Gathering feed wasn't time consuming task, and as he was returning to the path that led down the cliff side, he knew it had really only been a way for him to delay his inevitable departure. Shaking his head, Drake carefully continued onward. It was much easier than leading Jingo down, that was for sure.

He barely touched the rocky ground when he something clattered next to his foot. An arrow. He let the feed fall from his hands and immediately ducked, unsure where the shot had come from. Spotting the closest cover, he lunged behind a large boulder, smooth and still wet from the night's tide.

"We know you're there Drake!" called a hoarse voice. "Come out now or the next arrow'll hit you!"

"That you, Bairn?" he called back, hoping to distract the man with some familiarity. "How're you-"

"Shut up and come out!" snapped another voice, this one much younger. "I'll shoot your horse next if you don't!"

Sighing, Drake reached for his belt, pulling his dagger from its sheath. Even if it was someone he knew personally, they'd still kill his horse without any qualms. Loyalty was always to the leader first and everyone else second, something Drake had always had a hard time accepting.

Gripping the hilt tightly he spoke up again. "Alright, I'm coming, don't get your panties in a twist." He stood up slowly, though his eyes moved swiftly, quickly spotting one of the bandits standing close to his belongings. "No need to harm good ol' Jingo."

"Drop the dagger." The man he could see was indeed Bairn. He was one of the older bandits from the group, not that it made him any more trusted or valuable than a new recruit, which could be seen by the way he was sent out to do grunt work.

"I'm not going hurt you two. Just let me go. It's not like I stole anything from either of you."

"You took what wasn't yours," called the younger voice, "so you have to pay!"

"Don't tell me you wouldn't have taken her to bed if she came to you!" Drake's laugh was interrupted when Jingo let out a pained sound. He immediately turned toward the horse and saw the arrow sticking out of his mount's flank. Any sign of humor drained from his face, being replaced with anger. If there was one thing he couldn't tolerate, it was someone hurting his only loyal companion. "You're going to regret that. I was tempted to save your miserable lives- not anymore."

His hand shot forward and his dagger flew, heading straight for Bairn. He didn't wait to see if the blade struck the man, rushing forward and slamming a fist in the man's face. A hiss of pain escaped him as he felt an arrow pierce his side. He didn't let Bairn off though, knocking the man to the ground with yet another fist to his face. The older bandit struggled against his hold, a hand desperately reaching out for the dagger that had missed him not moments earlier.

It was not for nothing that Drake managed to stay alive for as long as he had; his eyes had been honed to stay sharp since childhood. "Now that's not yours," he grunted, releasing one of his hands from Bairn to grab onto the dagger instead. "Your life isn't yours either anymore. I'll be kind though." He ignored the desperate look in the bandit's eyes he ended his life with a stab through his throat.

Not too bothered by the blood that splashed onto him, Drake stood up and grabbed at the arrow still embedded in his side. Gritting his teeth, he yanked it out and let it fall to the ground.

"You killed him!" The young bandit could now be seen, having left his hiding spot to come and aid his companion. "You bloody killed him!"

"What, you expected me to give him flowers or something?" Drake smile at the bandit; the look on the latter's face made it clear he looked anything but friendly. "What's your name?"

"Ronan...?"

"Ronan. Nice name. Well Ronan, now's your turn to join Bairn-"

"Wait! Just... wait!" The bandit threw his hands in the air, letting his bow hit the rocky ground. "I'll leave! Just- don't kill me!"

"You're a stinking coward." Drake smirked. "I can understand that." He started walking toward Ronan, ignoring the pain in his side.

"P-p-please don't kill me?" The young man's hands were practically shaking with fear.

"A polite coward too." He stopped in his tracks and motioned towards the quiver of arrows as well as the sword Ronan still had on his person. "Leave all your weapons and get lost. If I see you again, you can say goodbye to life and hello to Bairn."

---

Just as he had thought, the bandit named Ronan was gone the first chance he got; alone he was weak, a coward, easy to squash. People like that needed a group to feel safe and worthy. Drake couldn't fault him for that; not everyone was as tough as he was.

Thankfully his wound wasn't the worst he'd ever suffered, and the same could be said for Jingo. Soon enough they were both bandaged and taken care of, and frankly Drake was rearing to leave.

He cast a finally glance at the water, and there she was. Of course she comes now. In the morning light he could see her seal skin, stripped down only to her waist so that her bottom half was still that of a seal.

"Heh." There was no humor in the dry laugh. "I stayed longer than I had to only 'cause I wanted to see you again." He shook his head, motioning towards Jingo's bandages and then his own. "Look what that did to the two of us."

"Luck of the sea?"

Surprise showed on Drake's face; he hadn't expected her to be able to speak for some reason. The surprise was quickly replaced with annoyance. "What, getting hurt?"

"Being alive," she pointed out with a smile, and as she did, she pulled the rest of her seal skin off until it was no more than a pelt.

It was hard to admit, but she was right. Both he and Jingo had managed to escape death yet again.

"Maybe," he muttered, a scowl marring his face. "Why're you here now? Could've saved me some trouble if you stayed last night, or came earlier in the morning."

The selkie was quiet at first, and then she replied. "I was unsure. I am of the sea, but the land calls to me too. I had to decide which I wanted most." She stood up, holding out a delicate hand, reaching out to Drake. "Take me with you and I will be your best friend, the love of your life, the best of wives."

"I don't need a wife." Drake scoffed, though his mind was already racing and making future plans. "My best friend is my horse. But if you really want to come with me..." He held out a hand, beckoning. "Give me your skin."

Her eyes widened, and for an intense Drake could see doubt in her eyes.

"That's the deal, selkie."

Another moment of silence passed before she spoke. "Miren. That is my name." Hand still gripped tightly around her seal skin, she held it out in front of Drake. He looked to her, eyebrow raised, and then took hold of the skin. "And yours?" With that, she let go.

He pulled the cloak he had draped around his shoulder with his free hand and tossed it to Miren, who wrapped it around herself in rather gingerly. Himself, he draped the pelt around his shoulders.

"Call me Drake."

As he led the horse and selkie up the cliff path, he was unsure he was making the right decision. Then again, he was a thief. His life had always been full of mistakes and misadventures. Sensible decisions were rare for his type.

Probably as rare as a blue moon.

The rain splashed against what it could of Chaoxiang's hole-riddled umbrella, but most of it fell through, him cold and his funeral robes soaked. The soft tapping of the rain against the grass of the park was something he usually enjoyed, but today it was as if the rain was laughing at him, finding pleasure in the catastrophe that was his life. He had come to the park in the hopes of lifting his spirits and enjoying the sun his mother loved so much, but the sky had different plans. The sun was hidden away behind dark storm clouds, leaving the once bright and beautiful park dreary and solemn.

It was his intention to mourn his mother by doing the things she often enjoyed while she was alive, but the world had different plans for him, not that he expected for things to go his way, not even after his mother's funeral. From the moment Chaoxiang was old enough to comprehend speech, he found his name to be the highest form of irony the gods could have ever possibly cultivated. His name meant "expecting fortune" and yet, fortune seemed to always turn a blind eye to him.

Every time he attempted to recall a memory of good luck, the memory was perverted by some form of disaster. It had always been that way, either he was misfortunate from the start, or what looked like a lucky break would quickly turn into a sour experience, often leaving him worse off than he was before. Things had never gone his way, and it had been like this as far back as he could remember.

He was born a weak infant to a poor family, and would often become sick as a child, a condition only exasperated by his father's inability to bring food to the table every night, and even more so by his passing away. He grew to be weak and frail, easily bruised and unable to find good work, whether it be because of his lack of strength, lack of education or health. The only job he ever had was as a waiter, but he was let go within two weeks of starting due to his constant coughing scaring away customers and ruining the reputation of the restaurant.

Of course, it didn't hurt Chaoxiang too much to lose the job, he'd half expected it would happen the moment he was hired. It seemed too good to be true, and to his credit, it was. Despite his constant misfortune his mother would always tell him to keep his head held high and to head out and to continue seeking his fortune, that good things come to those who wait. He never believed her, but she never let him mope around either. She was the one bit of good fortune in his life, the one thing that kept him from losing all hope. And now, she was gone.

Coming to this park was more than a method of mourning, it was a way to figure out how he could move on without her. Her passing has left him her home, but he would lose that if he could not pay the taxes for it. He would lose the only roof over his head he'd ever had, the one he grew up in. As he thought about his dilemma he could feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, but he held them back, refusing to cry. To cry would be to admit everything was hopeless. But maybe it was hopeless?

Chaoxiang started to cough, his lungs and throat becoming irritated from the cold, but he didn't move from where he sat. What was the point, anyway? He'd go home to a cold and empty house, coughing his lungs out and then what? It wasn't worth it. He was beginning to think nothing was worth it. He'd tried his hardest and received nothing in return. He'd spent his entire life looking for and expecting fortune and all he'd found was misery. He was done trying, he was done looking.

As he made this decision, his coughing took a violent turn, violent enough to make him drop his umbrella and double over. Both of his hands moved to cover his mouth and he could feel a warm liquid splash against his hands with each cough. He knew what it was but there wasn't anything he could do about it. Not with his circumstances.

Suddenly, his coughing ceased, and he could feel a warmth creeping across his body. The beating of the rain against the grass was still audible but he could no longer feel the droplets of water against his skin or even his umbrella. He sat up straight, shaking the blood from his hands. The sun was shining once more, but only upon him and the stretch of grass before him. The irritation in his throat, the burning in his lungs, it all faded away as his gaze fell upon a creature that no one believed they would ever see, least of all him, especially not with his luck.

The creature was a sight to behold, its sheer beauty brought tears to Chaoxiang's eyes and his breathing to halt as he held his breath. Snow white hair covered most of its body except for the golden scales upon its back that shimmered under the light of the sun. A horn as golden as the scales on its back protruded from three different points upon its head as if to form a triangle, the third horn at the top being the longest of the three. Two long and white whiskers extended from its snout, billowing loosely in the wind. It stood silently upon the grass, yet the grass did not bend in the slightest beneath its hooves, as if the creature had absolutely no weight to it.

Chaoxiang's trembling returned and he could not bring himself to stop, nor could he bring himself to move. His mind was nearly completely empty except for one word that expanded until it could no longer be contained within his head and was forced onto his tongue. "Quillin." It was a quiet whisper, but the turned its head to face the man, as if it had heard him calling to it, its eyes meeting his. The creature's eyes lacked an iris, nor did it have a pupil. It was an endless black that Chaoxiang felt himself becoming lost in. His surroundings melted away and his trembling ceased. A smile graced his face despite the tears that cascaded down his face.

Blessed were those who laid their eyes upon the Quillin's beauty. They were destined for greatness and gifted with nothing but happiness and ease for the rest of their life. So few had seen the creature that even the most superstitious of men believed it to be a myth, it was far more likely you would see a dragon, another magnificent and rare creature that only showed itself in times of great importance, than you would a Quillin. Only two people have been known to see this creature before, the Yellow Emperor in his royal garden, and Emperor Yao in his capital. To see one now, in his darkest hour filled Chaoxiang with positivity and hope, so much so that he was overflowing with it.

The Quillin held its gaze for only a few moments, but it felt like hours to Chaoxiang. When the Quillin broke eye contact with Chaoxiang he found himself smiling even still. His tears had stopped flowing and as he moved to wipe the moisture away from his face, the Quillin began to walk away. Every step it took lifted the creature from the ground, higher and higher as if it were walking on air.

Despite the departure of the creature, the warmth that filled him did not fade, it only seemed to grow and expand, wiping away every bit of grief, anger, and sadness that had grown inside of him. He had lived his life believing that his name was the ultimate form of irony, yet just now, at his lowest moment, he was gifted with the greatest fortune possible.

As the creature disappeared into the clouds and out of sight the sun retreated once more, and the rain returned to normal. Chaoxiang stood and picked his hole-riddled umbrella up. He started down the path that would lead him out of the park and eventually, to his home. The sight of the Quillin alone had lifted his spirits and renewed his willpower. "Excuse me, sir!" He had barely made it out of the park when someone called to him. It was a man carrying a pair of umbrellas, one closed and the other open and covering his head. "That umbrella isn't any good, and it's too cold out here for you to get soaked, you'll catch a cold. Here, my lady will give me grief over this but take this one."

Chaoxiang was silent as he stared at the umbrella being offered to him. A grin slowly crept its way onto his face and he took the umbrella by the handle. "Thank you so much, sir." He opened the new umbrella before closing the old one. "This means a lot more to me than you'll ever know."

"Don't worry about it." The man shook his head and offered a smile. "Just make sure you get out of the rain. An umbrella can only do so much. Take care of yourself, sir." With that, the stranger continued on his way, likely home to his lady.

Chaoxiang watched him go before heading back on his own way. The grin stayed plastered on his face as he walked, a pip in his step that he'd never had before. The stories had to be true, seeing the Quillin turned his luck around. He could think of dozens of times he'd been caught in the rain, and not once had he been offered an umbrella.

Good fortune had finally found him.

The flames flickered in the grate, sending dancing shadows to adorn the walls in writhing figures. Smoke curled listlessly up the flue, though no small amount of it contributed to the haze in the room. Hunched figures sat around low tables, nursing mugs of ale and drinking as if there were no tomorrow. For several of them, that would probably be the case. Aldus gulped. When he'd chosen to train as a bard, he had imagined more glamorous surroundings - stately courts, fine wine, beautiful noble ladies. He had pictured himself lounging in the lap of luxury, occasionally deigning to perform a song for his spellbound listeners. Sadly, reality was rarely so kind. The slums clung to the outside of the walls of Phedran like leeches to skin, and drained the corruption out of the capital in much the same way. Rarely a day went by without someone found with a cut throat, and those not actively involved in criminal enterprise walked the streets at night at their own not-inconsiderable risk.

