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quazartranslates · 3 years

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Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH90

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

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Chapter 90: Castle Cry (XVII)

With the deepening of the plot, the fire in the old castle didn't look like an ordinary fire accident anymore. Since the involvement of the devil worship, the situation had become more and more complicated.

Dr. Lu also suspected Johann, the male owner of the castle, and guessed whether he sacrificed his wife to the Devil. However, Su He put forward an objection: "It should not be wrong that the person making the sacrifice was Mrs. Sarah. She has the best motive and the source of the sacrifice is also her. The current offerings include her hair, teeth, and eyeballs. The remaining three may also be integral parts of her body, or they may be related to her. I suggest finding these things before the final battle, as they’re related to the completion of the task."

"That she sacrificed to the Devil was for the sake of what? To pray for yourself to get pregnant, or to pray for your child to come back from the dead?" Dr. Lu asked again.

Qi Leren shook his head: "I don't think so."

Judging from the phantoms he has seen so far, the crazy lady loved her child, but she loved her husband more. The trigger of the miscarriage made her inherited mental illness break out, and her mental problems aggravated her love and madness. As Nina said, she suspected that her husband was unfaithful to her. And the source of this suspicion... I'm afraid was that woman named Adeline.

According to Johann's diary, Mrs. Sarah and Adeline should have been friends or relatives who grew up together since childhood, they were not blood-related sisters, but Adeline had died before they came to China.

Judging from the situation with Nan Lu, who seems to be possessed by the crazy lady, she seemed to be jealous of Adeline and thought that she was being haunted…

"There are six sacrifices. Why that number?" Dr. Lu asked Su He.

"Well... Probably because in the Nightmare World, 6 is the number representing the Devils." Su He said quietly, "Numbers are very interesting in the Nightmare World. Many numbers have special meanings. For example, 4 stands for luck and 7 stands for 'I love you'. If you want to express your confession to an NPC, you can send her seven red roses, and 77 will also do."

"It’s a few roses less expensive than on earth," Dr. Lu spat and followed Su He up the stairs.

"Still not leaving?" The two people who had stepped up the stairs to look for the nursery on the third floor found that Qi Leren was still in a daze.

Qi Leren made a noise in answer, recovered from his meditative state, and continued to go up.

Maybe there would be more clues for him later.

The lay-out of the third floor was similar to that of the second floor, and the number of rooms was not far behind. Qi Leren singled Dr. Lu out for the first time: "It's time to play your role. Feel which room is the baby room."

Dr. Lu angrily said, "Do you think I am a B-ultrasound probe?! How do I know which one before opening the door!"

"You’re not a small expert in finding things," Qi Leren inclined his gaze.

Dr. Lu snorted and took the keys to try the door. Qi Leren and Su He studied the blood on the ground. Two blood stains spread from the stairs to the corridor on the third floor, and dragged all the way to the depths of the corridor. This terrible blood was naturally from the torn-in-half Xiao Hong, and it looked terrible.

"Are we going to follow it?" Qi Leren asked Su He.

Su He shook his head slowly. "Don't worry. I think that direction should be the last boss battle."

"Eh?" Qi Leren made a voice of doubt. "It can’t happen there."

Su He smiled and pointed over his head: "To be precise, it’s above."

"Above," Qi Leren looked up and looked at the ceiling, suddenly saying, "You mean the garden on the roof?"

"Well, there should be a staircase at the end of the corridor leading to the garden at the top of the castle. The blood can be said to show us the way, and maybe we will meet the dog, so let's collect some clues, lest the completion be too low," Su He said steadily.

Qi Leren nodded hard. The biggest advantage of having Su He was that he could stop thinking. His IQ could only be said to be average. It was really painful to rack one's brains for the task. Now he had a plug-in with him, which made him feel a lot easier. He just needed to go up and work hard when it was needed... Although it was really "high-level".

Unfortunately, when Dr. Lu opened the door, a skeleton dressed as a maid was found in one of the rooms, and he was so scared that he was crying and screaming. Qi Leren had no choice but to come forward to escort him. As the mascot to raise his lucky value, Dr. Lu could never afford to lose.

Dr. Lu squatted in the corner sadly and waited for Qi Leren to deal with the skeleton. Su He looked at him condescendingly, suddenly sighed and said seriously, "Although luck is important sometimes, luck alone is not enough."

Dr. Lu mumbled something twice and whispered, "I know, but I just can't get past that hurdle... No matter what difficult things I encounter, from small to large, I’ll always solve them inexplicably and go smoothly... I..."

Su He squatted down with him and patted him on the shoulder kindly: "I understand that it’s not easy to change who you’ve been for the past twenty years. The choice is whether you change quickly or die quickly."

Dr. Lu glanced at him begrudgingly and felt that he was covered with dead flags.

"Okay!" Three or two hits solved the skeleton. Qi Leren shouted ahead. They stood up. Dr. Lu continued to open the doors. This time, he finally found the right room.

The dusty door was opened, and the window facing the door was also sealed with wooden bars. The window was already broken a long time ago. The rain and water outside the window were blown into the room with the wind. Lightning lit up this small room from time to time, and dolls of all sizes were everywhere in every corner. They were burnt to pieces, had soaked in the moisture, and had mildewed and blackened, ghostly in the pale light.

Qi Leren felt uncomfortable as soon as he stepped into the room. The demon power here was much stronger than that in the piano room. He looked around the room and finally stopped before walking to the baby cradle.

It's not that he felt anything, but that the doll held by the crazy lady in the basement was impressed upon him, and the one in the cradle was exactly the same as the one in her arms.

"You see..." Qi Leren was inviting the two people to see, and suddenly there was a deafening slam of the door behind him - slamming on something hard.

Qi Leren looked back, and Su He stood by the door, and the walking stick in his hand had just gotten stuck in the door, preventing the door from closing.

Su He smiled helplessly: "No matter what kind of task, the law is always the same... Be careful, these dolls are going to be resurrected."

His voice had just fallen when the atmosphere in the nursery suddenly changed. The giggling of children came from every corner. A few palm-sized dolls jumped on the ground like mice, and flashed by in the thunder and lightning outside the window, hiding in the doll pile.

Qi Leren's hand holding the dagger tightened. He stuck to the wall and looked at the high and low dolls in the room.

They were laughing and moving. These toys made by people were endowed with evil life by the Devil’s power, and could come at them at any time!

"Ah--" the doll in the cradle let out a shrill scream, rolled over and rolled down the cradle, and jumped into the doll pile to hide.

Just like a call to arms, the dolls who had been moving only slightly giggled in unison and rushed at them!

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Editor’s Notes: Keep that meaning of the number seven in mind, friends ;)

Aaaand we’re back to regular updates! A small change though: I’m going to be slowing updates down to once every two days rather than every day, as my new semester began this past week and is already looking to be more intensive than my previous one. (Feel free to follow me on my twitter if you would like to see me occassionally yelling in frustration over dead languages and homophobic historians.) This new schedule may shift either way (ie. more or less often) once I get a better feel for how things will be; I’ll keep you updated.

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#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

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fr-perry · 3 years

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Hi Fr. Perry, I have a general uneasiness with my apartment dwelling. In particular, I was praying a Rosary a few nights ago before bed and I kept hearing odd noises each time I started on a decade. The noises happened like they were happening either in my living room or right outside my front door. The noises sounded like some sort of creature shuffling and possibly 'examining' my living space for a way in. I say 'creature' because the entity gave me a 'heavy' feeling, if that makes any sense at all. I was so scared that I couldn't finish or even say the St. Michael prayer. (I was fully conscious when this happened, and I don't consume any mind-altering substances or have any mental disabilities that would make me prone to hearing things.)

I'm so afraid that I sometimes sleep on my boyfriend's couch at his place because I don't want to suffer from a major physical or spiritual attack where I live. Do you have any recommendations?

Are you sure you don't have a pest problem? I grew up on a farm and so we constantly had mice. I can remember the sound of them being in the ceiling was like someone stomping. Sometimes a dark and scary feeling can just be paranoia. If it continues and you find no other possible reason why it could be happening, that's when you would seek help from the Church. Good luck!

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themousefromfantasyland · 3 years

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The Nutcracker and the Mouse King (4/14)

A classic Christmas fairy tale

Told by E.T.A. Hoffman

Chapter Four: Wonders Upon Wonders

In the sitting-room of the Doctor's house, just as you enter the room, there stands on the left hand, close against the wall, a high glass-case, in which the children preserve all the beautiful things which are given to them every year. Louise was quite a little girl when her father had the case made by a skilful joiner, who set in it such large, clear panes of glass, and arranged all the parts so well together, that every thing looked much brighter and handsomer when on its shelves than when it was held in the hands. On the upper shelf, which Marie and Fritz were unable to reach, stood all Godfather Drosselmeier's curious machines. Immediately belowthis was a shelf for the picture-books; the two lower shelves Marie and Fritz filled up as they pleased, but it always happened that Marie used the lower one as a house for her dolls, while Fritz, on the contrary, cantoned his troops in the one above.

And so it happened to-day, for while Fritz set his hussars in order above, Marie, having laid Miss Trutchen aside, and having installed the new and sweetly dressed doll in her best furnished chamber below, had invited herself to tea with her. I have said that the chamber was well furnished, and it is true; here was a nice chintz sofa and several tiny chairs, there stood a tea-table, but above all, there was a clean, white little bed for her doll to repose upon. All these things were arranged in one corner of the glass case, the sides of which were hung with gay pictures, and it will readily be supposed, that in such a chamber the new doll, Miss Clara, must have found herself very comfortable.

It was now late in the evening, and night, indeed, was close at hand, and Godfather Drosselmeier had long since gone home, yet still the children could not leave the glass-case, although their mother repeatedly told them that it was high time to go to bed. "It is true," cried Fritz at last; "the poor fellows (meaning his hussars) would like to get a little rest, and as long as I am here, not one of them will dare to nod—I know that."

With these words he went up to bed, but Marie begged very hard, "Only leave me here a little while, dear mother. I have two or three things to attend to, and when they are done I will go immediately to bed." Marie was a very good and sensible child, and therefore her mother could leave her alone with her play-things without anxiety. But for fear she might become so much interested in her new doll and other presents as to forget the lights which burned around the glass case, her mother blew them all out, and left only the lamp which hung clown from the ceiling in the middle of the chamber, and which diffused a soft, pleasant light.

"Come in soon, dear Marie, or you will not be up in time to-morrow morning," called her mother, as she went up to bed. There was something Marie had at heart to do, which she had not told her mother, though she knew not the reason why; and as soon as she found herself alone she went quickly about it. She still carried in her arms the wounded Nutcracker, rolled up in her pocket handkerchief. Now she laid him carefully upon the table, unrolled the handkerchief softly, and examined his wound.