And yet Aldus had no choice. He had neglected his studies for the vices of wine and women, spending his father's coin almost as swiftly as it had arrived while building up a reputation for being an infamous drunkard and womaniser. And of course, once those stories made their way back to dear old Dad, he'd been cut off immediately. Bloody old goat with his stubborn temper! Bereft of money, Aldus had been forced to take whatever work he could in order to finance his tuition - including performing at taverns that no self-respecting bard would ever go to. The Sallow Mare had a particularly dubious reputation, and he'd almost turned round and walked out more times than he could count...but he needed that money. Otherwise, it'd be back to throw himself onto the old man's forgiveness, and Aldus knew that throwing himself onto the cobbled streets from the city walls would likely be a less painful experience. And so he coughed nervously, several times. Strummed the lyre, fiddled with the tuning until he was satisfied. Stood in a shadowy corner he began to play, in a room full of people who could very well decide to kill him if they found him more irritating than entertaining. Just another day in his shitty life.

At least his first choice was obvious. 'The Hero of Elesill', the stirring tale of a young man of common birth chosen by destiny to be the saviour of the kingdom from the mighty dragon that had plagued it some 30 years ago. The mighty Garth Ungol, chosen by the holy blade Anhedras, had led a group of knights to its lair and slain it, before vanishing into the annals of legend. Many believed that this fated hero still walked the roads of the kingdom, always watching for when his kingdom would once again need salvation. Aldus, despite being of more noble stock, had grown up infatuated with the tale, and so it was one of his favourites to recite. How the blade had leapt from the hand of King Artur to land at the feet of Garth. Of how his dedication to destiny had caused him to set off immediately, such that even the kingdom's finest knights had trouble keeping pace. Of how he fought on even as those same elite knights fell around him. Of his parting words of eternal dedication to the kingdom. Even as he came to the end of the great saga, he felt moisture come to his eyes. Even if the surroundings were less than ideal, this at least was a tale worth telling.

His words died away, swallowed by the darkness. All around the room, mounds of shadow continued whatever business they were conducting, totally unmoved by the tale. Aldus sighed heavily. Sure, it was better than being murdered, but part of him had hoped to stir the hearts of these savage men. He chastised himself inwardly for his inadequate performance as well as for his unrealistic expectations. After all, if he'd kept his head a bit more grounded he wouldn't be playing in a slum like this, with an audience that were happiest when they were left well alone. While he castigated himself, he did not see the squat figure of the innkeeper lurching through the tavern towards him. Short and rotund, the ruddy glow to his cheeks only served to accentuate the vicious network of scars that crossed his face. He'd apparently been quite notorious back in the day, and had claimed ownership of the tavern through a rather nasty series of murders. There were those who had tried to repeat his feat, but even the most successful had been able to do little but accentuate the man's reputation. And a hell of a reputation it is, Aldus thought as the man slammed a mug of foul smelling ale down in front of him and he got a close look at the man.

"Oh, errrr, I...I didn't want any...I can't afford it." He hated how weak and effeminate his voice sounded compared to the threatening growls that seemed to emanate from all the other patrons. It only made it easier for them to mock him and ignore him. The innkeeper lowered his face back down to Aldus', showing off a smile that had far fewer teeth than it should. "Already paid for. Far corner table. Wanted a chat." Aldus shuddered, looking across the room. The thought of one of them taking an interest in him made him fear for his life...but to refuse would be even worse. If he valued his life, his best chance was to comply.

He took a deep swig of the ale to steady his nerves, almost gagging as the sour rancid liquid hit the back of his throat. On trembling legs he picked his way through the shadows, taking great care not to jostle the hulking figures. It seemed like an eon, but he made his way safely to the other end. His admirer was sat right in the corner, back facing the walls. A straggly unkempt beard protruded from a hooded cloak that threw his facial features into shadow. A gnarled, calloused hand gestured at the other chair. Silently mouthing a prayer for his own safety, Aldus cautiously lowered himself into the seat.

"Hell of a story you told, lad." The voice, while hoarse and raspy, was not unpleasant to the ear. Aldus sat forward, excited in spite of his fear. "You like it? It's one of my favo-" The man cut him off with a sudden sharp wave of the hand. "Too bad it's all a pile of horseshit." Aldus flinched back. The nerve of some of these people! Openly doubting the Hero of Elesill, even though he was old enough to have lived in that time. Jealousy, that was what it must be. A bitter old man jealous that he had not achieved as much as Garth. Fuming, he got to his feet. "If all you're going to do is disrespect Garth Ungol, I see no reason to continue this. Good evening sir!" As he turned away, he felt that gnarled hand grip his shoulder like a vice. Around him, faces turned briefly before returning to their own business. "Listen now, boy. Don't preach to me of things you aren't even old enough to remember...or even have been alive for most likely. Now sit down, and I'll return your favour." The voice and grip brooked no argument. Feeling like a mouse in the claws of a cat, Aldus sat down. He couldn't have stood much longer anywhere - dread had turned his legs to water.

"Anything else to say?" Aldus opened his mouth, before shutting it a second later, shaking his head furiously. "Good lad." His...well, captor...took a huge swig of ale, slamming the mug back down onto the table even as rivulets threaded through his beard. "Now, as I promised. A story for a story. You ready to hear a story...a real one?" Aldus nodded, fear and self-preservation having taken control of his body. "Well then...how do I start…?"

It was a bright sunny day...the kind of day that made you hope in the darkest of times. And times were dark, let me tell you that, lad. Any shadow overhead had a man fleeing for his life before he even looked to see if it was a bird or a dragon. That moment could cost him his life. But I'm getting distracted. Anyway, the King announced that the gods had spoken to him, and that they would choose a champion to once more take up Anhedras and free us all. So we went to watch, risking our lives just to get a glimpse of the hero who would be chosen. Something to tell the kids about, you know?

So we gather in the great courtyard in the centre of Phedran, and out comes King Artur with the sword, processing towards his great knights. After all, surely the hero would be among them right. Anyway, our mighty king would be walking majestically down the square if he weren't so utterly pissed of his head. So the drunken sot is staggering along with this sword in his hands, and all of us are just trying not to look at him. All of a sudden, he...he tripped and fell. The sword comes flying out of his hands, and lands at the feet of some poor dumb fool who was just there to see the hero. The priest doesn't know what to do, but he can't admit that the king's a reckless drunkard. So he proclaims some farmer's boy to be the hero that will save us all. Poor bastard had never held a sword in his life.

So this poor lad does the only thing he can think of once he's had this sword pressed into his hands and told he's got to go kill a dragon. Gets the fastest horse he can find and runs as far away from the city as he can. Now that leaves all the nobles in a right panic, so they say the only thing that they can.That he's gripped with holy fervour and gone off to slay the beast as soon as they can. And the muppets eat it up, because they'd rather that than hear that their saviour just legged it. And of course they'll send the finest knights in the kingdom to help him...and to stop him running away and leaving them in the shit. So this poor lad, who up until this day expected nothing more from life than farming, now finds himself with the holy sword of the kingdom, expected to go kill a dragon and chased by the finest knights in the kingdom, all because the king couldn't hold his bloody wine.

The man paused, taking a heavy swig of beer. Foam flecked on his beard as he smacked his lips. Aldus opened his mouth, bursting with questions, but one sharp hand motion caused them to crawl back down into his throat. His 'companion' ran his hands thoughtfully through his beard, before settling them back down on the table with a heavy thud, accompanied by a loud sigh. "So, where was I?"

Right, our great hero has just fled for his life as any sensible person would do, pursued by a small company of knights under the command of Duke Parthegan. Right nobhead he was too. Didn't outright dare to take the holy sword, but he as much as insisted it shoulda been a noble knight given it. Too caught up in the bullshit to go through with his bluster though. If only he had. Anyway, the rest of the knights followed his lead, and so it wasn't long until they hunted Garth down like a dog and forced him towards the dragon's lair. Some fucking paragons they were...taking bets on how long a peasant would survive. One or two of 'em had enough pity on poor Garth to at least teach him how to hold and swing a sword, but if that was all it took to kill a dragon then this bullshit wouldn'ta happened. About every few days he tried to slip away, but he never made it far from the rest of 'em. They had better horses, better training. He was bait tied to a post, in as much as you can be.

So, you can imagine how well things went when they found the bloody wyrm. Bloody thing roasted half the knights alive...cooked in their armour. The screams...the smells...horrible. The sort that puts you off roast pork for life. The rest of them charged valiantly in, hacking and slashing. Might as well have tried tickling it, 'cause it kept toying with them. Tossed one in the air and waited to see how long he took to fall...crushed another one slowly...still makes me shudder. Eventually, it's just the Duke left, and Garth, who's been hiding behind a rock the whole time. The dragon smashes him into the rocks and turns to Garth, who does the one thing he's wanted to do since this shit started...run away. The dragon, laughing like a maniac, flies overhead and crashes down...just as Garth trips and loses his grip on the sword.

Now, say what you want about that blade, but don't say it ain't sharp, because as it flew through the air it buried itself to the hilt in the wyrm's eye. Stabbed into the brain apparently, killed it clean. Biggest crock of bullshit I ever saw. Anyway, Garth can't believe his luck and legs it, but after a minute or so he stops and goes back. Checks on the knights. Bloody Parthegan is still breathing, and he's actually conscious, if utterly crazy from the knock on the head. Praises Garth as a true hero, apologises in fucking tears and tells him to take the holy blade and protect the kingdom. What else could he do, but at least look like he was going along with the poor fool? It would've broken the Duke, and while he was an arse he didn't deserve that. So he took the blade, promised he would never stand by as the kingdom burned, and left. And hid. Because the weight at his belt reminded him that he wasn't what they all said. That his words were just comfort for a deranged madman. That he was where he was because of a drunkard and a rock. Bloody hero of destiny my arse.

The hooded figure sat back, swigging again. "So, how'd you like that tale then, lad? The truth ain't quite so pretty as what the priests want you to think now, eh?" Aldus, somewhat stunned, was quiet for a moment. "That's not how it happened. Duke Parthegan dedicated himself to the gods the day he returned, having seen their avatar made manifest! He told of Garth's deeds! Unlike you, he saw that hero first hand. Don't lie to me and pretend wisdom!" The figure opposite was silent for a moment, before reaching down to his waist. Aldus's heart leapt into his chest. So this was how he died, over a damn story. Seemed fitting.

An ornate blade in a finely tooled scabbard was laid gently before him. Aldus's eyes widened as he took in the details. The pommel, inlaid with the wheel of the gods. The finely scrolling crossguard with the royal cross at its centre. The honed blade, inlaid with runes that spoke of divine power and favour...there could be no doubting it. Anhedras. The blade bequeathed on Garth Ungol. His eyes watered a little as he looked back at the figure opposite him.

"It's...it's you." His mouth was dry. "That was your story. You were there...the only other survivor...G-Garth Ungol." He swallowed a huge mouthful of his beer, no longer aware of the foul taste. "But...you're a hero to so many...you did save us!" Garth shook his head sadly. "Lad, I'm a fraud with a sword I can barely hold. I was given that blade by a dumb accident, and I killed a dragon because of a dumb accident. And because of that I can never go back home. I can never see my friends and family. So I'm done with the sword. Take it, as payment for listening to an old man moan." He rose to leave.

"Wait!" Aldus wasn't sure what possessed him to reach out and grab the cloak, but he couldn't let it end like this. "Are you sure that those dumb accidents weren't the will of the gods at work? You were the true hero all along! The sword dropping at your feet wasn't a mistake, nor was the stumble!" Garth merely shook his head. "Lad, if you're so keen on believing in destiny, then you're now the hero of this kingdom. If I'm right, doesn't matter whether I have that sword or you do. I'm sick of carrying it, so it's yours now. I'd wish you great heroic adventures...but despite the company I keep I'm not an evil man. Nobody deserves that fate." Brushing the bard's hand aside, Garth Ungol strode out of the tavern. That was the last anyone would ever see of the 'Hero of Elesill', as he walked into the annals of legend.

Aldus sat for a long time, staring at the sword. What was destiny? Was Garth's success purely preordained? He had fought against his fate and yet all had come to fruition. And yet, that would mean that he was now destined to wield the sword! He didn't even know how! He paused, smiling at the parallel. He sat, thinking. His bardic career was in shambles...but he did know a fencing tutor who owed him a few favours as a result of Aldus buying far too many rounds...and cheating at a couple of card games. He picked up the blade that he had been left, surprised by how light it felt in his hand. Maybe he was destined for this, everything that had come before forcing him here. Or maybe it was his decisions that had driven him, and drove him now. Aldus walked out of the bar, the rest of his set forgotten. Destiny or not, something was calling him.

The End of the World


The supermoon shone red that night
and I climbed up a ladder onto our roof
to lie down. I asked my friends the following day:
what did you do on your roofs? and they said
they didn't even think about the moon,

only about that day's work where we'd sit
for hours and hours inside a lecture hall
whose blinds were always shut,
taking our dreaded midterms
on ethology.

I didn't pass the test
and hanged myself that night.

Sunlight beamed through the branches and leaves of the trees and descended on a pale and still figure leaning against the base of a tree. She looked like an angel in the sun's ray of light, her hair was so pale blonde it could have been considered white just as her clothes were and her skin very milky. The only other color on her was her strangely alluring red eyes. an ink black symbol of a peony underneath her eye and most importantly the splash of red leaking from her middle and what was dried on her hands. Yet, somehow, she looked so peaceful and beautiful, sitting there and looking back at him with tired and dimming eyes.

Yet, the blood wetting her clothes and staining her hands was not the most peculiar thing about her. From her head were ears, not just any ears, but animal ears. Rabbit ears.

After seeing so much blood and her strange appearance, the first instinct should have been fear. Instead, the young boy, no older than ten, approached the severely injured woman cautiously like one would do a wounded animal. The child crouched at her side. The look he wore his face, what was in his eyes, was neither fear or disgust, but worry and concern and tears. He reached out his small hand and pressed it against her cool cheek. His touch caused her beautiful red eyes to flicker up and focus solely on him. "How can I help?" asked the boy, swallowing the lump back in his throat.

"Water .." whispered the woman, her voice was but a soft whisper.

Hurriedly, the boy removed his backpack from his back and quickly pulled his water bottle from the side pocket. His hands were clumsy, but he was fast in twisting off the cap and holding the bottle to her lips. She was slow in drinking the cool liquid, but once she had enough, he pulled the bottle away from her. Was there nothing more he could do for the woman?

"What is your name?" She asked once more, her quaint eyes were still glued to him. The rise and fall patterns of her chest were growing longer in between.

"Yan. My name is Yan."

The rabbit woman smiled, "thank you, Yan." In her weak and pathetic state, she managed to sit up, Yan could tell it must have been difficult. What she did next surprised him, she held his face in her hands, "I'll gift you a gift." She pressed her dry lips against his forehead for what seemed like forever. Yan remained frozen, eyes closed for a moment, but opened the second she dropped her hands, fell past him and stopped breathing.


Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

Yan's eyes slowly peeled open to land on his vibrating phone on his nightstand. The device was vibrating so much, it was slowly inching its way off of the wooden surface and onto the floor. But before that happened, the groggy man, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, took it in his hands and turned on the phone to read the sent messages.

Yeriel
YOU TOOK A WEEK'S NOTICE FROM WORK?!
What are you thinking?!
Why didn't you tell me?!
Hey, answer me! Right now!
Are you sleeping again?
Get up! It's the afternoon!
Hey!
Hey!
Answer me!
Please?
Yan?
What's going on?
Is it because of the anniversary?
Are you okay?
Talk to me, please?

The pattern of the messages was all too familiar to Yan. They were usually always the same with Yeriel. First angry and slowly but surely opened itself to reveal how worried she really was. And while it made Yan feel guilty for putting her through those bothersome feelings, he could only text her back with "let's talk later" then turned off his phone to ignore any future messages. He felt awful for leaving her hanging and knew he wouldn't hear the end of it when he bumped into her later, but Yan wasn't in the mood to talk now. Or ever.

Besides, it was no longer the afternoon. It was half-past ten. Waking up at odd times had become a normality in his life.

He closed his eyes and thought back to the dream he had had. The vision of it was blurry when he thought about it, but it was still too vivid. And of course, it had been. After all, it wasn't just a dream, but a memory. Something he had been unable to forget despite ten years having past since that strange occurrence on a hiking trip he had with his parents. But it could have been a dream, for when he ran ahead to catch with his father and lead him back to the rabbit woman, she had disappeared.

Ugh, it was all making him crave the taste of cigarettes. The dream, Yeriel's fussing … the approaching anniversary. All of it was enough motivation for him to throw on his sweater, sneakers and run out the door of his small and messy apartment.

The outside air was crisp but fresh, and the dark sky was littered with stars. Yan breathed in the cool air slowly as he made the walk to the nearby convenience store. The trip was supposed to be a quick one, but he had stayed inside the store longer than planned when he saw an unfamiliar person. Cautiously, he stepped out of the store.

Standing near the entrance was a man with dark hair, darker than Yan's brown hair, and gold eyes. It wasn't his good looks that halted Yan and made him stare, but the sense of apprehension he got just by being near him. It was silly, sure he was stranger, but Yan passed by strangers every day, so this man should be no different. Or so he thought, the longer he stared, slowly the frightening feeling was replaced with an uneasiness.

The stranger blinked his gold eyes and slowly turned to look back at Yan. If Yan wasn't mistaken, he saw a glint of surprise in his eyes just a second before he frowned, looking more confused than anything else. Yan only raised an eyebrow in response.

"Did you know .." The man began, a smile creeping onto his face. "That tonight is supposed to be a blue moon?"

"Oh?" Yan frowned, he didn't know why, but the knowledge piqued him more than it should have. This stranger's choice words for a greeting was queer. Though, not as much as his next word to Yan.

"When the stars align, and the moon becomes full and blue the gate between earth and the moon opens."

Yan had heard a lot of folklore based stories about the blue moon, but this one was certainly new. He forced a polite smile and a nod, very unsure whether the man was kidding or not. "That's interesting."

"I'm joking," he laughed. "It was nice meeting you." The peculiar man continued to chuckle softly as he left behind a stupified Yan.

He didn't have time to be bothered with the man, but the words of a blue moon echoed in his head. He didn't know why he was so interested in it, but he was. It was already dark out, he figured it wouldn't be a big deal to stay out a little longer and witnessed the beauty of nature. Sighing heavily, Yan gripped his box of cigarettes tightly and decided to go on another walk, this time, to the park.

He walked and walked, and walked, passing by trees, but not people. The park was empty, something he noticed, it did not stop him from walking. His brown eyes looked up to gaze the full moon in awe, he was seeing its blue tinge for the first time. The longer he looked at it, the more it seemed to be glowing brighter and brighter until he noticed a falling figure.

Eye widening, Yan quickly rubbed his eyes and looked again. The falling figure was no longer there. Surely, he had been mistaken … But just to make sure.

The man broke out into a sprint in the direction he saw the figure falling. It lead to a clearing field of grass in the park. Panting, with a crazily beating heart, the only thing Yan saw was a … a child. Again, his eyes must have been playing tricks on him, nonetheless, he approached it. Once he was close, he knew he wasn't wrong. It was a small child, a sleeping child with silver strands of hair, clothed in white robes, was it a hanfu? More strange than his clothing was the white rabbit ears sticking out atop from his head. The sight of them froze Yan.

The child stirred in its sleep, brows creasing until his eyes opened up to reveal red. "Mm .." the boy whimpered, before standing onto his two small feet. Those red eyes of his almost glowed in the dark of the night, the moonlight illuminated his round face, showing a black peony symbol underneath his right eye. He stared straight at Yan. The child's eyes held confusion before they hardened and glared at him.

Somehow, the child felt familiar. He felt a pull toward him.

Who are you? A soft voice asked, but the source was unknown to Yan, where it came from, he hadn't the slightest clue. There was no one there besides himself and the child continuing his glare directed at him.

I said who ARE you!

There it was again, but this time, Yan noticed how the child's eyes narrowed. "Could that be … is that .. are you in my head?"

I asked a question first! Who are you?!

That confirmed it all. It was the strangest, most abnormal thing and it should have freaked out Yan more than it did. He was more surprised than anything else.

"I'm - I'm Yan, Yan Abe."

Yan Abe … The boy's face softened, looking no longer ready to launch an attack on the older and taller man. That was what he thought. The child charged at Yan and knocked him off his feet. He was so small Yan wouldn't have expected him to be capable. Where are they? The boy question, suddenly grabbing Yan's hair and pulling at it. Your ears, did you lose them? What about your tail?

"Stop!" Yan sat up, making the boy slid off his middle and onto his lap. "My ears are right here!" he pointed to his pierced ears, leaving the boy wide-eyed and seemingly shocked. "And I don't have a tail," he grumbled. What on earth was wrong with this child?

Carefully, the boy stood up and off of him. Then you're .. you're really from here? You're an earthling, Yan Abe?

"What else would I be?"

A Jade Rabbit, a Moon Rabbit. I thought you were like me … you. Nevermind.

"A Moon Rabbit? You're from the moon?" It was incredulous, and Yan's tone wasn't hiding that he thought so. It was silly and unbelievable or that was how it should have been. But strangely, Yan believed him. He was feeling and understanding a lot of things with this kid that he shouldn't have. Looking at him, truly looking at him, he reminded Yan so much of the rabbit woman as a kid, with those animal features, the red eyes and the peony underneath his eye. He looked too similar to the deceased rabbit woman."Who are you?" Yan asked, his tone taking a more serious turn. He wanted to know, he had to know.

As you are Yan Abe of earth, I am Aiguo of the moon. The rabbit child, Aiguo, bowed his head, long strands of his hair falling out of place. Suddenly, he paused in the respectful position, while his rabbit ears twitched and turned toward the forest before up. He's close. We can't stay here, come with me.

"Eh? Wh -" Yan had only just stood up when Aiguo grabbed his hand and pulled him along with him. For a child who was much shorter than him, he ran rather fast, his bare feet not making a single sound. No, each step was like a small hop until it finally advanced into a full and long leap. Instead of the grown man dragging him down, it was the child practically dragging him around. "H-hey!"

He's on our heels!

"Who?" Yan looked behind him just in time to see a dark figure speeding toward them. It was too far behind for him to make it out, Yan could only assume it was an animal, but it was gaining on them fast. He didn't know why, but the closer the creature got, it instilled immense fear into his heart. There weren't a lot of things Yan could comprehend tonight, but the strange occurrences had yet to end and the mysteries were only just beginning because soon he realized his feet were no longer touching the ground.

We're going up! Aiguo announced every step he took sending them into the air like he was walking up an invisible staircase. Yan on the other hand … was panicking. His feet swung around aimlessly as he held on to Aiguo for his dear life despite them not being very high. Yan was dragging them down.

Yan Abe, what are you doing?! I can't lift the both of us, I'm not strong enough, just use your lunar power and get up here! Aiguo yelled at him just as he turned around to clasp his other hand and pull up the man, failing miserably to do so.

"What are you talking about?!" Yan yelled back at him.

Just do it! Shut up and focus! Focus your energy, quick now! Or else we're fox food!

What the hell?! Yan was so lost, confuzzled and terrified. It was all so crazy, it was all happening too fast. Lunar power, what was that supposed to be? He had never heard of such a thing in his life, but it wasn't at all foreign to him in his heart. "Focus, I'm a bird, I can fly…" He whispered to himself, attempting to gather his energy and soar high.

Rabbit, he heard Aiguo correct him.

The rabbit-eared boy's voice only faded out as Yan felt a tingling sensation spread throughout his body only a moment before he was shot up into the sky, taking Ai with him and feeling as light as air itself. And not a moment too soon. In his boost, he had looked down just in time to see the creature, the fox, that had been chasing him jump and snap his jaws at their feet. He was no ordinary fox, with a dark fur coat, white tail and red markings on his face, he looked rather demonic. It looked like the creatures you'd hear about in folklore, huli jings, kitsunes, gumihos. He uncannily resembled them. But the higher that got into the sky, the smaller and farther away they got from it.

"Weee!" Aiguo giggled, for the first time emitting sound from his mouth.

"AHHHH!" Yan screamed, holding on tightly too Aiguo as they were now above the clouds. They were going to drop to their death any minute now, he just knew it. They did not, though. They only stopped going up and continued to float in mid-air. "Oh my god! I have no idea what's going on." It should have terrified him, but it didn't.

"Be calm, Yan Abe." Aiguo said, letting go of Yan's hands and standing still."This should all be natural for someone who carries a powerful lunar power as you do."

"No, no, no it's not." Yan closed his eyes before breathing in deeply. He focused his power again until he was standing upright just as Ai was. Though he completely denied Aiguo's statement, the truth was that it did feel natural if not a little new. "Who are you?"


"I told you, I am Aiguo of the moon. Just as you are Yan Abe of the earth." Ai huffed, seemingly annoyed at having to repeat himself. He turned his face and coughed into his hand.

"If you're from the moon, how did you get here on earth and what is lunar power!?"

"Simple, I went through the gates, they open every blue moon when the stars align. And every Moon Rabbit has lunar powers, we're just born with them." His eyes lit up, reflecting the moon's light as he said next. "But you, you have very strong lunar powers, the kind you get after years of experience and a sip of the immortal elixir."

"I don't understand anything you are saying right now, what elixir and how do I have these powers when I'm not a moon bunny like yourself!?"

"Rabbit! Rabbit! Moon Rabbit! Bunnies are babies and I'm not a baby!" Aiguo pouted, but when he did so with his round and red cheeks. Yan couldn't help but think he kind of looked like one."The elixir of life, you know, the one that goddess Chang'E had before floating to the moon. I'm guessing some Jade Rabbit gave you their power .."

"Jade Rabbit or Moon Rabbit?"

"Jade Rabbit. Jade Rabbit's are the ones who drink the elixir of life, they are our Goddess Chang 'E's special rabbits. Moon Rabbits have not. You're really powerful, you not only have normal moon rabbit powers, but Jade Rabbit powers! Such as light and any sickness you've had, you'll heal right away." Aiguo turned away from him and began steadily descending the cloud level.

Yan followed his lead. "Wait -"

"No more questions!" Aiguo warned him.

"Can I at least ask why you're here?"

"Oh! I'm looking for my mama before it's too late …" He sighed slowly. "And the gates closed. They close when the moon goes down. Who knows when they'll open again." His little shoulders shrugged."Now, no more questions."

Yan groaned. He had so many. But he remained quiet and followed Aiguo as they walked down farther and farther until they were standing over the twinkling town he lived in. By the look on Aiguo's face, he knew the child must have been amazed by something so simple.

"It's beautiful! This world, this Earth! It's so pretty, how lucky you are to live here, Yan Abe."

Yan looked down and took in the sight before him. It was admittedly pretty, but he had never thought of himself to be lucky to live on such a planet. Perhaps he took it for granted because the wonder in the rabbit boy's eyes said plenty. "I guess so," he mumbled."You can just call me Yan, okay?"

"Well, then, Yan, you can just call me Ai!" The boy responded only a moment before he shook his head dizzily and coughed violently into the sleeve of his robe. When he removed it from his mouth, he rolled the too long sleeve up but not before Yan caught a glimpse of blood soaking the fabric.

"Hey, are you alright?" It felt like a strange question to ask out of everything that had already happened, but a necessary one nonetheless. Concern washed over him along with the need to care for him. Aiguo, the moon bunny.