Nutcracker was very pale, but still he smiled so kindly and sorrowfully that it went straight to Marie's heart. "Ah! Nutcracker, Nutcracker, do not be angry at brother Fritz because he hurt you so, he did not mean to be so rough; it is the wild soldier's life with his hussars that has made him a little hard-hearted, but otherwise he is a good fellow, I can assure you. Now I will tend you very carefully until you are well and merry again; as to fastening in your teeth and setting your shoulders, that Godfather Drosselmeier must do; he understands such things."

But Marie was hardly able to finish the sentence, for as she mentioned the name of Drosselmeier, friend Nutcracker made a terrible wry face, and there darted something out of his eyes like green sparkling flashes. Marie was just going to fall into a dreadful fright, when behold, it was the sad smiling face of the honest Nutcracker again, which she saw before her, and she knew now that it must be the glare of the lamp, which, stirred by the draught, had flared up, and distorted Nutcracker's features so strangely. "Am I not a foolish girl," she said, "to be so easily frightened, and to think that a wooden puppet could make faces at me? But I love Nutcracker too well, because he is so droll and so good tempered; therefore he shall be taken good care of as he deserves."

With this Marie took friend Nutcracker in her arms, walked to the glass case, stooped down, and said to her new doll, "Pray, Miss Clara, be so good as to give up your bed to the sick and wounded Nutcracker, and make out as well as you can with the sofa, Remember that you are well and hearty, or you would not have such fat red cheeks, and very few little dolls have such nice sofas."

Miss Clara, in her gay Christmas attire, looked very grand and haughty, and would not even say "Muck." "But why should I stand upon ceremony?" said Marie, and she took out the bed, laid little Nutcracker down upon it softly, and gently rolled a nice ribbon which she wore around her waist, about his poor shoulders, and then drew the bedclothes over him snugly, so that there was nothing to be seen of him below the nose. "He shan't stay with the naughty Clara," she said, and raised the bed with Nutcracker in it to the shelf above, and placed it close by the pretty village, where Fred's hussars were quartered. She locked the case, and was about to go up to bed, when—listen children—when softly, softly it began to rustle, and to whisper, and to rattle round and round, under the hearth, behind the chairs, behind the cupboards and glass case.

The great clock whir—red louder and louder, but it could not strike. Marie turned towards it, and there the large gilt owl that sat on the top, had dropped down its wings, so that they covered the whole face, and it stretched out its ugly head with the short crooked beak, and looked just like a cat. And the clock whirred louder in plain words.

"Dick—ry, dick—ry, dock—whirr, softly clock, Mouse-King has a fine ear—prr—prr—pum—pum—the old song let him hear—prr—prr—pum—pum—or he might—run away in a fright—now clock strike softly and light." And pum—pum, it went with a dull deadened sound twelve times.

Marie began now to tremble with, fear, and she was upon the point of running out of the room in terror, when she beheld Godfather Drosselmeier, who sat in the owl's place on the top of the clock, and had hung down the skirts of his brown coat just like wings. But she took courage, and cried out loudly, with sobs, "Godfather Drosselmeier, Godfather Drosselmeier, what are you doing up there? Come down, and do not frighten me so, you naughty Godfather Drosselmeier!"

Just then a wild squeaking and whimpering broke out on all sides, and then there was a running, trotting and galloping behind the walls, as if a thousand little feet were in motion, and a thousand little lights flashed out of the crevices in the floor. But they were not lights—no—they were sparkling little eyes, and Marie perceived that mice were all around, peeping out and working their way into the room. Presently it went trot—trot—hop—hop about the chamber, and more and more mice, in greater or smaller parties galloped across, and at last placed themselves in line and column, just as Fritz was accustomed to place his soldiers when they went to battle. This Maria thought was very droll, and as she had not that aversion to mice which most children have, her terror was gradually leaving her, when all at once there arose a squeaking so terrible and piercing, that it seemed as if ice-cold water was poured down her back. Ah, what now did she see!

I know, my worthy reader Friedrich, that thy heart, like that of the wise and brave soldier Friedrich Stahlbaum, sits in the right place, but if thou hadst seen what Marie now beheld, thou wouldst certainly have run away; yes, I believe that thou wouldst have jumped as quickly as possible into bed, and then have drawn the covering over thine ears much farther than was necessary to keep thee warm.

Alas! poor Marie could not do that now, for—listen children—close before her feet, there burst out sand and lime and crumbled wall stones, as if thrown up by some subterranean force, and seven mice-heads with seven sparkling crowns rose out of the floor, sqeaking and squealing terribly.

Presently the mouse's body to which these seven heads belonged, worked its way out, and the great mouse crowned with the seven diadems, squeaking loudly, huzzaed in full chorus, as he advanced to meet his army, which at once set itself in motion, and hott—hott—trot—trot it went—alas, straight towards the glass case—straight towards poor Marie who stood close before it!

Her heart had before beat so terribly from anxiety and fear, that she thought it would leap out of her bosom, and then she knew she must die; but now it seemed as if the blood stood still in her veins. Half fainting, she tottered backward, when clatter—clatter—rattle—rattle it went—and a glass pane which she had struck with her elbow fell in pieces at her feet. She felt at the moment a sharp pain in her left arm, but her heart all at once became much lighter, she heard no more squeaking and squealing, all had become still, and although she did not dare to look, yet she believed that the mice, frightened by the clatter of the broken glass, had retreated into their holes. But what was that again! Close behind her in the glass case a strange bustling and rustling began, and little fine voices were heard. "Up, up, awake—arms take—awake—to the fight—this night—up, up—to the fight." And all the while something rang out clear and sweet like little bells. "Ah, that is my clear musical clock!" exclaimed Marie joyfully, and turned quickly to look.

She then saw how it flashed and lightened strangely in the glass case, and there was a great stir and bustle upon the shelves. Many little figures crossed up and down by each other, and worked and stretched out their arms as if they were making ready.

And now, Nutcracker raised himself all of a sudden, threw the bedclothes clear off, and leaped with both feet at once out of bed, crying aloud, "Crack—crack—crack—stupid pack—drive mouse back—stupid pack—crack—crack—mouse—back—crick—crack—stupid pack."

With these words he drew his little sword, flourished it in the air, and exclaimed, "My loving vassals, friends and brothers, will you stand by me in the hard fight?" Straightway three Scaramouches, a Harlequin, four Chimney-sweepers, two Guitar-players and a drummer cried out, "Yes, my lord, we will follow you with fidelity and courage—we will march with you to battle—to victory or death," and then rushed after the fiery Nutcracker, who ventured the dangerous leap down from the upper shelf. Ah, it was easy enough for them to perform this feat, for beside the fine garments of thick cloth and silk which they wore, the inside of their bodies were made of cotton and tow, so that they came down plump, like bags of wool.

But poor Nutcracker had certainly broken his arms or his legs, for remember, it was almost two feet from the shelf where he stood to the floor, and his body was as brittle as if it had been cut out of Linden wood. Yes, Nutcracker would certainly have broken his arms or his legs, if, at the moment when he leaped, Miss Clara had not sprung quickly from the sofa, and caught the hero with his drawn sword in her soft arms. "Ah, thou dear, good Clara," sobbed Marie, "how I have wronged thee! Thou didst certainly resign thy bed willingly to little Nutcracker."

But Miss Clara now spoke, as she softly pressed the young hero to her silken bosom. "You will not, oh, my lord! sick and wounded as you are, share the dangers of the fight. See how your brave vassals assemble themselves, eager for the affray, and certain of conquest. Scaramouch, Harlequin, Chimney-sweepers, Guitar-players, Drummer, are all ready drawn up below, and the china figures on the shelf stir and move strangely! Will yon not, oh, my lord! repose upon the sofa, or from my arms look down upon your victory?" Thus spoke Clara, but Nutcracker demeaned himself very ungraciously, for he kicked and struggled so violently with his legs, that Clara was obliged to set him quickly down upon the floor. He then, however, dropped gracefully upon one knee, and said, "Fair lady, the recollection of thy favor and condescension will go with me into the battle and the strife."

Clara then stooped so low that she could take him by the arm, raised him gently from his knees, took off her bespangled girdle, and was about to throw it across his neck, but little Nutcracker stepped two paces backward, laid his hand upon his breast, and said very earnestly, "Not so, fair lady, lavish not thy favors thus upon me, for—" he stopped, sighed heavily, tore off the ribbon which Marie had bound about his shoulders, pressed it to his lips, hung it across him like a scarf, and then boldly flourishing his bright little blade, leaped like a bird over the edge of the glass case upon the floor.

You understand my kind and good readers and listeners, that Nutcracker, even before he had thus come to life, had felt very sensibly the kindness and love which Marie had shown towards him, and it was because he had become so partial to her, that he would not receive and wear the girdle of Miss Clara, although it shone and sparkled so brightly. The true and faithful Nutcracker preferred to wear Maria's simple ribbon. But what will now happen? As soon as Nutcracker had leaped out, the squeaking and whistling was heard again. Ah, it is under the large table, that the hateful mice have concealed their countless bands, and high above them all towers the dreadful mouse with seven heads! What will now happen!

#christmas #holiday season #the nutcracker #e. t. a. hoffmann #hoffman #fairy tales #Christmas Fairy Tales

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apenitentialprayer · 3 years

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Please pray for my family & our house. My sister has been sick & fatigued this week and it's had a negative effect on my mom's mental health. She had a panic attack last night due to all the stress. If you can, pray for out house too. There are at least a few mice living in our walls (our house is pretty old) and one was seen running in our hallway. Whenever they're scratching from within our walls or ceiling I feel like they're going to break open a hole. It's hard to sleep when they're noisy.

I’m really sorry for all the stress in your lives lately, anon. I’m dedicating my rosary to you and your family and living space tomorrow. I’ll say a little prayer tonight, too, and ask Saint Patrick, Saint Gertrude, Saint Dymphna, and anyone else who sees this to pray along too.

#asks #prayer request

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tazzytypes · 4 years

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Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 8

Hey guys! So sorry it took a bit longer this time to get a chapter out. As always I love hearing from you guys and every comment and Kudos keeps me going. Realy, your support, no matter how small you think it is, means a lot to me. This chapter is a bit slower, in my opinion, but I hope you all will like it!

Read on AO3 or see Masterpost for more chapters!

Em had decided to drop the investigation into the Geiger counter and focus on more productive investigations. The work schedule and manual from Mead’s closet would bear more fruitful and usable data, but it didn’t mean that moving from it was easy. Something about Stu’s death was off, they all knew it. Em knew about answer lay in that single page of shorthand gibberish.

Now they were in the library... her and Emily at least. Timothy was in a meeting. Langdon had the worst timing... or the best. Depended on what eyes you looked with.

A book sat in her lap, closed after she had read the last page. Dante’s Divine Comedy — she had meant to read it above ground but... well she had meant to do a lot of things. As the days went on the more worry she had over an idea of an afterlife. She was desperate for it and if, as an unbeliever, she was cast to hell, she’d much prefer to have an idea what torture she faced.