The pale haired child barely nodded his head before he suddenly fell. Dropping out of the air, rushing toward the ground at full speed. Yan stood shocked, but without a second thought, he acted on the fear that wrapped around him by diving after the boy, letting gravity take over once again until he reached the child and held him in his arms securely. At the last minute, prior to splatting against the ground, he recalled his gravitational powers, floating a step above the concrete. Steadily, he placed his feet on the sidewalk of an empty street, breathing a sigh of relief. No one had seen them, the place they landed in was lonely.

"Ai, are you okay?" He glanced at the weak rabbit child in his arms. To be frank he looked anything but okay, being small, frail and pale.

"I'm fine." Aiguo wriggled in his arms until Yan set him down. The boy inhaled deeply and exhaled just as deeply. "I'm fine," he whispered more to himself than Yan, his voice was a little shakier than Yan remembered. He couldn't question it as the moon bunny turned toward him and grinned. "Come, Yan!" Aiguo said, immediately taking the lead along with his hand."This way, we must find mama!"

Yan could have easily let go and deny helping the child, but he felt the need to look after and protect him. It was simply one of the many things he couldn't understand that night but acted on. Plus, he still had so many questions only Aiguo could answer.

Aiguo led the way, much slower than he was when Yan first met him. He was the only thing Yan kept his dark eyes down the lonely street. It appeared they were the only two around, which made sense considering how early in the morning it was. The only other presence, noise, was the barking of a few dogs.

But the path Aiguo led them down drew them nearer to the dogs, the longer they walked, Yan couldn't help but notice how easily tired Aiguo was getting. He probably wasn't used to walking everywhere. Aiguo did stop when they finally came face to face with a stray dog.

"Uh, Ai ..? Yan stared at the snarling dog.

"I've never seen a dog before!" The rabbit boy's ears perked up as he reached to pet the canine. He pulled away just before it snapped its teeth on him. "Um .." Aiguo whimpered, taking a step back and tripping over his robe. When he tried to stand up and run away the dog used his teeth to grab him by his long silver hair and yank him back. "Aaa!" He screamed.

"Seriously.." Yan groaned before smacking the dogs head, 'causing it to whimper and let Aiguo go. The child scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over his robes again before holding on tightly to Yan's leg. "Back off," he warned the whimpering dog, glaring it down until it ran away.

"Dogs are almost as scary as foxes." He whined. "It almost ate me!"

Yan sighed looking down at the red-eyed child. His robes were dirty, as were his bare feet, his long hair had dog saliva dripping from the ends and his long ears were out in the open. He was a mess and an obvious one at that. The child wouldn't survive a single night out on his own in the state he was in.

"Okay, that's it, this time, you follow me." Yan struggled to remove the boy from his leg but succeeded and dragged him along.

"Where are we going?"

"To fix you up."


"Fix me up! More like destroy me, make me a mess!" Aiguo yelled, standing on the bench outside of the convenience store they had just left. It was the same one near Yan's own house.

Make him a mess? No, Yan had cleaned him up and quite nicely too. In the store he had found a pair of clothes near the boy's size, they may have been a little big on him, but at least they weren't hanging off him. And he found the perfect sized sneakers, they were admittedly cheap. While Aiguo didn't mind too much about the change of attire he cried when Yan also bought scissor and cropped his long hair short.

The tears were now replaced with balled fist and sizzling anger. The bunny boy looked upset enough to hit him, but Yan doubted very much that any hit from him would hurt. Then again, Aiguo had strength, unlike any child. However, even angry, Aiguo looked tired, more tired than earlier.

"It had to be done, it was getting in the way."

"You could have just braided it!"

"It was dirty!"

"You could have washed it!"

"You only have a few hours to be here."

"And now I have to return home and die with this awful haircut." Aiguo cried, tears running from his eye as he fell back onto his bottom, knees pulled into his chest as he miserably tried mopping away his tears. His sobs were inconsolable and racked his whole tiny body.

Only then did Yan start to feel bad. He made a child cry, a moon rabbit, how could he not feel bad? "I'm sorry, Ai. I thought it was for the best." Yan apologized, all while soothing patting his back. His words seemed to stop him from sobbing, but he still cried. There was nothing more Yan could do about that. "Here, I also got you this, to hide your, er, ears. They stick out too much." From his shopping bag beside him, he pulled out a grey and white hoodie with rose patterns.

Like any child, even in his stubborn anger, curiosity overruled it all and Aiguo peeked at the hoodie only to completely unwind and his eyes to sparkle."This is for me? It's so perfect." He was smiling once again and allowed Yan to zip it up for him once he had his arms in it.

"See, you look good." Yan even offered a genuine smile, watching as Aiguo grinned from ear to ear and stood on top of the bench, looking over his outfit.

Then, he froze and whipped his head around just previous to Yan hearing his name be called. He followed suit and found standing just a few feet away from them was the browned haired beauty, Yeriel, and beside her … It was the man that he had met earlier that day. The one who spoke about the opening of the gates. Why was he with Yeriel? And what were they doing out so late?

"Uh, hi, Yeriel." He greeted her awkwardly and received a scowl in return.

"I've been calling and texting you like crazy! What are you doing out here so late? I was on my way to see you. I was worried about you."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, things just happened." The thing that happened was gripping his arm tightly, hiding behind his back and glaring at the newcomers over his shoulder. He sensed danger, and so did Yan, but he couldn't figure out from where. "Who is he?" He demanded rather than asked, to know.

"I'm Fang."

Aiguo shivered when he spoke.

Fang smiled rather friendly at Yan, "we met earlier, I believe. As you may have noticed, I'm new around these parts. Your lovely friend here was only giving me directions when she spotted the two of you."

"Ah," Yan frowned, still uncomfortable with the man. Even more with him being so close to Yeriel, he felt the need to pull her close to him and away from Fang. This Fang character was still a stranger.

"Now that I have my directions, I'll just be going. Thank you, " he semi-whispered his goodbyes to Yeriel, looking back at the other two males once before departing.

It was only when Yan saw Fang's figure disappear into the dark did he speak with Yeriel again. "You shouldn't just talk to strangers like that and especially not at this hour. It's dangerous, Yeriel." Reprimanded the man, standing tall, arms crossed over his chest. The shorter woman only stared at him, surprised. "What?" He asked.

"It's just .. It's been a while since you've nagged me about anything." Yeriel smiled. It was hard to stay upset with her when she smiled so sincerely. Even more so when he was usually the root of her troubles. "You haven't done that since … I - who's the kid?" Her light brown eyes looked past Yan and to the boy who had followed him, still standing close behind.

Yan blinked. "Ah, this is Aiguo."

Who is she? Aiguo frowned. So it appeared they were back to mind talking.

"Ai, this is Yeriel, she's been my good friend since, well, forever." To answer her still questioning eyes, Yan continued. "Ai lost his mom, I decided to help him find her."

"Oh?" Yeriel still looked confused and she had every right to be. Her eyes flitted away from Yan and to Aiguo when he coughed. Crouching down, she pressed her hand against the child's forehead before he could move away from her touch. "He's running a fever … and a high one." She frowned. "We should take him to the hospital and call -"

"No!" Aiguo interjected, holding on tightly to Yan's pants leg. "I have to find mama! I only have now! Time is running out!"

Yan glanced at the stubborn face of the moon rabbit who glared back at him. He had noticed he was getting warm and his face a little rosy, but now looking at him … He knew Yeriel was absolutely right. And then, so was Aiguo. Just looking at him now, somehow, he reminded him even more of that rabbit woman. The one he had met as a child. "I'm sorry, Yeriel. We have to go."

"What, huh? Yan… What's going on, where are you going?"

"I'll tell you all about it later." He decided, taking Aiguo's hand and leaving behind a confused Yeriel. "Ai, do you have any idea where your mother could be."

"No, I don't," Aiguo admitted sadly.

"How long ago did she come here, to earth?"

"Um, I think in Earthen time it would be about ten years ago."

Why was Yan not surprised? If anything, the moment he had met Aiguo he had been expecting it. Now that it was confirmed, he only felt an empty, and hollow sadness. "Ai, your mama - " Yan was cut off as Ai fell, his head hitting the hard concrete ground in the process. Yan immediately dropped to his side, finding the boy breathing heavily and struggling to get up. It was uncanny how fast he fell ill. Then again, he had arrived ill, didn't he?

"Ai!" Yan helped the small child to sit upright.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, "just a little tired."

"Ai…" Yan bit his bottom lip, coming to a final decision. "You need to go home and get treated."

"No! Not yet, mama - !"

"Is gone. Aiguo, I believe that your mother is … that she is dead." There was no easy way of putting it. And while it pained him greatly to see the tears in the boy's eyes form he also recognized something else besides the hurt. An understanding, knowing. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"You .. you illuminate with her power." he choked, looking down at his knees. "I knew even before I came here. Being with you, was kind of like being with her. You feel so much like mama." His little hands balled up, holding onto his shorts.

A silence fell between them, with Aiguo sulking and Yan thinking of what to say.

"I lost my parents last year." That had caught Aiguo's attention. "The anniversary of their death is this week. I guess, I still haven't it let go, but I will and you will too. It'll be okay, I promise." He didn't know if those were the words he needed to hear or if they were even appropriate. Did Yan believe it? Yes. It was the only reason he was still alive when he thought about leaving his problems behind so many times.

Aiguo blinked back tears and exhaled heavily. "Okay. I'll go home then. But first, can you, will you please take me to the place that she, that mama passed…"

"Of course."


Yan had never thought he would return to the same woods his parents and he had hiked in so many times before. It brought back too many memories, and they were painful. Yet, with the light child that rode his back, chin snuggled in the crook of his, it wasn't quite as bad. Maybe it was because he was not alone in coming there, or that this child could comprehend his pain.

"We're almost there," Yan said to which Aiguo who softly nodded his head.

To be frank, he had gotten worse in short time. His fever was through the roof and he was too weak to walk and hardly talk during the whole trip to where his mother took her last dying breath. "Ai, I've been thinking a little." Yan started, feeling the need to keep on talking to the child, to keep him awake. "When I met you, I had all these strange feelings, the strongest being the need to protect you. I think … I think that was because of your mama, and her power she gave me."

"Mama," Aiguo said softly and Yan could've sworn that he was smiling, not that he could see. But he knew those words brought the boy comfort. "I wish … I wish you could come home with me, Yan."

Yan remained quiet, mulling over his comment carefully. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I'll come with you."

"Huh?" Aiguo was genuinely shocked, sending a burst of energy through him. "Bu- but -"

"You want me to come right? I'll go with you and come back the next time the gates open." The two went quiet. it was a rash decision, Yan knew that. And he had completely made it on a whim, but he wanted to go. He wanted to see the moon kingdom and … if it meant escaping reality for a little while longer than he would take it. "There really isn't a lot keeping me here anyway."

"Okay … I just thought you liked her. I'll send a message."

"Who? Message? Oh! Wait, here we are." Announced the man, halting in his tracks and standing in front of the same tree had years ago. Though, where once a rabbit woman was there, now there was a rabbit boy who had slipped off his back and pressed his hand against the bark of the tree with closed eyes. Yan stayed silent and closed his own eyes, giving Aiguo a moment while he listened in to the sounds surrounding them. Birds were chirping. It meant time was almost up.

"Alright," Aiguo sniffled. Yan opened his eyes to see the boy wiping tears from his red eyes."Let's go home, I'm ready." He took up Yan's hand again only for him to be scooped up in his arms.

"How do we do that exactly?"

Aiguo laid his head against Yan's chest and released a shallow breath before weakly pointing to the moon. "Get into the moon's light, it'll recognize our lunar power and whisk us away. "

It sounded silly and crazy, but then practically everything that happened as of late was. He held onto Aiguo tightly and made his way through the woods until they came upon a small clearing. It was perfect and inviting with the moon shining down on a patch of a spot.

Yan looked at the moon and thought of Yeriel. "I didn't get to say goodbye." Nor did he have his phone on him. And he had just left her confused and lost. When he'd disappear, she'd be torn. Guilt flooded him once again. How many times would he hurt her?

"Yan …"

"It's okay," Yan assured him, he wanted to go, he truly did. He was simply having doubts now, which was to be expected. "Let's go." Before he changed his mind.

Looking toward the moon, Yan prepared to step into his light.

"Hello," said a smooth voice belonging to none other than the man they had met earlier.

"Fang?" Yan whipped his head down and frowned at the man, smoothly and ever so casually strolling out of the dark of the trees. "What the hell?" Aiguo stilled in his arms and held on tightly to the front of his shirt. The rabbit was scared.

"I thought you were strange the first time I met you, you glowed like a Moon Rabbit but you were human." Fang clicked his tongue, ignoring Yan's confusion. "And then the second time I met you, you were with a Moon Rabbit."

"Fox." Aiguo squeaked from a hoarse throat.

Yan's eyes widened.

"Give him to me, Yan," Fang's tone had taken a dangerous turn, each step he took brought him closer to them, but Yan took walked backward, away from the fox. "If you do I'll spare your life."

"Absolutely not." Yan glared.

"Oh, come on, he's dying anyway. Or did you not know?"

"What? Ai what nonsense is he babbling?!"

Fang laughed at Yan's confused state, angering him more in the process."Ai!" Yan demanded to know, when he looked down at the boy's face and saw a glint of tears and guilt in his eyes, the answer was clear. "Ai.. -"

He shouldn't have looked away. Fang had taken the opportunity to launch at them. He charged them perfectly with his unnaturally strange speed and strength, sending Yan flying into a tree. Somewhere in the middle of it, he had dropped Aiguo, but when his head hit the solid wood of the tree, he could hardly breath let alone think.

Yan was reeling from the attack, struggling to breathe, to think. His vision was blurry but clear enough for him to see Aiguo attempting to crawl away from his predator, Fang. The man, no, the fox laughed at his weak attempts. Yan decided to take the chance and charge at him, despite being weak and ill feeling himself. He also wasn't stupid enough to think Fang wouldn't see him coming, so when Fang turned around once he was close, just as Yan suspected he'd do, he used his gravitational powers to send him a heavy punch. This time, the fox was thrown to the floor, bleeding from his nose.

"Wasn't expecting that, nice move, human." Fang growled, wiping away the blood from underneath his nose."But I don't have time to play." As he said that, his body began changing, his jaw protruding, reforming as well as the rest of his bones and dark hair covering his entire body. It only took him a moment to transform into the dark fox he was, with red markings on his cheeks and forehead and white tail. Yan recognized him instantly. He was the fox that first attacked them.

As a demon fox, he moved faster than Yan's already blurry mind and eyes could comprehend. It was a just a dash of black and then suddenly, he was on the ground, the air knocked out of his lungs and excruciating pain coming from his middle. Yan coughed and looked up at the fox standing on top of him just in time to see him raise his bloody claws.

Stay down, Yan, and I won't have to kill you! He growled before running away from him and to the rabbit child. Yan pressed his hand against his bleeding wound, hoping to stop the bleeding, there was nothing he could do about the pain. Just like there was nothing he could do while Fang rolled Aiguo over on his back and stood on top of him, opening his mouth and revealing his sharp teeth.

"No … no … stop …" Yan pleaded. He himself could barely hear his own voice. His bloodied hand reached out for the rabbit boy who could do nothing to protect himself. Yan was supposed to protect him, he was supposed to keep him safe. He needed power, he needed strength.

Against all odds, he ignored his weak and tired bones, ignored the pain that grew as he sat up and reached for Ai. "I said stop!" he barely yelled at the fox, just then a ray of light shot out from his hand and hit the fox straight in his leg, causing him to howl and jump back.

The light that both Aiguo and Fang had claimed to see around Yan was now very visible, even to himself. He was surrounded by it. The light was almost blinding and when he looked at the fox, he saw the damage that it did. The black fox was bleeding heavily, he couldn't even stand on his wounded leg. The fear in his beady eyes was obvious.

Yan grunted, biting down his pain and dragged himself off the floor. "Go! Go away!" He screamed at the fox, holding his own bleeding wound but the glow around him roared as he did. It was obvious to them all that Fang was no match for him now.

Fang ran, not nearly as fast as used to be, limping on three legs, but fast enough.

When Yan no longer saw him, he hobbled over to Ai's side, dropping on his knees and taking the boy's upper body in his arms. "Ai, Ai! Can you hear me!?" He called out to him, brushing away his limp rabbit ears. It was the twitch of those ears that came before the opening of his red eyes that revealed he was still alive but barely breathing.

"See, light powers …" The child coughed.

Yan closed his eyes and released a semi relieved and shaky breath. "You can't die Ai, you can't." They had only met earlier that night, hours ago and Yan had risked his life for him. He wanted nothing more for the boy to live on and be safe. And no, he was certain by now it wasn't just because of his mother's lunar powers influencing him. He truly cared for the rabbit boy.

"I'm sorry, Yan." Aiguo was too weak to even cry. All he could do was wrap his fingers around Yan's thumb like a baby would. "I'm sick … I came here …"

He came knowing he was going to die, Yan choked, unable to hold back his own tears. Was There nothing he could do? Was he going to have to watch someone he cared about die again? Even with all these powers, he couldn't save his life still!

His powers …

Sniffling, Yan, blinked away his tears. His powers, he had the power of a Jade Rabbit. He looked down to Aiguo, watching as the boy's chest rose and fall, his breathing growing more shallow by the minute. He looked his mother. That was it, Yan made a decision. "You're not going to die, Ai. I won't let you, you're going home alive." Taking Aiguo's head between his two hands, Yan pressed his lips against the boy's heated forehead and let go. He let go and gave it to him.

He was no longer the one glowing, but Aiguo was. The moon rabbit's half closed red eyes opened wide. "What - what did you do? Yan!" It was working already, the weak boy was starting to get his strength back. At least enough strength to yell at him.

Yan smiled and scooped him up once more, he nearly fell over at the pain and pressure it put on his wound, but he ignored it and carried the boy into the light of the moon. There was no time to waste.

Just as Aiguo had said earlier, the moon would whisk the ones possessing the lunar power away. As soon as they were in its light, Aiguo lifted from his arms and into the air, his glowing form was almost blinding in the illumination of the moon. But even as he began to float away, he grabbed Yan's hands, refusing to let go.

"No, Yan, no! You said you'd come with me! You said!"

"Ai, let go."

"I can't. I won't!" Tears began dropping out of his eyes and onto Yan's face.

"I can't go, not now, not like this." He mumbled, too exhausted and hurt to yell back at the boy.

"But!" Aiguo's cracking voice managed to get out, on the verge of breaking down into sobs. "Yan! I need you!"

"You'll be fine, you are a Jade Rabbit now. Not some bunny." Yan smiled, but Ai cried. "Let go, Ai, before it's too late."

Aiguo's lip trembled, but slowly his hold on Yan's hand loosened, his fingers sliding against Yan's until he let go. "I'll come again!" He shouted, floating higher and higher into the air, his form becoming more like the light. "When the stars align!"

Those were his last words before he vanished. Aiguo, the Moon Rabbit - no - Jade Rabbit was gone. It felt like a dream. But he knew it was real.

Yan fell to his knees, grabbing his side. He watched the sky, watched as the moon went down and the sun began to rise. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there when he heard his name being called by a feminine voice.

"Yeriel?"

"Yan!" The woman rushed out of the covers of the trees with a tear-stained face. Her eyes locked on the bloody mess that was Yan abe, she gasped and ran to him. "Yan!" She hugged him tight, unintentionally hurting him and making him groan.

"I'm so sorry!" She pulled away. "Oh God! What happened to you!? Oh God!"

"How did you know where I was?"

Yeriel wiped away the tears from her panicked face. "I heard some voice in my head saying you were here and I - I - I had a bad feeling so - so …" She cried.

There just so many tears today. A voice in her head?

"Okay … I just thought you liked her. I'll send a message."

Yan smiled. So, that was what he meant. With a small chuckle, he pulled her close to him. He was fool. It was true that there wasn't much keeping Yan bound to Earth but Yeriel was the one person he would stay for. And that was reason enough. "I'm sorry," he whispered, rubbing her head soothingly.

She sniffled and buried her face into his shoulder. They stayed like that for a while until she was no longer crying or sniffling. When she pulled back, she asked. "Where's Aiguo?"

"He went home."

"Oh?"

"But don't worry," Yan looked up at the sky and sighed. He was content. And hadn't felt that way ion a long time. "We'll see him again when the moon is full and blue."


"And when's that?" Yeriel frowned.


He looked at her and said. "When the stars align."

"Are you ready? We don't have much longer."

It didn't take long until a second person came rushing by, holding a bag of popcorn and a couple of water bottles. The first person simply grabbed a bottle of water from his colleague before turning to look at a giant screen in front of him.

"Let's just hope it will really happen tonight. I would hate to waste another night watching nothing." The second person said as he sat down next to his colleague. The second person held up a notebook in his lap.

"If we go by this, then it has to happen tonight. Last chance for it to happen in this millennia."

As the notebook was lowered back into the first person's lap, the second person nodded, and then both turned to face the screen.

They sat there for approximately two hours before something had begun to occur in the screen in front of them.

"The Satellite lens is picking something up. Could this-"

"Shut up!"

The two watched in excitement.

A Pair of Red Dwarf suns, sitting close to each other in the darkness of space, were visible on the screen. They appeared to have no business with one another, just co-existing as planets should. Both suns looked like impressive, magnificent giants on the screen.

Yet even with the brightness coming off the suns, it was possible to see something that was making its way to between the two suns. A very significant sized meteorite, one which somehow was big enough to be capable of still moving in its own direction until it eventually stopped, in the middle of both the red suns.

The logic did not exist in this scenario, as why would the meteorite even be capable of making it all the way there? Why wasn't it tossed into one of the suns before? The questions kept popping up in the minds of the two as they kept observing what went on.

The large sized Meteorite, now sitting still between the two suns, appeared as though it was attracting solar flares to it. It was getting 'pet' by the two suns. After a few strokes of light hit it from both sides, a stroke of light between both suns was created. A connection. That connection begun to cover the meteorite, until it was not visible anymore. Instead, it looked as though a new, much smaller sun was suddenly born in the middle of the two larger Red Dwarf suns.

A Baby Dwarf Sun, staying still between its parents. Being kept safe from both sides.

Yet the Baby sun would not remain. Once the Meteorite, which served as the core, finally broke apart from the pressure of the solar energy surrounding it, the fragments would vanish, and the Baby Dwarf Sun would begin to fade away with it. It seemed like it took eternity for the smaller Dwarf Sun to form, and no time to fade into nothingness.

Soon enough the screen would become static. Both men stared kept staring at the screen for a few more moments before one finally stood up, letting the remaining popcorn drop all over the floor and rushing to a laptop which sat at the corner of the room, connected to the screen.

"Any connection to the satellite seems to be disrupted. Must've been a Solar Flare wave from after what we just saw. We lost the satellite Marcus." He said quickly before continuing to look up on different things.

The second man, Marcus, who was still stunned by what he had witnessed, finally snapped back upon hearing his name being called out "Satellite, right. You at least recorded the whole thing, right? Astrophysicists all around the world would be amazed upon seeing this.

The first man froze, staring at the screen upon hearing Marcus's question to him. Marcus took a moment to realize how much this could change different theories before looking up at his colleague "Speak up Bloom." He called out to the other man.

Bloom swallowed for a moment "I-I may have forgotten to set up the re-recording." He said with a slight stutter. Bloom wondered if the man was going to hit him, but instead just felt a pat on his shoulder a minute later.

"Well, it is like I said. It will probably take another millennia before another event like this occurs. So even if we won't make a huge breakthrough like we wanted to," Marcus said, though it was clear he was on the verge of some sort of breakdown "At least we got to witness something truly incredible. Something no one else could claim to have seen, for at least another thousand years. Th-Thank you for helping me achieve this, Bloom." Another pat on the back came before Marcus left the room with slow steps.

Not moving until he heard a distant door open and close, Bloom wondered if he should've just been honest. It was a finding of the millennia, like Marcus said after all. But to gain the full credit for such an event would mean to go down in history. He always doubted this event would be as magnificent as Marcus claimed it would be, but this was so much more.

Truly a once in a blue moon occurence.

Legendary

I stand a few paces from the spotlight
Skeletons knocking, knocking, knocking
Thundering at my closet's door
Bones rattling louder than my pulse
Brickbats boldly broiling my brain

'Step up, step down, step out'
Like flesh sliding down my teeth
After biting, tearing the last voice
I forgot where I left my soul
So many mandibles stitched onto my own

'Once in a blue moon,' they promised me
'This is your one and only chance,'
But this crown was presented by the devil
Commander of all my skeletons,
'Become a god, a legend, and wear its weight.'

Faking it until I was on my knees
Breathing, breathing, breathing
Screaming in my own mind, into nothingness
Like it swallowed the brightest nebula
Dust and particles floating without aim

Glory and gold goaded my guts
The crown and its weight weighed me
Beneath the floorboards of my closet
Nameless and soulless, but fame followed
So close, so close, so close

The light died and all left was a spot
Lonesome and cold, my hands covered in red
My nameless face etched in blood
On the star that isn't supposed to -
Oh, the black hole swallowed it too

Bones and chains rattling louder than my voice
'You lost your chance,' the mockery loudest of all
A rictus on the commander's, no, the devil's face
On his teeth my own flesh, the pieces of my soul
'A raindrop in the ocean, descending, descending, descending.'

"Brokenhead"

FROM: Mel
TO: [redacted]
SUBJ: (none)

Hey [redacted],

I know it's been a while since we talked, and I'm sorry. I know you've probably been worried because of the news reports. but I promise I'm alive and doing OK. I just can't tell you where I am right now. The police want to talk to me, but I don't really want to talk to them. The fact is the news reports haven't been telling everything about Brokenhead. Maybe I'm the only one left who knows… or at least, who is able to tell. But if I told the police what I saw, they wouldn't believe me. They'd probably want to lock me up. But I do want to tell you, because you've always been there for me, and if anyone would know what to do, you would. So here's what happened – or at least, what I can remember.

Last time we talked, I told you I was going to Brokenhead to see Kristy for a few days. I thought it might be good for me to get out and see her. You told me it was a bad idea, she was into weird stuff now, but I really wanted to see my friend. I was tired of feeling isolated; sitting in the house reading, taking antidepressants, and never visiting anyone except my therapist. She made it sound like it was just a party. Come watch the comet with us! We're in the perfect spot! It seemed like a chance to not be miserable, at least for a little bit. God, I wish I'd listened to you.

I don't know about you, but I'd never even heard of Brokenhead before Kristy invited me. It's about forty miles from where we all grew up, and it's out there. My GPS couldn't even find it. I had to buy a local map from a little gas station in a nearby town. It wasn't even a town, really; just five old houses and a gas station with one working pump, so rusty you could get tetanus just looking at it. I'd never had to drive with a map much before, but after a while (and a few wrong turns) I got the hang of it. After that, the route was all country. Bright fields turned into thick woods with a canopy of branches hanging over the road. It was pretty nice actually; I drove most of the way with the windows down. After about 45 minutes, I had to turn onto a dirt road that curved right through the forest. I was a little worried about the car, but the road stayed just even enough. Before long it led me out of the trees and into a wide open space filled with cabins and trailers, like a miniature town. This was Brokenhead.