Frowning, her hand went to her throbbing leg. Em prayed her sewing skills were enough to mend the wound, small but deep. She had dressed it with some cloth from the towel she had bloodied and tied it in place with a ribbon. Most of the time she could hardly feel it, but one wrong move and she was hissing in pain.

Emily was doing some reading of her own, that of the more productive sort. She understood science much better than Em did and was having a go at the Geiger counter note.

“You know what I hate most about stories?” the brunette mused aloud after staring at the ceiling for a good twenty minutes.

Emily’s eyes didn’t leave her book, “What?”

“The ending.”

Her friend's nose scrunched for a moment before she turned to her, “isn’t that the whole point of reading? To make it to the end?”

“It’s sad,” Em sighed, “isn’t it?”

Em shrugged, watching her friend stare at the sky, “depends on the ending.”

“No... happy or not... it’s sad.”

Emily sighed, closing her book and stashing the note in her corset, “I think you’ve been spending too much time in your own head.”

“So have you,” Em reminded.

“Because I’m trying to figure something out.”

This piqued Em’s interest, eyes glimmering with the excitement of something new as she leaned towards her friend. “A mystery.”

Emily laughed and shook her head at the other woman’s antics, “you make it sound dramatic.”

“We’re some of the last people on earth... everything we do is dramatic as there is nothing to compare it to.”

“You’re eccentric, you know that?”

Em was starving for something new to investigate. Her mind needed a focus or else it would go into the worst places. “What’s the mystery, Miss Holmes?”

Her friend rolled her eyes but quickly turned to business.

“Venable is hiding something.”

“Venable is hiding a great deal of things,” Em noted, “that isn’t something new. So is Langdon, but that’s part of his job description.”

“Why the secrecy, though?”

“Knowledge is power.”

“But what is the truth?” Emily said, “we’ve been here for almost two years and all we’ve found out is when certain Wardens work and decontamination procedures and whatever else is in that manual.”

“Then how do we find out their secret plot?” Em asked, “preferably before we have to put that manual to good use.”

Emily rose from her seat and quickly made sure the library was empty. It wasn’t a particularly large library... about the size of the one at her high-school. She looked down every aisle before coming to sit back down, leaning in close to Em.

“Timothy and I are working one out,”

“Oh?” Em asked, raising an eyebrow.

Emily’s face flushed, “Not like that!”

“Don’t dash the power of a romantic subplot.”

“Did you always speak in poetry or have you finally gone insane?”

“I’ve simply lost my filter,” Em dismisses with a wave of her hand, “this plan of yours?”

“We need you to distract Langdon.”

El laughed, quickly quieting when she realized her friend wasn’t laughing along.

“That man would see right through any attempt.”

“He likes you,” Emily reminded, “why else would he call you to his office so often?”

“Bored cats will catch mice and watch them run around, barely surviving death for hours on end, just for their own amusement.”

“...so Langdon’s a cat.”

“He something far worse.”

Emily sighed, “will you help us or no?”

Em really didn’t want to tell her friend that she would be a hindrance to the investigation due to her injured leg. However, saying that would bring up more questions and she really didn’t want the girl to think she had completely lost her mind. Blackouts were one thing... homicidal urges were something else entirely. And the possibility of them happening at the same time? Not a cocktail she was willing to try.

“Your best bet is to observe his behavior and watch for patterns,” She noted, “find out when he’s distracted. You’re smart, Emily, that’s why you’re here.”

“So you’re not going to help us?”

“I want to live,” Em insisted, “the best I can do is keep silent while you two work. Venable’s already watching me like a hawk and she’d gladly take down all of us if it meant killing me.”

Emily understood her friend’s reluctance. Last time Em had a more hands-on role. She could take action if things went wrong.

“Don’t you want to know?” She asked, grabbing her friend’s hands and squeezing them, “knowledge is power, right?”

Em remembered her vision, Emily and Timothy laying on the floor while foaming at the mouth. Their eyes staring desperately at the sky as if begging god to spare them.

She cursed under her breath and pulled away from Emily’s touch, pinching her nose and sighing.

“Where do you need me to be?”

--------------------------------------------

By the time Timothy arrived Em and Emily had long grown bored of talking plans. In all honesty, the less Em knew of what they were doing the better it was. If she got caught there’d be nothing to pry from her. All that mattered was Em would make a distraction at the right time, pretend to search through his office while Timothy and Emily searched his room.

For now, however, they were content to play Heads Up and pretend the real world didn’t exist.

“Am I a pretty… lady?” Em asked. She was never good at this game.

Emily was sitting in Timothy’s lap, draped over him like a cat with her legs propping up on the armrest of the sofa.

“Would she be?” Timothy asked her.

Emily hummed, “I’m not sure.”

“Let me rephrase it,” Em proposed, turning to Emily, “is she my type?”

“Yes,” Timothy answered a bit too quickly, Emily giving him a look and shaking her head.

“But she has—” he tried to reason.

“But she doesn’t have—” Emily reminded, the pair staring at one another until they burst into laugher. Emily curled into Timothy, her head resting in the crook of his neck.

They were interrupted, as always, by a screeching of the library doors. Laughter halted in their throats, eyes turning towards the sound of feet on carpet as silence overtook the room save the small sizzling of melted wax meeting fire.

Mead appeared from the shadows of the room, arms crossed as she came to stand before them. Her eyes narrowed as she realized two-thirds of them had a piece of paper taped to their heads, something written upon them which she could not see.

She turned to Em with and sighed, “Michael wants to see you.

Not bothering to hide her annoyance, Em rolled her eyes and rose from the armchair.

“Who was I?” She asked the pair.

“Gwyneth Paltrow,” Emily said with a smile.

Em turned to Timothy and gave him a look. Her type? Really?

“Oh, honey,” She said, “bless your heart.”

Emily smiled and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “That’s southern for stupid.”

“You said Pepper Pots could get it!” Timothy exclaimed.

“Pepper Pots is a badass,” Em noted before turning to follow Mead.

“They’re the same person!” Timothy shouted, exasperated as Emily’s laughter echoed through the room. It only stopped when the door closed behind Em, sealing off the pair from the rest of the world.

“You have a—” Mead noted, motioning to Em’s head.

“Oh!”

Em laughed and took the card from her head, staring at it for a moment before turning to Mead.

“Do you mind?” She asked the woman, holding out the card. There were some things she’d like Langdon to not know, small as it may be.

Mead sighed, trying to sound annoyed as she took the paper.

“Half the time I don’t know what to expect with you three.”

“Have to pass the time somehow.”

“Who’s Gwenneth Paltrow?” Mead asked, opening the paper and turning it back and forth in her hand.

“Actress,” Em told her, side eying the paper and trying not to think of the dull ache in her leg, “always on about that crazy new-age stuff that makes no sense.”

Mead shrugged and pocketed the paper, “never was one for all that crap.”

“Me neither,” Em admitted, “only know the name because she got into some crazy cult shit.”

Her companion let out a barking laugh, an infectious smile crawling onto Em’s lip, “so did half of Hollywood.”

The woman showed no hint of suspicion towards Em. Then again, Mead was the type of person who knew how to control her speech and emotions until it was time to strike.

A familiar sound of a cane caught the pair’s attention as they made it up the stairs— tap-ta-tap, tap-ta-tap. Em looked to Mead, trying to read any emotion on her face. There wasn’t… something that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Venable’s face greeted them as they turned onto one of the many upstairs hallways. Em took some satisfaction in the momentary widening of her eyes as the woman saw them. The expression quickly straightened, lips pursed as Venable tore her eyes from Em and laid them upon her escort.

“Miss Mead,” she said, voice reminding the brunette of when her parents pretended they weren’t at one another’s throats just a moment before they sat down for dinner, “May I have a word.”

Mead’s only response was a subtle nod before she turned to Em, “you know the way.”

Em offered her a friendly smile, making sure it remained on her face as she walked past Venable. Her contempt was so easy to read.

��Have a good day, Miss Mead.”

-------------------------------

Langdon was standing by the fire when Em entered. It felt like he hadn’t moved since their last visit, affixed to the same spot she had left him with his hands behind his back. She took a moment to read the room as she closed the door quietly behind her.

There were no wardens in the room, meaning he probably didn’t see them in Mead’s room and that Venable most likely didn’t inform him of her suspicions. So Venable didn’t trust him… that was revealing.

“Is this another interview?” Em asked as she took a few steps forward. She imagined he already knew she was there, but her words finally forced him to turn and acknowledge her. A smile flickered to his lips as he turned to her.

“This time more of a social call.”

“Oh?” she said, a brow quirking up her forehead and a smirk finding it’s way to her lips, “Is that what you’re telling residents now?”

Langdon glanced to the floor, still smiling as he shook his head. Finally, he gestured to a set of armchairs facing the fire. She rounded them, taking the one on her right. Her hands rested on the back as she waited for Langdon to move.

His eyes were focused on her skirt, eyes slightly narrowed in thought. Her awkward gait was obvious to him, slight as the limp may be. Langdon didn’t note it, simply staring at the woman until she finally sat. Em did so with a sigh, eyes turning to the chess set that sat on a small table between them. It looked like he had been mid-game with someone.

“You play?” she asked as he sat next to her, legs crossing as he turned towards her ever slightly.

“On occasion. You?”

“I used to be good once,” She admitted with a rueful smile, hands going to straighten one of the knights, “but I haven’t played since I was a child.”

This visit felt different from the others. Langdon seemed almost relaxed, leaning back into his chair and hands free of any files. The fire crackled before them, making the world feel a little more quiet than usual.

“Why is that?” he asked. She felt his eyes on her but refused to look at him, occupying herself by fiddling with the pieces.

“My parents weren’t overly fond of spending time with me… though they pretended they did.”

“Perhaps I can reteach you.” Langdon offered.

Finally, Em’s head rose from the chess set. He watched as green eyes flickered between himself and the fire, never quite meeting his gaze.

“I’d like that.”

They set to fixing up the chess pieces, exchanging pieces that lay on the other’s side. He chose the black pieces and she took the white — she’d have to make the first move. Though, that wasn’t surprising when it came to conversations with the man.

“You’ve spoken a lot about your parents,” he noted, “what about the rest of your family.”

“Emotionally abusive father and a codependent mother,” she noted, “are a perfect equation for isolation. One that kept us from reaching out to others and ensured that my siblings would rarely return home.”

“You feared him,” he noted, taking a bishop she held out to him, “your father.”

“Fear,” she corrected, “present tense.”

“But the bombs—”

“Fear is illogical that way,” Em noted, “What about you?”

“Me?”

“What was your family like?”

Langdon paused, eyes betraying his amusement as he debated what he said next. A few details wouldn’t hurt.

“I was adopted by a family friend after my grandmother committed suicide.”

She didn’t apologize as most people did. Her eyes said enough. He expected the usual questions, the kind one would encounter in therapy. Em was debating which ones would be appropriate.

“Do you miss her?”

“Which one?”

“Either.”

Langdon sighed and placed his last pawn in place, “someone once told me that nostalgia is much nicer than true memories.”

“smart person,” Em noted, moving her first piece — a knight.

“She was.”

He was quick to counter her move, choosing to move a pawn near the outer edges of the board. The fire crackled as a log snapped in two, settling into the center of the fire with a rippling crack.

“I have to admit your quick thinking is intimidating.”

“Take all the time you need,” he reassured.

Her hands hovered over the board, fingers twitching as she ran through possible outcomes in her head. When she spoke, her voice sounded distant.

“So you can pick at my brain while it’s distracted?”

Langdon chuckled, moving a piece after she moved forward another knight, “Something like that.”

A comfortable silence filled the room as they got into the game, Michael’s movements quick while Em took more time to play out moves in her head.

“Are you sure about that?” he had taunted at some point, a devilish grin on his face. Em paused for only a moment. If she didn’t move the rook to take his bishop he’d have check in two.

“Fuck off, Langdon,” she laughed, moving the piece despite his warning. Her laugh was infectious as he shrugged his shoulders and moved another piece.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Langdon won, naturally. Though Em had a feeling he hadn’t played fair. His smugness filled the room, leaning back in his chair with an air of content at having beaten her. It both annoyed and amused her — like when her brother beat her at Super Smash Bros.

“Another round,” she demanded and he rose a brow, sitting up in his seat. He rose an amused brow and she shook her head. “This time we play checkers.”

“Checkers?”

“I lived in the south,” she reminded, ignoring a stare that displayed how much the man was judging her, “there were Cracker Barrel restaurants on every major exit. One was right across from the college dorms I stayed in.”

“So you’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Don’t worry,” she teased, “perhaps I can teach you.”

He smiled and put the chess pieces away as she pulled the checkers out from the compartment inside the board. She set them out and waited for him to make the first move.

“Can I ask you a few questions?” Em said as she quickly countered his move. He chuckled at the symmetry of her actions and waved his hand for her to proceed.

“Why was this place designed to fail?”

The way his hand hesitated over his piece betrayed his surprise, quickly recovering and completing his move. Her pieces clicked against the board as she countered, waiting for him to respond.

The blond straightened back into the iron mask he wore around the rest of the residents. “What makes you say that?”

Answering questions with questions. That was also a game she knew well.

“This whole place was designed on the tip of a knife,” She explained, balancing a checker on the tip of her finger, “We’re just waiting to lose our balance.”

To emphasize her point she allowed the checker to fall. It clattered on top of the other pieces she had stolen from Langdon.

“And what would you do to make it better?” he posed, lips pressed into a thin line.

“Do you want me to alphabetically or categorically?”

Langdon leaned back with a short barking laugh. He stared at her with what she’d almost consider pride… the cat’s favorite mouse. He waved a hand again, prompting her to continue.

“Whatever is easier.”

The board lay between them, game abandoned in light of a more interesting chain of events. She mirrored his actions, considering which point to bring up first.

“This place was built by the rich, yes?”

He nodded, watching her intently.

“Why the hell would the rich settle for unfulfilling cubes?”

“Those cubes—”

Em cut him off with a sigh, “have all the nutrients we need but not all the calories. An extreme coupon mom would have a greater quantity and quality of rations than we do.”

The blond prepared himself for a long conversation, leaning his head against a hand that was propped up on the armrest of his chair. She stared at him, waiting for a response.

“What else?” he asked with a sigh.

“The Cooperative put in place a NASA-esk water filtration unit, but couldn’t find a way to have a self-sustaining food resource?”

“You make it sound easy,” he noted.

“It is,” She stated, “Scientists already had designs in place before the bombs dropped.”

“This does nothing to prove we intended the worst,” He nearly sang.

“Then why do you claim there is a sanctuary more equipped for this? Why is that not the standard for all the outposts?”

Langdon thought back to his first interaction with the girl. Her first accusation. He should have known she’d be trouble from the start… but perhaps he could use this to his advantage. Leaning forward, he moved another piece across the board.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Em was intent to get to her thesis — the final blow.

“You intended this from the beginning — make people desperate enough to see their true colors then pick them off one by one.”

He chuckled, twirling one of her pieces in his hands and he shook his head and stared into the fire.

“Someone’s done their research.”

“Venable and yourself are the most openly condescending people I’ve ever met… you both think you’re so smart and with this crowd that’s mostly the case.” She said with a scoff.

Em took one of his pieces, then another, “you’re so pleased with yourselves that anyone with a brain can look right through you and see your intentions. No offense.”

“None taken,” he said with a smile, “…Mostly the case?”

“Timothy and Emily were chosen for their genetics. That’s the only good choice The Cooperative has made thus far.”

“Your care for them makes you blind to their faults,” he noted, “no offense.”

“None taken.” Em said, offering a shrug as she collected three more of his pieces, “King me.”

They lapsed back into a comfortable silence. Langdon lost and as she had expected he did so poorly, immediately challenging her to another game. That meant what she had said had some effect on the man. He sought to cover his fumble with conversation as they began the next round, asking about her observations of Outpost Three’s inner-workings.

Even that conversation came to comfortable silence, Langdon far more intent on this game compared to the last. Em stared at him when he wasn’t looking, too busy playing out moves in his head. His lips would twitch ever slightly when he thought.

“Do you ever feel lonely?” she asked him, playing the question in her head a few times before speaking.

“Lonely?” He echoed, voice distant as he finally moved a piece, “I thought we already had this conversation.”

The brunette sighed and stared at the pieces for a long moment as she ran through what to say next.

“Do you ever have that feeling that something is supposed to be there, but isn’t?”

He also took a moment to think, mouth open for a moment as he chose the right words to say, “I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with the emotion.”

“You’re lucky then,” She admitted, “sometimes it’s often claustrophobic in nature… like looking for a friend in a sea of thousands.”

“I thought you said you were content with your own company?” he asked, moving his piece to the other side of the board, “king me.”

“I am, but… I can’t place it. It feels different somehow.”

He looked at her, brows knitted together as he moved another piece, “how so?”

“It’s the same yearning I feel for a sense of purpose,” she said, shaking her head and speaking before she could think. Her eyes were on Langdon, but the man could tell she was looking at something past the physical realm. “But more specific. I yearn for someone or something, but I can’t place it’s… like I’m looking at it through a fog.”

“We all left things behind in the old world,” he noted, giving her his full attention “perhaps you are searching for something you lost.”

She sighed, “but reminiscing on such things is a fruitless task. Nostalgia is only healthy in small doses.”

“Nostalgia can be good.”

“Too much of anything is a bad thing,” Em noted.

“That it is.”

A buzzing in her head made Em focus back on the game before her. The sound of pieces moving made the blond turn back towards her, out of his thoughts and back into the current moment.

“What is it like?” Em asked, changing the subject, “traveling from outpost to outpost?”

“Is that what prompted your question?” he asked, sighing as he forced his mind back on strategy.

“In part.” She admitted.

“I’d call it a time to reflect,” he noted with a sigh, “but it’s hard to think when you’re keeping an eye out for cannibals.”

Em’s gaze turned to the fire, brows bunched together at the bridge of her nose. Venable had been right. She had somewhat hoped the monsters the woman spoke of would be nothing but fear-mongering.

“It’s only been a year and people are already—”

She cut herself off. Biting her lips and shaking her head, she chided herself, “no… that’s not fair of me to say.”

“Law was the only thing keeping humankind from its unlimited cruelty,” Langdon noted, hardly phased as he got yet another piece to the other side of the board. He was a quick learner. “The outcome isn’t that much of a surprise.”

Em was quick to change the subject, “What did you see out there?”

“Nothing pleasant.”

For some reason, he wished to keep the reality from her. Whether out of compassion or a desire to keep her ignorant, she couldn’t quite tell.

“I’d like to know,” she finally insisted, “Venable has only told us so much and we’re forbidden from leaving the premise… even with hazmat suits.”

Langdon nodded. He expected as much from the two women — Venable and Em. Pausing from the game, he gave her his full attention — turning in his chair and resting his elbows on the armrest closer to her.

“The trees are barren and everything is covered in thick green fog,” he said, slow and methodical as if he were trying to recall every last detail, “the animals have gone rabid or are in the very late stages of cancer. You cannot see the sun in the sky… an eternal night.”

“What about the people?”

“Killing each other for food or simply out of paranoia. Cancer and tumors are the norm for most.”

Her arms had come to brace themselves on the arms of her chair, knuckles white and jaw clenched. She stared into the fire but did not see it, darkness clouding her vision as she was sent back into that first day in the outpost. How many of those messages weren’t their last? How many survived only to face torment? How many had she abandoned in the wastelands?

“The children?” she forced herself to ask, forcing herself to look at him. His eyes widened every slightly before he glanced away, conflicted. She watched his chest rise and fall, his eyes close momentarily as he centered himself before speaking.

“On the way here, I came across a woman,” He told her, “A young mother, with two children. They were some of the unlucky ones who were far from the blast radius to survive the fireball, but… not the radiation.”

Em’s mouth opened every slightly in shock as she realized he was crying, a single tear breaking free and racing down his cheek.

He held his hand up, the other hovering over it and tracing up his arm as he continued to recall the incident before resting at his chest, “they were covered in tumors — sores. Their lungs were burned from the toxic air.”

With a clench of his fists, he fell back in his chair and refused to meet her eye, “After a few moments I realized that the child she was carrying in her arms was dead. She was begging for us to murder her other child out of mercy… she didn’t have the strength to do it herself.”

Em didn’t even realize she was crying until he turned to her. She stiffened as he reached out a hand to her cheek, cupping it and brushing away the tear gently with his thumb.

“Did you?” she asked, voice hardly above a whisper and his hand still on her cheek.

Blue eyes refused to look away from her, “Did I what?”

“Have mercy.”

An emotion she had never seen on him before tainted his features. It made his face fall, his eyes shine in a way that wasn’t pleasant and his lips part every slightly. His hand pulled back from hers and he turned away from her, closed himself off.

“No,” he finally answered, “I couldn’t bring myself to.”

Langdon felt regret… shame.

“I doubt anyone could.”

“Why do you cry for them?” he asked.

“I have nieces and nephews,” she said, “friends and—”

A frog sat in her throat keeping her from speaking. She waited a few moments before clearing her throat and drying her eyes, forcing the unpleasant emotion back from whence it came. After a few more breaths of unprompted tears, she spoke again.

“I’m sorry for bringing up a depressing topic.”

“Knowledge is power,” he noted, “and the desire of power is in our nature.”

Langdon cleared his throat as well before turning back to the game. It seemed both of them were content to pretend the last few moments be forgotten… for now, at the very least.

“What would you do to survive?” he asked her, waiting for her to make a move.

She sighed rather loudly. Naturally, he was using interview questions to take back the power he had relinquished for but a moment. Still made her head feel light like she had whiplash.