When I pulled up, a guy in a white baseball cap was the only person nearby; he stood in front of a blue double-wide, smoking a cigarette. He told me everyone was at the "fellowship hall", a big building at the other end of the place. I decided to stretch my legs and walk. I didn't run into anyone else, and when I got to the fellowship hall I found out why: it sounded like everyone was inside, singing hymns. I wondered whether I should go in or wait outside. I was curious, so I tried to sneak in quietly. Didn't entirely work; a few people gave me curious looks, but no one said anything so I just hunkered down in a folding chair at the back.

It was just like church, except this wasn't like any I'd ever been to. You'd have laughed if you'd seen the preacher's little eyes bug out as he talked. It was pretty wacky stuff. "God is coming for us," he said, "in the comet, like he promised! The worthy will go to glory!" Yada yada. Idiot that I was, I thought it was kind of funny.

It wasn't so funny when, at the end of the service, the preacher looked right at me with his beady black eyes and bellowed, "We have a newcomer! What's your name?" Actually, it was mortifying. I wished I had an excuse to leave, any excuse; spontaneous combustion, for example. But what I did was raise my hand in a halfhearted wave. That's when I heard a familiar voice.

"Mel!"

Kristy ran up to me like an excited puppy and hugged me so hard I could barely breath. She turned to introduce me to the preacher.

"Brother Danny, this is my old friend Mel. I invited her to join us for the comet," Kristy said. Everyone in the fellowship hall was staring at me. I felt naked. Brother Danny smiled so widely I could see his yellowed teeth from across the room.

"Welcome to Brokenhead, Mel! Everyone give Mel a big welcome, hear? See you tomorrow, now." At once every single person in the hall stood and lined up to greet me as they left. Everyone was enthusiastically friendly, shaking my hand and telling me how glad they were to meet me, asking if I was there for the comet. It was all a bit overwhelming, but I swallowed my discomfort; didn't want to seem ungrateful. Last came Brother Danny.

"So glad you're here. We'll talk real soon, OK?" He held onto my hand a bit too long. Something in the way he looked at me put me on edge.

It was dark when we left the fellowship hall. Kristy walked with me to my car, and we fell right back into talking like we were still in high school and had just seen each other yesterday. At that moment, the whole trip felt worth it.

"So, are you seeing anyone?" she asked as we walked up to the car.

"No," I answered, not entirely happy with the question. "Not since Rick."

"Did he leave right after..." her voice trailed off. I nodded. "Nice car!" she said, grinning widely. It wasn't really a nice car (you remember it, I'm sure); she just felt bad for upsetting me.

She directed me to her trailer, and started making supper while I unpacked my clothes in the little guest room. We ate canned stew with dinner rolls; not exactly a feast, but I didn't care. It was just great to spend time with Kristy.

"So, did you tell anyone you were coming?" she asked. If I'd been had a more suspicious nature, or just been smarter, I would have paid more attention to that question, but in the moment I thought nothing of it. I just nodded and moved on.

"Are you excited about the comet?" I asked.

"Totally," she answered, grinning ear to ear. "I'm so glad you could make it," she said. "I really wanted to reconnect with you, after everything."

I smiled. It was the best I'd felt in a long time.

"What do you know about the comet?" she asked.

"It's Erikkson's comet. Goes by Earth once every 98 years. The Egyptians identified it with the snake god Apep, and the Romans –"

Kristy giggled. "You've always been such a dork," she teased.

"Well, you asked."

"Brother Danny wrote a book about the comet," she said, reaching down to the coffee table. It wasn't what I'd call a book, exactly; it was a little black and white booklet, stapled together at the spine. It looked like it was printed at home. I didn't want to ruin the evening by talking about Brother Danny, but before I could change the subject, Kristy thrust the booklet into my hand.

"You should read it," she said. I shook my head.

"You know I'm not into religious stuff," I said.

"Oh, it's not religious," she pressed. "I can see how'd think that, but it's not religious at all. Religion is all rules and worshiping gods you can't see. But this is different. Brother Danny's been contacted."

"Contacted?" I tried not to laugh. Did she know how she sounded?

I shouldn't have asked. For what felt like an hour Kristy talked all about Brother Danny and how he communicated with some alien spirit or intelligence that he claimed was God. According to her, the Fellowship (her name for her church) was actually hundreds of years old, and they've always had a contactee, a man (always a man, go figure) who communicated with God. Apparently, the Fellowship is especially enthusiastic about Erikkson's comet. They believe "God is in the comet," and every 98 years he comes to take his followers to the stars.

If you'd been there, I know you'd have really let her have it. I always kind of admired that about you. You were never afraid to say exactly what you thought about something… or someone. I've never been that brave.

"So the comet's going to take everyone away, somehow?"

"Well, everyone who's a believer," she answered. "You have to be spiritually prepared."

"And how does someone get 'spiritually prepared'?" I asked. Kristy just smiled.

"Oh, Brother Danny knows."

Of course he does.

Kristy looked sideways at me. "You know, you might get along with him. He's single now, since his wife passed."

At that point, I was tired and more than a little creeped out. I hadn't expected Kristy to try to set me up with a crazy preacher old enough to be my father. I washed my plate and glass in the kitchen and said goodnight. When Kristy held out the booklet toward me, I was too tired to argue. I just took it. When I got to the room I tossed it onto the dresser and made sure the bedroom door was locked before I stretched out on the little twin bed.

I had a hard time falling asleep that night; I never do sleep well in unfamiliar places. Despite the AC unit in the window, it was a little too warm in the room. The bed's metal frame creaked whenever I moved. When I actually fell asleep, it wasn't great; three times I woke up from bad dreams. I still have the nightmares sometimes: being in the hospital, Rick holding my hand. Pushing through the pain. That horrible silence at the end.

It was just past nine when I woke up. Kristy had already gone out, but she'd left some fruit and granola on the table with a note:

For your breakfast. Meet me in the greenhouse if you want, or just relax! - K

It made me smile. As I sat eating in the brightly lit kitchen, it was hard to feel creeped out like I had last night. After washing up, I showered and put on my outfit for the day. I wore a skirt I'd bought just before leaving, a white and blue floral patterned one that stopped just above the knee.

It was a clear, breezy day; cool despite the summer sun. The air had that sweet smell of dirt and flowers. It was so perfect, by the time I'd reached the greenhouse all my misgivings had disappeared.

It was sweltering inside. Rows of vegetables grew in wooden troughs. Between them, people were moving, doing whatever it is you do to take care of vegetables in a greenhouse. I've never been much of a gardener.

Kristy saw me as soon as a walked in. "Just a minute!" she called, and put her tools away. When she was done, she shooed me outside and washed her hands off at a little spigot beside the greenhouse.

"Oh, you look cute!" she said. "Did you see the food I left out?"

"Yeah, thanks," I said. She was dressed like a farmer; work jeans, flannel shirt, baseball cap, and work gloves tucked into her belt. In high school, she'd never have been caught dead in that outfit. It was all low-cut tops with spaghetti straps, low-riding jeans, skirts… anything to get the boys' attention, really.

"So, you wanna take the tour?" she asked. I nodded.

"Well, this is the greenhouse, obviously," she said. "And if you go down that way there's a field where we grow more vegetables; potatoes, tomatoes, leeks, peppers, some carrots. You know, normal stuff. But that's kind of boring, so let's go see something more interesting."

I followed Kristy down to what she called "the street;" this was the dirt path that stretched from the road where I'd entered Brokenhead to the big fellowship hall on the other end. Most of the homes were on either side of the street. We turned toward the fellowship hall end. Whenever we ran into someone, Kristy made sure to introduce me. Every person I met had a way of being disarmingly friendly.

We passed the fellowship hall and walked on a smaller path that curved around behind it and up a wooded hill. By the edge of the treeline, I saw a low, wide building, like a cinderblock bungalow covered in ivy. The windows were narrow and almost at the top of the wall, so it was impossible to see inside. A concrete birdbath in front, shaped like a frog holding a lily pad above its head, entirely failed to lighten the place up. An assortment of tools leaned against the wall by the door.

"Wow," I said.

"Oh, that's Brother Danny's," chirped Kristy. "He keeps some old junk in there. Hey, let me show you where we'll wait for the comet tonight."

We continued to climb the hill, following the dirt path under the swaying leaves. At the top was a wide circular clearing, like a bald spot, which offered a wide view of the sky. It really would be the perfect spot to watch the comet.

"This hill was sacred to the Indians," Kristy said. "This is where they waited for God to come. That's why we wait here too."

"Huh," is what I said. That sounds like bullshit, is what I wanted to say, but I decided I didn't want to resurrect last night's conversation. I decided it was probably something her "church" had made up to impress new converts. We were standing on the hill, enjoying the breeze, when a voice called out behind us.

"Good morning! I thought I saw someone coming up here." It was Brother Danny.

"Hi, Brother Danny," said Kristy. "I was just telling Mel about the history of the hill here."

He nodded, smiling. "Very sacred spot." The way his small, dark eyes lingered on my calves made me want to squirm. "Actually, Mel, I thought now might be a good time for us to talk." Crap. Kristy started to walk away, but I hastily grabbed her arm.

"Actually, I'm not feeling great. Kind of want to lay down. Lady problems," I said in my best please forgive poor little me voice. "Maybe we can talk later?"

"Oh. Sure, be happy to," he said politely, but I could tell he wasn't happy about it. He exchanged glanced with Kristy, who gave me a look like I'd slapped her grandmother. I smiled at Brother Danny and tried to casually steer Kristy back down the hill.

"Why did you do that?" she asked at the bottom of the hill. "He only wanted to talk."

"Don't you think he's a little creepy?" I said.

"Mel, I know he's hard to understand at first, but just give him a chance, OK?"

"I think I understand pretty well."

Kristy pulled on my arm, turning me around to face her.

"Mel, please, just hear what he has to say. Look, I know you've been in hard place lately. I was unhappy for a long time too. Some days I didn't even want to go on living. But Brother Danny helped me, and he can help you too."

"I'm doing fine," I said as I yanked my arm away.

From inside the cinderblock bungalow came a long, piercing scream, tortured and raw. It was probably the worst sound I've ever heard in my life. For a moment I stood there, shocked, listening to that horrifying shriek until it stopped as abruptly as it had begun. I looked at Kristy, and immediately noticed she refused to meet my eyes.

"What was that, Kristy?"

She didn't answer. A moment later Brother Danny came out of the trees, his face twisted in fury. As soon as he saw us his expression straightened out. He nodded curtly, withdrawing a ring of keys from his pocket. It took three different keys to unlock the door, which he opened just wide enough to slip through and closed behind him. It was too dark inside to see anything.

I stared at Kristy until she looked back. Suddenly every odd feeling, every red flag since I'd arrived, played back in my head. The strange church service, the weird religious crap, the odd remarks.

Did you tell anyone you were coming?

"I think I should go," I said.

"Oh, Mel, it's fine, don't –"

I didn't care to hear what she had to say. I marched around the fellowship hall and straight down the street toward the trailer, not stopping to acknowledge anyone who greeted me as I passed. I noticed Kristy wasn't following me any longer, and turned to look behind me. I could see her talking to the man in the white baseball cap. I didn't stop to wait for her; I rushed straight inside and packed my belongings quickly, glad that I'd decided to travel light.

Kristy was waiting for me outside; her friend in the white baseball cap stood nearby, tucking something into his back pocket. I didn't say a word to her; just shoved my bags in the back seat and got in, locking the door immediately. I put my keys in the ignition and twisted. There was a whining sound. I tried again, and again, but the engine just whined a little. Suddenly, it dawned on me. The man in the white cap…

Kristy walked around to the driver's side door, motioned for me to put the window down. I shook my head. Kristy put her face inches from the glass and tried to talk through it.

"I don't think it's safe for you to leave. Come on out, you'll be OK."

"Fuck you!" I yelled back. Not the most eloquent rebuttal, but I meant it honestly.

"You can't stay in there all night," she said. The man in the white cap came forward, holding a claw hammer. I screamed and covered my face as the window exploded inward, showering me with glass that cut my exposed arms. A rough hand grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking me from the seat and onto the grass. The man in the white cap dropped his knee onto my chest, pinning me to the ground, and wrestled my arms down to my sides. Kristy forced my mouth open, evading my attempts to bite her fingers. Deftly, as though she had done this before, she shoved some pills down my throat and clamped my jaws shut. I struggled, kicked, tried not to swallow, but it was no use. The crushing weight on my chest kept me pinned. Finally, I couldn't stop myself from swallowing.

I realized there was something metal on my left. The claw hammer! I stopped struggling and went limp. Slowly, they relaxed their grip.

"They'll come looking for her," Kristy said.

"Ain't worried about it," the man said. "We'll be gone by then."

When their grip had eased, I pulled my right arm down and snatched the hammer, bringing it up and over into the man's skull. There was a horrible crack, and he collapsed onto me. I felt something warm and wet on my neck.

"Holy shit!" I heard Kristy scream. I heaved the heavy man off of my chest, stood up. I felt dizzy. At my feet, the man lay still, a red puddle growing under his head. People were running over; I could see Brother Danny watching from a distance.

"Mel, what did you do?" Kristy held her hand over her mouth. I screamed something I don't remember; might not even have been words. I started to run to the other end of the street, toward the dirt road that ran back to civilization. I didn't give any thought to how I would walk all those miles, or whether I even knew the way. My limbs acted on their own, motivated by adrenaline and pure animal panic. Whatever they'd given me was strong; my limbs felt heavy, my vision blurred. I was dimly aware that I wasn't quite running straight. Until the moment I felt strong hands lifting me, I didn't realize I had fallen down.

When I woke up, groggy and aching, I was sitting on cold concrete floor, my back against some hard, rough surface. My wrists were tied, secured by a tightly-knotted nylon cord to a hook somewhere above my head; my legs were bound at the ankles. I took in the details of the room as it coalesced into focus. The walls were grey and undecorated; the room itself was bare except for some scattered furniture: a couch, a table and two chairs. Across from me was a door locked with three deadbolts; to my right was a short hallway which terminated in another closed door. I realized I must be in that cinderblock bungalow. A little light came from a dim lamp in the corner beside a bare mattress. As I moved to look around, a dark shape rose off the couch and stepped into the light. It was Father Danny.