“What would I want to do?” she asked, moving a piece without much thought. Langdon was keen to take advantage, quickly moving his piece to take over it. “Or what I would actually do?”

He scoffed, “is there a difference?”

“Of course. I’d like to think I’d preserve some of my humanity — morality and the like.”

“But in reality?”

Em opened her mouth and closed it again. What would she do? So far she had certainly become more… adventurous wasn’t quite the right word. Admitting that, however, would be giving him and, in turn, The Cooperative more information than she was willing to part with.

“I don’t know,” she said, “It’s hard to know what you’d do until you are forced to take action.”

“You like to skirt around questions,” he notes, “despite my warning against hedging.”

“You want honest answers,” she reminded, “that required introspection — especially with these questions. It’s rarely linear.”

“How do you react to conflict?” he asked, sounding like he was reading from a list. Em wouldn’t be surprised if he had all the questions memorized at this point.

“What kind of conflict?”

He sighed, trying to be annoyed but failing as a hint of a smile let itself be known, “Your answers tend towards the circumstantial.”

“C’est la vie,” Em said with a shrug, moving a piece and watching Langdon frown as she captured one of his kings.

“It certainly keeps at least one of these conversations interesting.”

Em gave him a look, “is this a conversation?”

“We’re communicating, are we not?”

“You’re asking questions and I’m talking about myself for…”

She glanced at the clock in the corner of the room, “… an hour. Not much of a conversation.”

“Therapists would disagree.”

“You’re my therapist now?

He didn’t look at her, but she could see him smirk, “…of a sort.”

The brunette leaned forward in her chair, regarding him for a moment, “Then what do you see?”

Langdon’s head quirked to the side as he eyed her, “I see a woman who hides her insecurities behind bold and intelligent words… a philosopher without students.”

Em could only laugh, sparing him an amused but unbelieving look, “You give me far too much credit.”

“My records indicate you were quite introverted and withdrawn before,” he noted, “What changed?

“When you stare at death he does not care what mask you ware,” she told him, voice distant as if it was not her own, “so why bother with pretenses and polite society?”

“Why, indeed?”

They finished the game, coming to an impasse with two kings following each other across the board. Langdon rose from his chair and wandered over to the pitcher of water from before.

“You care for some?” he asked.

“Yes, please.”

He turned to her with a Cheshire grin, “what happened to polite society?”

“Born in the south, remember? We mind our P’s and Q’s and say ‘bless your heart’ instead of ‘go to hell.’”

“I hear it’s quite pleasant this time of year,” he said, turning with two glasses of water.

“Hocus Pocus,” she noted.

“A staple in my house during Halloween,” he noted, a sad smile coming to his lips.

She rose and took a step forward as he approached her, hand extended to take the glass from his hands. A thankful smile turned tense as too much pressure was placed on her bad leg. After sitting for so long, she had forgotten it was there. She leaned back on her good leg and regulated her expression.

Langdon didn’t seem to notice and she pulled back and carefully lowered herself into the chair, waiting for him to move and do the same. Placing the glass on the table beside her, she turned to make a comment about a third and final match only to find him crouched on the ground.

Red coated his fingers, a small puddle on the ground the size of a silver dollar. One of her stitches must have torn. Of all the timing…

“You’re hurt,” he noted, looking up to her, “where?”

“Oh,” she tried to write off, “it’s embarrassing, but I think that’s— “

His eyes were deadly as he stood and stepped towards her, a growl in his throat, “we agreed not to lie.”

With a sigh and a roll of her eyes, Em lifted up her skirt to reveal the comically small injury that sat three inches above her knee. As she feared, unbinding the bandages revealed the stitching had come undone.

He kneeled down in front of her, hand hovering over the wound. “What happened?”

She tied the bandages around it, resolving to cauterize it later as she knotted the ribbon extra tightly around her leg. Langdon retreated as she threw her skirts over it once more, obviously not wanting to let the incident rest or for her to leave his office without treatment.

“A fucked up side-effect of conditioning.”

Langdon sighed, “this is why I said—”

“I’d be better off acting on my anger?” she snipped, “oh, yes, I remember. You were quite insistent on that point.”

Em averted her eyes, staring past him and into the fire with venom. From the corner of her eye, she could see Langdon sigh, shoulders falling ever slightly.

Her shoulders tensed as she felt a hand upon them, finally turning towards Langdon as she realized he refused to pull away. He wanted to speak, she could tell that from the way his lips pressed together. Why was he speechless? Langdon had a response for everything.

Green eyes couldn’t look away from him— his knitted brow and the frown that marred his features. His hand rose to her cheek and all she could feel was her heart beating in her ears as the heat rising up her neck. His thumb ghosted under her eyes, over the tired circles where tears had been not even thirty minutes before.

This strange and witty woman… why did she have such an effect on him?

Hands curled around the back of her neck as he moved her hair from around her face. The pieces she had pinned back had begun to fall from their confines.

His fingers pulled her forward, thumb hovering under her chin. She felt like she was under a spell, unable to move. Did she want to move? All she could feel was her heart trying to force its way through her chest.

She smelled sweet— lavender and earth overwhelming him in the best way. His eyes flickered between her mouth and her eyes, his neck craning to the side as he felt her breath on his face.

Then, she suddenly tensed. Breaking free of the spell, she pulled back— jumping off the chair and past him to the door. She had let her guard down and… she didn’t know what to feel. The hammering in her heart told her to run, but—

“I’m leaving,” She whispered.

Langdon took a step towards her, a hand outreached. He moved as if he were approaching a wounded animal, slow and tentative.

“The interview isn’t over,” he said, hand coming gently around her wrist.

“Yes,” She growled, realizing something that made her steel herself against him and tear her hand from his grasp, “it is.”

“This could forfeit your place—” he began, cursing himself as he realized how he sounded.

“So be it. I don’t care.”

She tried to open the door and his hand went instinctively to keep it from opening. He needed her to understand. He needed—

“I’m not here to hurt you,” He all but pleaded, “take a seat.”

“…You’re right—” she finally said after a moment. His grip on the door loosened and a smile of relief came to his face, tenseness leaving his body.

The door slammed into his head as she threw it open. With a grunt of pain, he fell back and gripped at his head. When he looked up a satisfied smirk was on her face, the door blocking her body from him like a shield.

“— My anger is best used outward instead of inward.” She said, disappearing back into the hall. By the time he stumbled to the door and threw it open once more she was gone… like she had never been there in the first place.

The thought of that terrified him.

---------------------------------------

Em was… well, she wanted to pace, but the newly cauterized wound on her leg would have protested too much. So there she was, seething on her bed. Her hands dug into the comforter, pretending it was someone’s throat.

At least this time she had been sure to put away her knife first. Then again, the now blistering skin took care of any destructive and impulsive urges she may have.

She had been blind, the desire for having her life mean something clouding the reality of logic and fact. Langdon wanted her to depend on him. He wanted her to think she was special. Em wasn’t. She was an average person with a tragic childhood. A dime a dozen case.

Coco probably got the same treatment. They were both single and desperate to survive, desperate to be wanted. Langdon weaponized sex.

… But that wasn’t what it was. Not to Em, at least. It was vulnerability, understanding, trusting someone with—

He was playing with their emotions. All their emotions. Part of her was willing to be strung along. Was certainly an easier route.

With a sigh, she hung her head in her hands. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore. To live or not to live… wasn’t that the fucking question? She was supposed to graduate this year, get a shitty job with shitty pay, and live in a shitty apartment. It’s why she had sacrificed so much, stayed in a less than happy place in the hopes that one day—

A knock at the door pulled her from the spiral. Straightening her back and clearing away her misty eyes, Em turned to the door.

“It’s unlocked,” she informed the person on the other side.

“That’s new.”

Emily’s head pocked through the door before she slipped inside, closing the door behind her after checking her six, “You didn’t come to finish our game.”

The bed dipped as she took a seat next to the brunette. Her worry was transparent on her face, lip quirking to the side and eyes focused on Em’s face as she waited for the woman to say something. “We were worried.”

Em could only shake her head, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Though her eyes were focused on the floor, she could feel Emily’s hands cover her own. A familiar squeeze curling around her hand.

“We’ll make it through this,” Emily assured. It did little to convince Em. No matter what the brunette did, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being on the wrong path.

“And then what?” she couldn’t help but ask, teeth gnashing with every word, “we leave here and play the game somewhere else in some mysterious sanctuary or play Mad Max as we slowly die from cancer?”

For once, Emily didn’t have a retort.

“I can’t live like that anymore!” Em hissed, finally turning towards her companion, “My whole life I’ve lived one day to the next just to say I made it another day. I can’t! I— “

Her companion could only stare at her friend, mouth open but no words. What could she say? Emily hadn’t much thought about what would happen next, the cost of living. It was quite like what doctors faced, wasn’t it? Determining whether quality of life justified the means to the end. What was the future when they faced the end of the world?

Em shook her head, “I just can’t.”

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon #ahs x reader #ahs x oc #ahs #ahs apocalypse #ahs fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction

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spoopycreepyhorrorcreepypasta · 3 years

Text

Stay Safe

I’m on the sixth floor of my apartment complex. It’s a small studio, and almost fully furnished. The only items I moved in were my twin-sized bed, various personal belongings, and kitchenware. Included in the apartment is a desk that folds out on the right side of the wall, a dresser, and coffee table.

Pat, my realtor, smiled at me with wide eyes when she showed me the apartment. “What do you think?” she asked, hands clutching her clipboard. “It’s fine, I guess,” I said. I had never lived on my own before. I was about to start college at DePaul. Chicago is a big city, and I didn’t know anyone yet.

“Great!” she exclaimed. “I’ll send you the final paperwork via email as soon as I get home, Becca.” She ushered me out into the hallway, taking a nervous glance behind her as we made our way to the elevator.

The only way that I can explain it is that her vibes were off. But, the apartment was actually below my price-range, and in a decent neighborhood (or so I was told by Reddit), so I couldn’t say no.

That first night, I barely slept. I was startled every time I heard the rushing of trains a few blocks away. Dogs were barking, car horns honking. This was so different from the small, quiet town I grew up in back in Indiana.

I didn’t have to start school until the next month, so I had loads of time to unpack and adjust to my new life in the big city. To help with motivation, I put on pop music and sung along as I unfolded all of my clothes and put them away into my new dresser, put away my kitchenware, and set up my desk space with my new office chair, which I had just ordered from Amazon.

The fold-out desk looked old. I wasn’t sure when the apartment complex was built, but it must have been decades ago. It was a little squeaky, so I dug out the WD40 my uncle had slipped into one of my boxes began dripping the liquid on the rusted metal parts of the desk.

I saw scratches on the underbelly of the wood. This was odd to me as the desk folded down to about thigh-height, so it’s not like anyone could have been underneath, clawing away. Perhaps someone had been working at this desk with some sort of severe anxiety and had dug their nails into the wood. I looked closer. The scratches were tinged with dark red stains. Chills ran through my body. I immediately whipped out my Magic Eraser and began scrubbing.

The stains were not rubbing out. I clenched my fists and scrubbed harder, to no avail. The scratch makes made my skin crawl, and I was really uncomfortable at the possibly that there would be stained blood right underneath me while doing schoolwork.

The days were long. I did begin to feel more comfortable as all of my items from home were coming together nicely in my new space.

The nights were longer. The trains still irked me, the dogs barking was unnerving. The third night, things got worse.

The scratching began.

As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a “skritch” on the other side of the wall, opposite the desk. I thought nothing of it. The scratching continued, small noises, intermittently, with no distinct pattern. I tried to ignore them as best I could. I assumed it was a neighbor painting their wall, or maybe it was furniture of theirs scraping for some reason. Maybe they had a desk like me, which wasn’t sturdy, and they were working overnight.

The next morning, I made myself breakfast on my tiny kitchen stove. My eyes were drawn the to the desk, and my wall behind it.

“I’m going to take out the trash,” I thought to myself, “and explore my new building.”

The trash bag wasn’t heavy, as I didn’t have much to dispose of yet, but this was a good excuse to meander about. As I exited the apartment and turned to lock the door, I realized that there was no apartment on the left hand side of me, as my apartment was snuggled into the corner. The left side of the wall was where the scratches were coming from.

I ran to the garbage bin outside, tossed the bag, and headed back inside the building. As I approached my door, I questioned myself as to why I was so antsy to go back in.

"You're being stupid," I told myself. "There must be something in the walls. Maybe I can track down a neighbor and ask them if they've had similar experiences."

I did run into a neighbor that weekend, in the lobby.

I mustered up my courage to approach the strange man. "Hi," I said. "I'm Becca. I'm in apartment 608. Do you mind if I ask you a weird question?"

He was handsome, and his brow gleamed with sweat. His name was Greg, he said, and he was actually moving out. He set down the box he was carrying and brushed off his shirt. I could see the U-Haul parked out front of the complex.

"Oh," I said. "Congrats on the move?" You never know if someone is moving because they found a better opportunity, or worse, if they are breaking up with a partner.

"Hah," he said, chuckling a bit. "Yeah, I can't stay in this apartment much longer. So, your question might not be so weird." He chuckled a bit but I could see a glint of fear in his eyes.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, you have a weird question, but I bet I have a weirder answer. Let's sit down."

I froze, worried that he would invite me into his apartment, but thankfully he pointed to the couch on the other side of the lobby, next to the Keurig machine (which sadly isn't free, I noticed).

"Listen," he said, leaning forward. "This place is fucking weird."

I was taken aback. I wasn't used to cursing nor was I prepared for what he was about to say.

"I moved in about six months ago. I mean, this is a pretty cool place, right? Decent location, close to the train." He looked around, as if reminiscing. "Shit started to go down within the first week. I'm alone, right? How are my keys going to be place on my desk and when I turn around they're in my bathroom? Or in my fucking bathtub?!" He shook his head. "I'm thinking I'm going crazy. I'm hearing all these weird noises. I swear something is watching me. I'm finding nails on the floor. I'm seeing all this weird shit outside my window. And I'm on the third floor!"

My mouth fell open, agape.

"Bro, I had the creepiest feelings, too, I can't even explain them. Just like, the heebie-jeebies. Someone is watching me." He said it again. Someone was watching him. "I'm not even religious at all, but I'm praying every night. I had to get out. I was just done. I called the landlord and I broke my lease and I said 'I'm out, I gotta go.' She actually didn't ask questions..." He pondered this for a moment. "..and I didn't ask questions, either. So two weeks later, here I am, bailing."

"I've been hearing scratches," I said shakily. "They started a few days after I moved in. I also feel really...weird."

"The scratches!" He exclaimed. He took my hand, and I instinctively pulled away, but he held on. "The scratches is how it begins. You gotta get out," he said. "You need to leave."

He stood up quickly, before I could ask any questions. "Listen," he said. "I gotta go. I'm on a time crunch here. I really hope you, uh..." he was at a loss for words. "Stay safe."

Greg picked up the box he had left up front and hauled it out the front door, glancing back at me once, nodding his head, as if confirming his words, which echoed in my head. "You need to leave," he had said. "Stay safe."

I sat in the lobby for another ten minutes, cursing myself that I didn't have quarters for the Keurig. I could have gotten some hot cocoa. My aunt always made it for me when I was feeling anxious or scared.

I didn't want to go back into my apartment. But I had no choice.

Greg was right. The scratching was how it begun. It got louder, and louder. The scratches sounded longer, like someone scraping their nails across the walls in long strokes. I began to sleep with my AirPods in. The soothing sounds of ocean waves washed around me. "He was just messing with me," I thought. "It's just rats, or mice," I thought. "It's just a creaky old building, this is just in my head, this is all a dream, just a fever dream..."

I was reading in bed one afternoon. The sun was glimmering through the window, and the scratches started again. But they weren't coming from behind the desk. They were coming from the wall behind me.

I jumped out of bed, and flung my bed to the floor. I couldn't stand this anymore. I began knocking on the wall. "Hello!?" I said loudly. "Please be quiet!"

The scratching became louder. The noise traveled up the wall, creeping over my head, and onto the ceiling. RIPPP! SKREEEET!

I screamed, grabbed my phone and keys, and ran to the lobby, then outside, gasping for air. I looked around. Where was I going to go? What was I going to do?

"My realtor," I thought. "She has go to know something." The memory of her odd behavior when I accepted the space entered into my mind.

I dialed her number, and surprisingly, she picked up almost immediately.

"Hi Becca," she said. "So... how are things?"

"Listen, Pat. Please be straight with me. What is going on in this apartment."

She drew in a long, labored sigh. "What's happening to you?" she asked.

"Scratching!" I exclaimed. "My desk, it has stains on it. It's like, fingernail scratches and there is blood! There is blood, Pat! And the skritching, the scratching, it's like... creatures trapped in my walls! Is it rats? Mice? Racoons? Greg told me he heard it too." The words were rushing out of my mouth. "He said he saw something outside, Greg said that he was freaked out, Greg is moving out!" I'm almost yelling at this point.

"Hon," she said. "It's going to be okay. Meet me at the Starbucks down the street tomorrow. Does 3pm work for you?"

My breathing is slowing. "Sure," I said. "Sure. I'll see you there."

"I need to go," Pat said, sounding distracted. "I uh, I'll see you tomorrow." She hung up.

I didn't meet up with Pat the next day.

That night, the pitter patter of rain tapped gently on my window. I decided to not sleep with my AirPods in, as the rain was soothing enough.

Tap, tap! "It must be raining harder," I thought. "Tap, tap, tap." This didn't sound like rain though.

Scrreeeeeeeeeech! The sound of nails dragging on glass. Scriiiiiiiitch!

I closed my eyes tighter. "This isn't happening," I told myself. "I am dreaming, you are dreaming."

SCRIEEEEEEECCCH. I couldn't ignore it.

I shifted my head toward the window, moving at the slowest pace possibly, and saw it.

It wasn't a shadow. It was darker than a shadow. But solid. I was frozen.

Sunken eyes, sunken jowls, sunken cheekbones. The longest face, a dripping chin, like melting wax. Arms raised above it's head, claws like a bird's beak, scritching, scraping down my window. Head tilted, it noticed my presence. A small hole formed where a mouth would be. A small hole growing larger, wider. The scratching, it was scratching faster, and faster, the mouth growing larger, and larger, until it screamed louder than I could have possibly imagined, piecing my ears. Like a banshee, like a demon, a sound from the pits of hell.

I couldn't move. I couldn't look away. The shrill shriek seemed to last for eons. But then it stopped. It tilted it's head once more, and then scurried sideways out of sight.

The next morning I gathered my essentials, rented a car, texted Pat that I couldn't make it, and drove back to Indiana.

I had to break my least, which was a kick in the butt financially. I called Pat about a week later and told her that things just didn't work out.

"Oh," she said, sounding downtrodden. "Can I ask why?"

"No," I said firmly. "I am never speaking of it again." I hung up the phone.

I still see it. I see it in my nightmares. I see it in the corner of my eye. I ignore it. I think I made a mistake. I shouldn't have looked at it. I shouldn't have looked in those eyes. Those blackened, sunken eyes.

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werewolves-are-real · 5 years

Note

Are you able to share some snippets of what you are working on?

Sure! I wrote this as part of the immortal-Laurence fic, but I’m not sure yet if i’m keeping it - the fic might go in a very different direction. Undetermined.

Warnings for, uhh, angst and torture? And dissociation? Trauma. Technically murder. Ahem.

The Tswana call hima devil.

Or that is thenearest concept that can be translated. They say he has dark magics,that he is evil. They think that learning how to kill him will helpthem learn how to subdue England and all their enemies. And so theydo kill him, many times, but it never sticks.

They drown him.There's a small cavern near King Moshueshue's hall, a place thatLaurence might have called appealing, once. There's a small spring ofwater that wells up from an invisible source in the ground. Tiny mosscarpets the surrounding rock, green and inviting.

A few Tswanaguardsmen drag Laurence up to the pond. They push him on his knees,on the spongy moss, and press his head into the water.

Sometimes theypull him out choking and gasping for air. Sometimes he lies stillbeneath the water for minutes or hours or days, blinking in and out ofawareness in small sparks of pain, lungs heavy and full. Then he's onland and vomiting impossible amounts of water, impossibly alive. So theywhip him instead. Choke him with their hands. Stab himthrough the heart.

And he lives. Healways lives, even when he dies a thousand times.

They burn hishands and feet. They carve flesh from his arms. Some of the wounds healfast, the ones that should be fatal. Some of the wounds do not. Menpour salt on the seams of his skin and Laurence would scream, excepthe can't, because he's drowning again.

And then there isa reprieve each night - very brief, and almost worse because beingleft alone means he gets to feel every ounce of pain his body candetect. His clothes are drenched with blood the first time they tosshim back into the cave-prison where the other aviators are keptalive.

People shout. Someone starts crying, and everyone panics when a shocked voice cries,“He is still alive!”

Then the voices –the aviators, his crew – torture Laurence further. They try to wraphis wounds, clean them, pushing and pulling at his broken, uselessbody.

There's no point. Laurence doesn't care about infection.

The next day theTswana come back. Instead of taking Laurence they grab a youngLieutenant from Captain Chenery's crew, who lies and says that he isthe next-highest ranking officer before Chenery can volunteer himself.The Tswana do not return that night.

On the thirdmorning they take Laurence again.

He will never knowabout the fierce argument that resulted from this, will never learnthat three aviators died struggling to keep him in the cave beforeCaptain Chenery, desperate and guilty and defeated, ordered them tostand down. And he will remember only in hazy, horrible flashes thethings the Tswana did every day thereafter.