I expected him to look angry or vengeful, but instead, his face reflected concern.

"Are you OK, Mel? You don't look injured, except for the cuts on your arms, but I didn't want to examine you too closely. Out of respect for your modesty, you know."

It was such a bizarre thing to hear, for a moment I wondered if I were dreaming or hallucinating. I looked at my arms, saw they were wrapped in thick gauze bandages; more than necessary the shallow cuts I'd received.

"Hey, it's OK," he said, as if comforting a small child, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"People know I'm here," I said.

"That's OK, Mel. You're safe here. God told me he was bringing you here, before you ever arrived. I think we need each other, see. Kristy told about what you've been through. Losing your child, your husband. I'm sorry you had to go through all that. I understand that kind of loss, you know. We all do; we've all been through things. Most of us had nothing to live for until we came to Brokenhead. But God broke our pride, showed us how much we needed him – what he could do for us. And we knew we could never leave. We knew there was nothing else for us in the world."

Brother Danny's beady black eyes looked right into mine. His face was filled with a kind of manic excitement. My mind was like mush; I couldn't think of anything to say.

"It's down to God's plan that you're here. He brought us together. Every man needs a wife; a help-meet. And every woman needs a husband. That's how God meant things to work. We can't be saved if we don't follow God's designs. That's why you and I need each other, you see? We can help save each other."

Suddenly, like the flipping of a switch, the preacher's expression changed from friendly excitement to cold disgust.

"It's not easy, you know, to do what God asks. Sometimes he has to be very hard on us. Like my wife, my old wife. She wasn't the woman God needed her to be. If you're weak… if you can't do what's required… God will cast you out." For a moment he looked at me without speaking.

"Don't you see what I'm offering you?" he said at last. "There's still time for you, but you'll never have this chance again. You can come with us. All that pain, all that sadness, can be gone forever. All you've got to do is submit, and you can come with me to paradise."

"You're crazy," I said. Brother Danny's face darkened.

"Once you see the comet, you'll know. Then you'll have to serve him."

"No," I said. The next instant, his open palm whipped across my face, knocking me dizzy. From behind the door in the hall came a hoarse, croaking yell. The door shook as though someone were trying to break it down. Brother Danny reached for an oversized wrench that lay on the table and smacked it three times against a copper pipe running down the wall. At the sound of that, the shouting from behind the door stopped. Brother Danny tossed the wrench back on the table and returned, pointing his finger inches away from my face.

"You don't say that word to me," he said. "We'll make sure of that. Now come on, it's nearly time."

I was too weak to prevent him from shoving more pills into my mouth. After forcing me to swallow them, he cut the cords around my ankles with a little knife he pulled from his pocked. He reached over my head and untied the nylon cord from its hook, wrapping it around his hand like a dog leash.

"Get up," he said. Even in my foggy state, I realized that unless I left this dungeon, there would be no escape. I struggled shakily to my feet. The drugs must still have been working.

Brother Danny pulled me along by the arm, leading me towards the path up the hill. As we turned around the cinderblock bungalow, I saw a shape leaning against the wall – although the light was dim, there was no mistaking the sight of legs poking out from under a brown tarp.

I killed someone, I remembered. Holy shit, I killed someone.

I moved slowly and unsteadily up the hill, but at last my feet found level ground and I stepped out into the clearing. In the center was a tall bonfire; its red ashes rose into the night air, going out right above the treeline. A crowd was gathered, singing hymns and waving their hands over their heads. It was like some dark parody of a church revival. Brother Danny dragged me behind him as he walked into the midst of the crowd. I heard Kristy's voice behind me.

"Hi Mel," she said sheepishly. I'm sorry about what happened. I'm glad you decided to join us, though."

"Hey there!" Brother Danny shouted, calling for attention. The singing stopped. "Tonight's the night we leave this rotten, fallen world and go to our true home! I know we've all worked very hard to prepare our souls for this journey! Rejoice! Praise God! Tonight we will be with him in paradise!"

"Praise God! Praise God! Hallelujah!" the worshipers echoed, the sound leaping over the hills and shaking the leaves in the trees. Some people started dancing; others knelt on the grass, hands folded in prayer. Brother Danny took me over to a tree at the edge of the clearing and tied my cord securely to a limb, about as long as an arm and a little thinner, over my head.

"There's still time," he said. The look in his eyes was strange, almost pleading. I didn't answer.

As the night went on, the songs changed. At first, they had sounded like the hymns you might hear in any church, but now there was no melody, or even what you'd call singing. Brother Danny led them in a kind of chant, harsh and percussive, each syllable called in perfect unison. What they were saying, I had no idea.

In my drugged state, it was hard to stand upright for so long. I hung by my arms, my body sinking to the ground, my muscles craving relaxation. I heard a snap above me, and suddenly my mind was more alert than it had been in hours. The branch I'd been tied to had split a little from my weight; it looked rotten. I looked around, terrified; no one seemed to have noticed. I looked around for Brother Danny, but couldn't see him anywhere.

Maybe there is a God, I thought.

I reached up, hoping to pull myself up, but succeeded only in breaking off a stick; the broken end was like a sharp point that scratched my face as my hand recoiled back. I bent all my concentration on the branch above my head, straightening up and letting myself drop again. There was a ripping sound, and the branch broke completely. Unable to stop myself, I fell to the ground.

Before I could think what to do next, Brother Danny stood over me with an enraged expression on his face. He bent down and began to lift me to my feet. I flailed desperately and drove the sharp stick into the flesh between his neck and shoulder. His dark little eyes bulged in surprise before he bellowed in rage and wrapped his thick fingers around my neck.

"Little fucking ingrate!"

I grabbed at his clothes, tried to kick, to scratch at his face, but I was too weak. Behind him, in the clearing, I saw his disciples raising their hands in rapture toward a comet streaking across the sky. It seemed to get brighter and larger as I watched. Brother Danny's hands squeezed. The whole clearing seemed to glow like a bright white sun as my vision blurred and I lost consciousness.

I woke up in the clearing, in the exact same spot. It was still mostly dark, that half-light time just before dawn breaks over the horizon. The memory of what had happened slowly returned to my mind. I looked around, saw I was alone. With an effort I sat up and saw a broken stick, stained on one end, laying by my feet. The clearing was totally empty. The logs from the bonfire were scattered as though they had been knocked over. That and a few patches of trampled grass were all that was left from the previous night.

Shakily, I got to my feet. The only sounds were the wind and singing birds. I discovered I could walk alright if I went slowly, so I made my way back down the hill, listening for footsteps or voices as I went. I came to the cinderblock bungalow, and found the tarpaulin-covered object still there. With a lump in my throat I pulled back the tarp; it was the man with the white cap, as I'd feared. My disgust turned to hope when I saw something hanging from his belt… car keys! I pulled them away and covered his body again, turning to walk around the fellowship hall, when I heard a banging noise, like someone pounding on a wall.

As desperate as I was to finally leave Brokenhead, I felt compelled to go back into that dungeon. I couldn't leave the preacher's other prisoner abandoned here. I examined the tools that leaned by the door, picked up a rusty old axe. I raised the axe over my head and brought it down just above the doorknob. It made little more than a dent; howling came from inside. After a few more tries, I felt the door weaken until at last I broke through and pushed the splintering door away from the doorjamb. Inside, it was as it had been last night. The light beside the old mattress was still on.

Sounds were still coming from the door in the hall, a weird mix of crying and hooting.

"Hello?" I called. "Back away from the door, I'm gonna get you out."

Again I raised the axe. This time it was easier; either the door was weaker or I was better at hitting things with axes. When the door was broken off the lock entirely, I used the head of the axe to push it open and looked inside. At that moment, something naked, pale, and skeletally thin rushed through the open door, knocking me backwards. I saw wild eyes and a snarling mouth under long, matted hair. The fingernails were long and curling; the whole thing stank of sweat, filth, and human waste. The wild creature rushed paste me, alternately screaming and babbling as it dashed out of the cinderblock bungalow too quickly for me to follow.

To me, that was the worst thing. Not what Kristy had become, or what Brother Danny had done. Not even where all the people had gone. Am I really supposed to believe that a comet took them away? No, what really broke me, what I still see every night when I lie down in the dark, is what I found in that cinderblock bungalow. I don't think Brother Danny's wife was really dead.

I didn't see another soul as I left Brokenhead, driving away in a pickup truck that wasn't mine. And now, here I am. The media reports covered it as a missing persons case; a whole commune of religious fruitcakes that just went missing, leaving their earthly possessions and a dead body behind them. The body of a man I killed. Now that you know what happened, you tell me: what am I supposed to tell the police? What will they do if they don't believe what I tell them?

Please keep this email between us. Maybe someday soon I'll be brave enough to go to the cops, but I'm not right now. I feel like I escaped from hell, and I'm not looking to to go back.

Please take care of yourself, and give Mom a hug for me.

Mel

The 'woe is me' intro drags on too long. Or rather, after reading further, that's just the tone of pretty much the whole entry. That's not a particularly fun read. It's hard to like a character who is just throwing a one man pity party without any sort of conviction or other redeeming quality for the reader to connect with. It isn't until near the very end, the bit about being loyal to a fault, that we're actually given anything other than 'woe is me, my life sucks' from this guy, and that is far too late to make me care about him.

The short paragraphs one after another, especially the single line ones, make for a choppy read. Doing that once or twice throughout a story of this length for the sake of dramatic emphasis can work well, but having tons of single line, non-dialogue paragraphs that don't have any significant weight screws with the flow of reading. It's better to try for at least a few sentences per paragraph, and to group things together so that all the relevant bits of one train of thought or sequence of actions are together, for the sake of better flow throughout the story.

Obsessing over blood gets tedious, and in places the word itself is used frequently enough to be repetitive. There's a lot of good imagery here, but easily half of it is just talking about blood blood blood. It would've been nice to get something else, or at the very least to cut that down; just noting once or twice that there are blood and bodies everywhere is enough to set the scene, no need to say it a dozen times.

This reads like the climactic scene of a story, but without all the build up and worldbuilding information to give it weight and proper context. By the end of the story I had no idea who these people truly were or what their relationship was or why it ought to matter for the world. There is some ephemeral and presumably evil "they" (including someone named Ashild) who use Reid as a weapon and are jerks, then there's Issa opposing them and she's some kind of princess apparently. That's not even close to enough information to make this encounter feel important, or to make a reader care about the outcome, so what was supposed to be a big powerful moment of the protagonist flipping sides lacked the weight a climax ought to have.

Overall this entry was just okay. Despite the flaws noted above, it did tell a coherent story and it managed to more or less fulfill the prompt by the end of the events. Those two things are the core of the contest, so at least you've got that down.

Nice descriptive language throughout the entry. My personal favorite was this: "I burst out of the Subway onto 8th Avenue with my balls in my throat and the Devil itself on my heels."

I'm struggling to see how the prompt was fulfilled. I'm assuming it's maybe the fact that this guy is running through New York City without any effort to conceal the supernatural, or maybe this Hargar thing is the rare event, but it's very unclear and that's not good.

There's a lot of cool stuff mentioned for worldbuilding purposes, but by the end of the story I was left with more questions than answers. I'm talking about things like the Butcher of Sand Creek: how the hell did it get a name like that, why is it so powerful, how is just its breath potent enough to threaten to kill millions of people (and by what means would this death occur), and why is it willing to perform such feats of magical prowess for just some body parts? Same goes for, well, basically all the fantasy elements introduced. This story gives a nice surface level look at stuff, but not enough to really understand what's going on at a deeper level.

Speaking of questions left unanswered, here are two more: what did the narrator do to earn this curse, and did the Butcher's breath actually do anything? For the latter it makes sense that we don't get an answer, because the narrator dies before any effects would be known, but it's still kind of a bummer that it's left unanswered. Not knowing how the curse was earned is a bigger issue though, because that's the impetus to the whole story and it's left an utter mystery. It's hard to know how important the events of the story are without understanding the basis for them, and as such the ending doesn't feel very impactful.

Overall I did like reading this entry, because the writing was engaging, but all those nagging unanswered questions leave me unsatisfied. Leaving me wanting more is not the worst thing in the world, because it means I liked what was there, but for the sake of a contest like this that isn't ideal.

The intro really threw me off at first. It seems like the narrator is talking to the reader, then it goes to letters, which is an odd transition in and of itself. The setup given in the letter to the daughters, telling them that they're receiving a memoir, should have come before the introductory paragraph if it was meant to be part of it, as I believe was the intent. Regardless, then it goes right into flashback stuff from the perspective of the cowherd, which is disorienting coming right after the setup of "hey daughters, here's a memoir to explain things." Weaver wouldn't know his perspective on events, so why are the events told from his perspective? Very odd choice.

The characters are amusing and have enough personality to relate to. I like that we get a glimpse of the bitter older lady before seeing that dorky young princess full of feels, and it made me want to keep reading to see how she got there. Also, the cowherd's mind reading power felt kind of pointless. It was a neat gimmick at first, but it didn't really add anything to the story that couldn't have been accomplished without the special power. I get that the setting has some fantastical stuff presented in it so the telepathy thing doesn't feel out of place necessarily, it just doesn't feel like it ever gets used in any meaningful fashion because the guy was unwilling to admit to having it. Ideally it could have been used in the scene where they meet after she has twins, because then it would have contributed meaningfully to the princess' angst about the whole thing and give some more depth to their mutual resentment.