That's probablyfor the best.

Laurence losestrack of time. He's never sure at any given moment whether he is safewith his officers or about to be murdered. He drifts through the painand lets people do what they want. If the Tswana try to question himfurther he cannot hear, and could not muster up the energy to answer,anyway.

One night a voicedrifts up and reaches through his agony.

“I don't know ifhe can survive this for much longer,” says Dorset. “In fact I ambaffled he still lives at all... Captain Laurence? Can you hear me?”

“I think theyare coming back,” says Emily.

______________________________

Everything is verybright

Someone pushesLaurence down a deep gorge, screaming, and he falls and falls andfalls through a layer of clouds. Dragons fight over his body andcarry him away. Leaves flutter across the ground, pressed by a cruelwind. In his ear someone says “It's alright, Sir. Just keepwalking. Keep walking.”

A black dragongrabs him and will not let go. A village is torn apart. People spillfrom the houses like ants, mice. Bodies fall in the dirt. Buildingstopple.

Somewhere there iswater, and when Laurence touches his face he is covered in salt.

“CaptainRiley,” someone says. “Berkley – god – come speak tohim...”

There is noceiling. The sun beats down and it burns. The whole world is beingconsumed. They could not kill him with whips or knives, they couldnot drown him, and now Laurence is going to burn.

But then the windturns gentle. He sleeps and the earth sways, as it should. Sometimeseverything turns dark and quiet and nobody talks at all.

Nothing hurts.

And then, one day,Laurence looks around. He's sitting in a circle with the otheraviator-captains, and oddly with Mr. Ferris, who curls one hand in aloose grip around Laurence's arm. Harcourt is slumped fully onBerkley's shoulder, very pregnant, with her back up against Maximus'broad side. Chenery and Little play piquet while Warren and Suttontalk quietly beside them, both of the latter holding half-depletedbottles of rum.

Laurence issitting on the deck, too. Behind him a dragon shifts around for amore comfortable position, scales sliding against the soft fabric ofLaurence's coat. The striped yellow hide clearly belongs to one ofthe Yellow Reapers. Maybe Immortalis.

“That is nota better hand,” complains Chenery.

Little smiles. “Itis not my fault you cannot keep the cards straight. And I have aquatorze.”

“I only do notunderstand why there are so many card games,” says Chenery.“Look, see, I drew three Kings, and you only have four Sevens.Isn't mine the better hand?”

Laurence assessesthe game at a glance and responds, “No, it is worse.”

The reaction tothis statement is dramatic.

Little drops hiscards. They splay out across the deck when Chenery jumps to his feet.Next to Laurence, Lieutenant Ferris jolts and swears. Harcourt givesa startled shriek. Berkley grabs her, also cursing.

“The devil,Laurence!” Berkley cries.

They are on theAllegiance. Of course they are on the Allegiance, exceptthat doesn't make sense, because weren't they just...

Laurence frowns.Lieutenant Ferris grabs his arm again, holding him fast when Laurencetries to stand.

Everything seemsvery, very bright.

“Pray stayseated,” says Ferris urgently. “I will fetch the surgeon atonce.”

“The surgeon?”asks Laurence, baffled. But Ferris just nods toward the others andsprings to his feet, vanishing.

Harcourt has ahand over her mouth. Warren, eyes wide, stares unblinking at Laurencewhile Captain Chenery moves beside him.

“No, pray do notmove,” Chenery entreats. “Laurence, what do you remember?”

Laurence shakeshis head. He has never been very familiar with Captain Chenery. Themost they ever spoke was when...

Laurence flinches.

He shouldremember, he should. He doesn't want to. “We were captured,” hesays. He looks around; the other captains seem stricken, waiting insilence for him to say... “I do not remember how we arrived here.”

“It's beenalmost three months, Laurence,” says Berkley. He looks horrified.“Gods. We are almost back in England; do you remember none of it?”

“Three months?”Laurence echoes.

“You have notsaid a word,” says Little quietly. “Just wandered around in a daze; youcannot recall?”

He remembers adark cavern, and hands on his shoulders, and the water -

Laurence flinchesforward and presses a hand against his head. Chenery grabs for himimmediately.

“Oh, hell,”says Sutton. “I am going to go find Temeraire before he notices andstarts tearing the place apart. Get him some water, will you? Helooks ready to be sick.”

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paragonevil · 4 years

Note

Rarely was his own realm loosened of his iron-handed presence, but he's curious enough for such a distant leap. To see the dimension where it's the demon who rules... Not quite gratifying yet cognitive journey his form, encased in ivory armor, is careful to proceed unnoticed... for now. (y e e t have the evil boi)

Standing in the Pit of Hate, so high his great horns practically crest the flaming ceiling, Aku cuts quite the imposing figure to his subjects as he towers over them from his far-superior height. Huddled together, weeping from fear in his shadow, a large family of what looks to be sentient mice pleads with him for a small mercy— return their eldest daughter to them from his mines, and they will leave his planet and never return.

Same old, same old, thought Aku to himself with an internal sigh as his inhuman red and pink eyes look upon them with such chilling apathy. Every day it was the same old routine here, just with different people and different terms of abuse. What he wouldn’t give for something exciting to break his days’ monotony. Something new which he might better devote his time and energy towards…

But just as quickly as these wistful thoughts occur to him, Aku tiredly pushes them away. How he hated playing baby-sitter for the billions of helpless, insignificant people on this planet! If only there were some way to remove himself entirely from these proceedings and entrust his guidance upon a few select individuals who might govern in his stead, believe you me he would do it in an instant.

“Your story has truly warmed by cold, embittered heart,” he said gravely, feigning now real repentance as he wound his blackened claws thoughtfully through his beard. “How could I have been so callous, so cold-hearted, so far-removed from your sorrows– YOU, my most diligent, loyal, and hard-working servants?”

“Except…” he paused here for a moment, “you’re not my most diligent, loyal, and hard-working servants, are you? ‘Tis such a shame. I must have confused you with someone else.” He mournfully shook his head.

“You dare come into my citadel, demanding freedom?” he spat, his tone shifting from light to dark in an instant. “As long as we are making DEMANDS, where are the three months back rent you owe my apartments? Or the $5000 for your hospital bills when your wife had that fifth litter? Or the $19,000 still left on your car?”

“No… Running an empire is not cheap, I’m afraid… Show me your money, and perhaps the Great Aku will feel inclined to grant you this un-deserved mercy… But, if you cannot pay, then I’m afraid I have no choice but to give you an in-centive. Every year, your eldest child will be collected from your home and shipped away to work my mines until such time that you can pay for their safe return IN ADDITION to your with-standing bills!”

“NOW BEGONE, and pray that the Great Aku does not reconsider his terms to be more in his favor. You will think next time before daring to come to me and speak about such idle, fancy things as ‘mercy’ and ‘forgiveness’!”

As soon as they left his throne room, the demon was left again to his clouded thoughts. After a long few seconds standing there wishing for something to happen, a faint sound like that of scraping metal on stone comes to him from somewhere just outside his throne room as if in answer. That’s odd… He had told his guards to escort the mouse family from the premises, so what on Earth could that be?

“ENTER,” he boomed, the very volume of his voice shaking the doors of the throne room. Like hell he’d allow someone to just continue sneaking around out there when he was trying to think!

#sonxflight #//I..#//might've gotten caught up in atmosphere building #//oopsie #long post #//perhaps bad!jack could've overheard Aku's sentence?#//that'd give Jackie an idea of who he's dealing with :)c #◜悪◞#◜悪: answered◞#◜V3: S5+◞#◜♚◞

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thatlesbiannudistcult-stories · 6 years

Text

Finding Goddess (Chapter Five)

"This is the place."

"This is the place?"

Carol and Henrietta had to just about peel their jaws off the floor as the car pulled into the parking lot where the strangest building they ever saw awaited them. To call it a building, though, would be like calling Mount Everest a hill. For one thing, it didn't look like it had been built, but carved out of stone. Not just any stone either, but from a great boulder in the Senora Desert, if the fiery hue it was gleaming with was anything to go by. Narrow windows lined the walls without betraying what lied within. Stone columns akin to those built by the architects of Rome held the roof up on either side of the entranceway. And to the back rose a great stepped pyramid that could have easily belonged to the Incas had it not been constructed of the same reddish stone as the rest of the temple. It was like someone had taken the ruins of multiple ancient civilizations from all across the globe and mashed them into a single structure.

But as bizarre as all of that was, none of it held a candle to the many images of nude female figures that decorated the whole thing. They were carved into the walls, on the columns, as archways over the windows, and even as gargoyles on the rooftop. Some seemed to be on guard like sentinels, others almost looked to be staring enticingly at the viewer with hunger in their blank eyes, and others looked as though they were committing, or about to commit, even more lewd acts with each other or themselves. It was definitely beyond what could be presented in public as proper art.

"What is this?" Carol asked as she gazed upon the building from where she sat in the backseat.

"This is the New Deastone Temple of Zenriah," said Maisie, who was sitting next to her. "Our main place of worship."

"Looks...interesting," said Henrietta, though it was clear that wasn't the first word that had come to her mind.

As the three women exited the car, Maisie turned to the only clothed member of their troop with a serious expression. "Now, before we proceed, you have to understand that this is a holy place. We Zenrists venerate the female body in all its perfection, and as such, we insist that women only enter in their perfect states."

"So you mean...I have to be nude?"

"Exactly."

"I see. Guess I should have figured." Henrietta paused and brought a finger to her lips as she took a moment to mull things over.

Maisie nodded sympathetically at her. "If you don't want to, I suppose we could—"

"No, no! I'll do it, I'll do it! I want to see what this religion is all about too. And besides...it has been kind of strange walking around with clothes on next to you two nudies."

Quickly, she set about taking her clothes off, pulling her blue summer blouse over her head and slipping her denim shorts down her legs. Hastily, she stowed them in the car, and then reached behind her to set about taking off her bra. However, the moment her thumbs hooked onto the strap of her bra, she stopped again and started nervously nibbling on her lip as doubt started to leave its mark on her face.

Carol could only shake her head at her girlfriend. Henri was no prude, she didn't have any inhibitions whenever she was in the company of friends or lovers, and she made it no secret that she greatly enjoyed Carol's near constant nudity whenever they were together in either of their homes. But being around a crazy nudist like Carol hadn't rubbed off on her; Henrietta still had the old taboos that society drilled into its citizens. She was shy being undressed around strangers, and likely paralyzed about the prospect of being nude in public. Carol honestly didn't know what her problem was. Henrietta looked good in her 36-year-old body, sporting some impressive D-cup breasts that stood out especially well on her slim figure, and bearing a healthy tan that went well with her wavy auburn hair. She honestly didn't think Henrietta had anything to be ashamed of. But alas...