The ending was fairly disappointing. I don't mean that it was terrible or that it didn't wrap up the story, it just felt like a lazy way to end this tale of a long relationship filled with negativity. While they did not make up and forgive each other, the whole thing of reaching some kind of understanding undermines a lot of the setup for what felt like it should be a downer ending, like the opening sentences: "Living forever is a curse, is a cross. Happily ever after is a hateful thing." The cowherd joining the princess in suicide while making a cutesy romantic remark while they hold hands. It's a bittersweet ending, but the sweetness feels kind of forced. I would have preferred to see Weaver just jump in the river herself without the cowherd joining her, because this whole symbolic being together in the end thing does not feel fitting with the rest of the story.

Overall I'd say it was a good entry despite the criticisms. There were a few typos, but nothing heinous. The worldbuilding was presented in a very matter of fact and chill way that didn't dwell on any unnecessary details, which is nice for a story that isn't supposed to be very much about the fantastical elements of the world (aside from immortality). The characters were what really carried it through though, particularly Weaver making good on the intro's promise of explaining how "happily ever after" is bullshit. I've always enjoyed stories that show the logical downsides to immortality, and this works well in that regard (up until the ending).

Pretty weak opener. Joining the protagonist at the end of a long day when it's time to rest feels like we're missing out on the action of the story. It doesn't take long to explain what's going on though, so it isn't a horrible flaw, just a minor one.

First impression of Drake is cocky jerk, and that doesn't really improve throughout the entry. I think you might have been going for a jerk with a heart of gold type thing, the lovable rogue archetype, but it never got there for me. The jerk move at the end of demanding the selkie's seal skin, after thinking about how possessing it binds the selkie to him, was not endearing and felt kind of creepy tbh. The dubious kindness of stripping Ronan of his weapons and sending him away did not balance out the other things that read as jerk behavior.

The encounter with the bandits didn't feel particularly great. Could have done with more tension and drama instead of being a quickly handled fight. Letting the kid go also felt like a very stupid move: who's to say he won't just head right back to the bandits and tell them where Drake is and get the whole bandit group after him for killing one of their dudes? Very iffy decision for a guy who's supposedly great at looking out for number one.

I just don't understand what in the hell Miren the selkie is thinking here. Like there's this guy who just ogled her dancing, and then she saw him fight some dudes and kill one... and she's randomly comfortable enough with him to give her seal skin away??? I mean, okay, being ogled is a good sign for physical interest, that's fair, but how is that or seeing Drake kill a dude a good motivation for trusting the guy? She basically just enslaved herself to a stranger because, what, the land calls to her and she cannot possibly bear to live another moment in the sea? It feels like she exists just as a plot device to fulfill the prompt and act as a reward for Drake at the end of the story. She could have used some actual character development to make this decision not so very hard to comprehend.

The story structure was rather weird, and I'm having a hard time deciding whether or not this actually constitutes a complete story. It feels like parts of two separate stories shoved unceremoniously together. The bandit things and the selkie things feel like they have no relation to one another, and that's not good. The story starts with Drake running from bandits, and the end point of that plot thread is that he killed a dude and let another one live, but that is far from a proper conclusion to having a whole bandit group pursuing him. The selkie stuff just comes out of nowhere with zero relation to the bandit things, and the end point of that plot thread is the beginning of something, not a conclusion, like the end of the first chapter of a novel. Things happen, but nothing really feels resolved, so it's hard to call this a complete story. Extending it to include some finality with the bandit stuff, whether that be getting far enough away from them that they're no longer a concern or dealing with the leader, would have been ideal to give a proper ending to wrap things up.

Overall I can't say I'm fond of this one. The writing is fine from a technical standpoint, but other than that I've got issues of varying severity with basically everything in the entry.

The intro doesn't really do anything to hook the reader, and the constant "woe is me" from the narrator is not something that makes me care about this character. It went on so long that I started hoping it would turn into a dark comedy where the reader is supposed to laugh at his suffering, but that did not happen. All the character development given by the middle of the story is that this guy has had a crap life and he's angsty about it. This doesn't make me pity or sympathize with the character, it makes me want more bad things to happen to him.

The appearance of the Quillin feels like a deus ex machina. There is no real challenge or struggle to reach this goal, because sitting in a park angsting about your life is not a real narrative struggle, and it's just randomly handed to the character. He did nothing to earn it, he just happened to be in the right place at the right time. There is no emotional weight to the story because it's just a series of poor luck that the reader is given no reason care about and then some supernatural luck to turn things around.

This entry was fairly well written from a technical standpoint, only a few obvious typos, and the end bit was a decent way to show Chaoxiang's luck had turned around. Aside from that though, there's not much positive I can say.

Nice descriptive language at the start and throughout. It's not a particularly compelling hook, but the description and the bard's woes were enough to keep me engaged. Considering that the story within a story was truly the meat of the entry, I'd have to say the first section felt a bit too long. Or perhaps that was a product of it being a series of fat paragraphs in succession? Either way, trimming some of the fat would have been a good idea.

Having more than one speaker talk in a single paragraph is a grammatical no-no. It often makes it annoying to figure out who is speaking at a given moment. It wasn't awfully confusing in this entry, but still, don't do it.

I like the concept of the noble bardic tale being contrasted by the real story. However, the way it was presented felt a little hamfisted. This down on his luck bard just so happening to be in the right pub and just so happening to adore this one song enough to lead with it and then just so happening to get called over by Garth felt kind of cheap. It was immediately obvious to me who this guy was, even before he said a single word, and that made the rest of the entry pretty predictable up to and including the very end. However, the real story was delivered in an engaging narrative voice, and both Aldus and Garth were interesting characters, so I didn't mind being pulled along by the nose.

Overall I enjoyed this entry. Predictable though it was, it was a fun read. The ending was pretty open ended, but it felt like enough of a conclusion to the tale of Garth Ungol that it worked well even though I tend not to be so fond of endings that are in fact just new beginnings for the protagonist (Aldus in this case).

So I did some research on this to see if it really fulfilled the prompt. Technically speaking, a red supermoon (which is just a lunar eclipse when the moon is at the point of its orbit closest to Earth) is pretty rare, so that's a suitably rare event. However, while the entry was allowed because we're pretty loose with these things, it really doesn't feel like it fulfills the spirit of the prompt. A rare event happens, but it just seems like a casual aside to get it out of the way rather than something the entry "revolves around", to quote the prompt itself.

I'm not going to pretend to be a poetry expert or even poetry fan here. Reading this wasn't painful, which is basically my personal metric for bad poetry, so kudos. Beyond that, I defer to others to say meaningful things about the structure and whatnot of this poem.

The ending was pretty disappointing though, not gonna lie. It feels like one of those shock twist endings that has no build up or anything, just meant to surprise the reader for a cheap reaction. Like is the hanging supposed to be symbolism for something I'm missing, or did I miss some kind of hint at it elsewhere? I dunno. What I can say is that this is the other side of things that makes me dislike poetry in general: you did fine on the making it not choppy and horrible to read, but the actual content within the not-awful form just feels like random crap thrown at a wall to me. It doesn't evoke any emotion, it doesn't make me think anything other than "okay, that happened," and it doesn't tell any sort of coherent story. It feels like a lot of words used to say nothing much, and as such I didn't really end up with a positive opinion on this piece.

The writing oddities here are very distracting. Consider this bit, for example: "...her hair was so pale blonde it could have been considered white just as her clothes were and her skin very milky." This could use a comma somewhere in there to separate the description of hair from talk of clothes and skin, leading from one to the other with 'just as' is an odd phrasing choice, and calling something just 'milky' evoked imagery of being drenched in milk rather than being white. There are similar grammatical and word choice issues throughout the entry that make me stop and parse things out to figure out what's actually being said, and that's a major hindrance on the reading experience.

The italicized text to denote the telepathic communication is good, but it was inconsistent and got messed up in a few places. Always look through the coding of any piece of writing to make sure nothing is broken or missing before you submit it.

This story dragged on pretty badly, and I'm not just talking about the word count. There were a good deal of pointless things that added nothing to the plot. Yeriel existing as more than a presence on a phone but less than an actually fleshed out character, the encounter with the dogs, and getting clothes and such to disguise Aiguo all felt like things that could have been cut out without hampering the plot.

The characters were rather flat, and that made it hard to care about them. As noted above, Yeriel was particularly bad; Yan barely even thought of her, and her only known characteristics were physical attractiveness and concern for Yan. I got a generic anime protagonist vibe from Yan, and that's not a very compelling character. The fox dude was one dimensional. The most interesting of the lot was Aiguo, and the depth of his character wasn't very well explored or utilized. All of that combined to make the plot not feel particularly important, because it's hard to care about the events when you don't care about the characters.

I finished reading this entry without any emotional reaction whatsoever. The whole Moon Rabbit and supernatural fox-people thing was interesting, but the lack of much worldbuilding to take it past a surface level was mildly disappointing. I got a lot of anime vibes from this entry, and I think it'd make a pretty good story in such a format with the interesting visuals presented and the ability to slowly roll out some worldbuilding and character development along with the plot events unfolding, but this written version just didn't do it for me.

Starting off a story with nameless and personality-free characters is not a good way to get a reader hooked. It gives them absolutely nothing to care about and nobody to connect to. You don't even give them names until the very end, and even then they're very flat characters and the reader has no reason to empathize with their plight or care about the little twist ending. Giving some character development at the beginning would have been a good idea.

As for the plot, well... I don't mean to be rude here, but I'm going to quote your entry to summarize my thoughts: "logic did not exist in this scenario". I just can't deal with how absolutely wrong and goofy this whole thing is. I'm no expert on the science of stars, but even with my layman knowledge I could not get past how silly it was. Not only is the very idea of two stars (because they're only suns if they have planets orbiting them and there was no mention of planets) basically mating and turning a meteorite into a star absurd on multiple levels, but the timescale is just so utterly broken. The formation of a star takes millions of years, and even if I were to accept the premise of a new star being formed like this then I can't even fathom that the process of transferring all the energy and matter to make a new one could happen in a few hours at most. I try hard to suspend my disbelief in order to accept story premises, but this one broke me and I could not manage to even sort of enjoy it while I was busy frowning at the basic concept.

Aside from that, I also had a bunch of other questions about how this could even possibly work that added up to leave me feeling rather negatively about this entry. How would these scientists know this is a once in a millennia event? Estimates for total number of stars in the universe is about one sextillion (that's a one followed by 21 zeros), and even if they were just talking about the event of a meteorite flying between the stars of a binary system then I feel like their estimate is still nonsense, because it's certainly impossible to know how many meteors are flying around in space. Also, why were they watching this event with such excitement if they didn't know it was going to be exactly this? A rock flying between two stars isn't anything that couldn't be simulated on a computer with a high degree of accuracy. Oh, and how were they watching it? This satellite (which is the wrong term for this probe, satellites are things in orbit around a planet/moon) would have to be far beyond the edge of our solar system to find this spectacle of a binary star system, and we are just now in real life getting to the point of having exploratory probes launched by NASA that can make it into interstellar space and remain in communication with us. Nothing was given in this entry to make it seem like this was in the distant future, nor was there any worldbuilding at all in fact, but I have to assume it is for such a satellite to even be capable of existing. Another big question: how is there this fancy interstellar probe but it is only being looked at by two dudes and only hooked up to a single laptop? That's not at all how space exploration probes work, and it leads to an ending that has no emotional weight due to the characters being uninteresting.

The only other suggestion I have for improvement for this particular piece is that it could have been well served by worldbuilding to set it up as a sci-fi setting so as to make the impossible more plausible; making it seem like it's the regular world in roughly modern day with nothing to say otherwise made it very easy for my suspension of disbelief to be shattered. Perhaps others who have fewer personal problems with scientific inaccuracy will find this story more agreeable than I did.

First reaction: oh god not another poem. Second reaction: what the fuck is a brickbat?

For real, I'd never heard of a brickbat and had to look it up. To be more serious though, I just don't have much to say so I'm just being goofy. Didn't hate it, didn't love it, and that's nearly the highest praise I can ever manage to give poetry tbh. Props for presenting an actual narrative, and the repetition of words was used sparingly enough to be good emphasis rather than irritating. The couple bits of criticism I can offer are that the combination of singular quotation marks and italics to denote speech felt like overkill, just the quotation marks were probably enough, and bolding those few words felt unnecessary.

Hopefully people who actually enjoy poetry will be doing reviews as well so you can get something more substantial, because this is a pretty shit review.

When you set up a story as something being written to another character, you need to be careful to phrase things in a logical way that fits that format. The paragraph that starts with "Last time we talked" doesn't feel right for this kind of thing. It seems like the writer is relaying information the recipient already knows, but in expository fashion for the convenience of those reading this entry. Something as simple as an aside mention of "I didn't tell you this at the time, but..." and giving reasons would have been a good way to slip them into the narrative, whereas the way you did it here it sounds like stuff that this person she was talking to at the time ought to have already known.

Dialogue is also tricky in a story framed as a written letter. It can work, but you need to give some nods to it being a letter rather than just writing it out like a first person, past tense narrative. Summarizing non-key conversations would be a great way to accomplish this. For example, the conversation with Kristy that first night in the trailer, about the comet and Brother Danny's "contact" would have been great material for a summary presentation with just the question about telling anyone she was coming to Brokenhead written in quotation marks for special emphasis. Doing that sort of thing and avoiding long dialogue exchanges in general will help make the letter format feel more plausible as presented.

Overall I liked this entry, though I'm not big into horror type stories in general. The narrative voice was good and the slowly growing creep-factor suited the story very well. Kudos for showing rather than telling for two key moments: the hospital dream and Brother Danny's wife running away. Just presenting the events and letting the reader come to their own conclusion as to what happened is a fantastic way to draw the reader into the story. One other minor flaw of note was that the ending was a little too open-ended for my taste, and I would have preferred something slightly more concrete like Mel saying she's definitely going to talk to the cops right after sending the email, but leaving the fates of the Fellowship and Danny's imprisoned wife and even Mel herself up in the air was fine.