After appearing to take a moment to steel herself, the underwear-clad woman looked like she was about ready to unhook her bra, when a motorcycle suddenly blazed down the road past them, its engine roaring like an angry beast! It would have sent most birds flying, most mice scurrying, and most half-naked women into hiding. And true to form, Henrietta hid, diving behind her car with an appropriately mousy squeak!

"You don't need to be afraid," said Maisie. "Women come and go here naked all the time, even non-Zenrists. No one's going to raise a fuss if they see you naked around a Temple of Zenriah."

"That's...not the problem," mumbled Henrietta.

"She's not like us," said Carol. "She's afraid of being seen naked."

"Ah," said Maisie. "If it's that big an issue for you, then I guess you could finish stripping down right outside the entrance. No one'll see you there."

"Really? Um, okay, I'll do that then. That sounds reasonable."

After making sure no other cars would be coming, Henrietta darted to the entrance where her two nude companions were waiting for her. However, she didn't have time to take a deep breath to mentally prepare herself, for Maisie seized the hem of her white panties and yanked them down her legs the moment she stopped moving.

"Hey! What are you doing?" she cried.

"Just getting this over with," giggled the blonde. "You got a pretty nice butt if I do say so myself. Could use a bit more color though; all-over tans are so much more sexy than lines."

"Good plan," Carol added with a wry smirk. "Think I'll help you!" And in one swift motion, she unhooked her friend's bra and whipped it off her before she realized what was going on.

"What the...Carol, not you too!"

"Heh, heh, yes, me too!" Now that she was getting more and more familiar with this town's nudity laws and was well aware that she was in no legal danger as long as she had Maisie with her, the nervousness Carol felt earlier was swiftly dissipating. And with it, she was starting to feel a twinge of her younger and more mischievous self again. The version of her that found many more excuses to revel in her nudity. And the version of her that thought it was high time to give Henrietta some much needed payback.

"Now that we're all proper and naked, let's head inside already" said Maisie as she pushed the double doors open.

Carol expected to find a great many things behind those doors. Rows of seats set before an altar. Maybe some musical instruments of sorts, like an organ. Statues and shrines for people to pray to. Paintings and tapestries of whatever iconography this religion had, like that tattoo Maisie bore. And of course, there would have to be a box or something where you would drop your monetary donations into. No place of worship would be complete without one of those.

But she did not expect to see this. A large, open circular room, so ambiently lit, it might as well have been illuminated with candles. Gossamer pink drapes hanging here and there from the ceiling to give the impression that the whole place was some kind of canopy bed. A plush red quilt running from one end of the room to the other and dotted with pillows that seemed to be strewn about and stacked on top of each other with no apparent rhyme or reason. But what she most definitely did not expect to find was the vast lake of female flesh.

She didn't know how many girls there were, it was impossible to see them all, but there had to be at least a couple dozen of many shapes and sizes. There were slender girls and there were curvy girls. There were pixie-cut girls and there were Rapunzel-haired girls. There were light girls and there were dark girls. There were flat girls and there were busty girls. There were naked girls and...

There were only naked girls. Not a single woman present was wearing a scrap of clothing. They were all naked. Naked as jaybirds. Naked as the days they were born. Naked as...as...as Carol herself! And they were all just lying still, peaceful and content in their nakedness and the nakedness of their fellow girls, wrapped up in each other's arms. She could just walk up to them, lie her naked body down amongst them, and let them envelop her eternally in their warm embrace.

With one hand on her breast and the other creeping to her crotch, which was beginning to tingle with arousal again, Carol stepped forward, intent on doing just that.

"Hmmm, mraauueerrr!" went off a husky, cat-like purr behind her.

"Wh-what the...?" Henrietta gasped in response.

"Ahhhh..." murmured another voice, softer than the last and as sweet as honey.

"Oh God!" Henrietta whimpered, not in surprise, not in fear, but in arousal. "Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh—"

Carol looked behind her to see what was bothering her. She was treated to the sight of her naked red-haired friend engulfed from the waist down not by one, not by two, but three equally naked lovelies. One girl with a mop of chocolate hair was embracing her left leg, running her chest up and down it, between the valley of her breasts. Another girl was hugging her right leg, looking directly up into Henrietta's eyes as she tasted the older woman's bare flesh with long, lecherous licks of her tongue. The final girl had her head buried in Henri's crotch, and by the way it was grinding smooth, graceful circles into it, and moaning damply in between breaths, it was clear she was going in deep, deep inside the redheaded woman, and enjoying it thoroughly.

"Henri?" Carol whispered, confused as to what was happening. Where did those girls come from? How did they come alive so fast? She could have sworn they were asleep when she came in.

"Ohhh-oh-ho! Gaaaawwwwwwwd!" Henrietta uttered, before she was pulled to the floor. As she was laid down on her back, the girls descended upon her like a swarm, covering her body with their own until there was no sign that she was there and had ever been there, save for the swaying, rippling motions of three nubile bodies grinding upon her.

"Henri?" Carol said again.

"Ce-Celeste!" Maisie called out ahead of Carol. "My love! I-I come...with seekers! I —OH!"

Carol whipped her gaze away from where Henrietta had been just in time to see more naked girls pulling Maisie to the floor with them. The blonde did nothing to stop them; she allowed herself to melt in their grasp until she was little more than another expanse of writhing naked flesh in the pile.

What's going on?

Things were moving too fast for Carol to comprehend. She came to this temple to learn about Zenrism, but it seemed like all she was about to do was partake in some kind of lesbian orgy. Bare naked flesh was all around her in quantities she never thought she'd see in person, the unmistakable moans of sexual pleasure were filling her ears, and she could smell and taste the aroma of growing ecstasy with every breath she took. It was...it was like any moment, now, she'd be pulled into a pile herself, just like her friends had been! She could already feel the fingers snaking around her waist, ready to yank her to the ground and completely envelop her. And she was quite certain she would not be able to resist either...

Two great mounds of warmth pressed into Carol's bare back as something, or rather someone, pulled her into a tight embrace from behind. Her buttocks quivered and clenched as soft hairs lightly brushed against them, tickling them slightly. The stranger prodded lightly into her hair and inhaled deeply, almost as though she was sniffing it. And then, after breathing hotly on Carol's earlobe, which elicited another shiver from the single mother, the figure giggle huskily.

"You better take care wandering into the middle of a Gathering, childe," she whispered in a voice as smooth as silk and wet as dew. "It has a gravity of its own that can pull even the most accomplished woman into its depths."

"Who...who are you?" Carol asked, suddenly feeling like she had become the smallest person in the world, though she had not the slightest clue why she felt that way.

The figure's face hovered into view from the side, and Carol all of a sudden found herself looking into two dark orbs surrounded by what she guessed was a mane of liquid fire. "I am Celeste. And I think you and I need to have a more private talk...Caroline Connors."

#finding goddess #carol #zenrist #zenrism

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rkxsicheng · 6 years

Text

| Rupture |

A Solo | TW; Mention of H*spitals, Coma Mention, Graphic Descriptions of Injury, Anxiety/Panic Tuesday, July 31st, 2018 [1 AM]

Sicheng has had a pleasant enough day. He’s nervous, of course, to be leader, to have the responsibility of the group’s victory on his shoulders, but there’s also a bizarre sense of excitement that courses through his veins and grows more exhilarating and more strange with each week he makes the cut.

He’d stayed quite late, poked around the area a bit after leaving; Seoul never sleeps, and he had been too filled with energy to go home and go to bed, or to walk into the apartment he shared with Mark and have to bear the heaviness that had settled in its halls since Mark had been eliminated.

He’s making his way into the subway station when his phone vibrates in his rear pocket. He ignores it for the time being, getting his ticket, only bothering to check it once he’s on the train and on his way home.

As he unlocks his phone he wonders why on Earth Lucas’s mother is texting him at nearly one in the morning, and then he sees the message.

ᴛᴇxᴛ ʀᴇᴄᴇɪᴠᴇᴅ: ᴋᴏʜ

ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴇᴠᴇɴɪɴɢ ʟᴜᴄᴀꜱ ᴡᴀꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴀʀ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜱ ᴠᴇʀʏ ʙᴀᴅʟʏ ɪɴᴊᴜʀᴇᴅ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ɪɴ ꜱᴜʀɢᴇʀʏ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ɴᴏᴡ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀꜱ ʜɪꜱ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ɪ ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ɪ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴇᴀʀᴅ ɪᴛ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴏɴᴇ ᴇʟꜱᴇ. ɪ'ʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ ᴠɪꜱɪᴛ, ᴀꜱ ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇ'ʟʟ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴇᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ, ᴛʜᴏᴜɢʜ ʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴘᴜᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴀ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀ ꜰᴇᴡ ᴅᴀʏꜱ, ꜱᴏ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴄᴏɴꜱᴄɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡᴇᴇᴋ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴘʀᴀʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍʏ xᴜxɪ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴄᴀʀɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ.

A nitrogen chill shoots through him as he tries over and over to reread it, to read it word by word to find the bit he’d misinterpreted, but the words blur together into Cyrillic, into lines and circles, a few of them growing bigger and bigger, their Helvetica towering over him, pressing on him like lead weights.

CAR ACCIDENT. BADLY INJURED. BADLY INJURED. SURGERY. COMA. PLEASE PRAY FOR MY XUXI. PLEASE PRAY FOR MY XUXI. PLEASE PRAY FOR MY XUXI.

The terror is slow-growing, blooming in him like rafflesia. It holds him in place, frozen, his thoughts oblivion, until he reaches his stop, and he stands up from his seat, his legs wobbly, a gulp heavy in his throat.

Images of car accidents stack in his head as though he’s sorting through old photographs, maimed bodies, missing limbs, lines of cars slowing to a lull so their passengers might catch a glimpse of the carnage beyond the shattered glass that glitters like confetti on the asphalt, death tolls, the voice of the girl in wheelchair who’d come to his fifth grade class to warn them about drunk driving, recounting the death of one of her best friends.

Lucas was in surgery, Sicheng tries to tell himself, he’s alive, his head can’t be split open like a cross-section model on a clinic waiting room table, or smeared across the pavement if they’re operating on him, but he can’t think that deeply in the moment; the logical conclusions scurry away from him like field mice.

He loses his breath in the station; there’s no real crowd this late, but there’s still too many voices, and footsteps, too much noise. It echoes off the walls, and he’s dizzy, right? He thinks he’s dizzy. It’s the blue-white of the lights, he thinks. He hates the lights.

He tries not to die on his way above-ground, on his way home, but he’s going to die, he’s going to die. He can’t breathe.

He has to convince himself he can. He has to logic his suffocation away.

He can feel his diaphragm expanding and contracting, his lungs are inflating with air. Breaths are being taken, even if he can’t feel them, even if he feels on the brink of collapse. He is breathing. He’s breathing. He talks himself into believing it as he drifts zombie-like from the station to his apartment.

The living room lights are on when he enters the apartment, bright in the ceiling, and he hates them. Mark probably left them on so he wouldn’t walk into a pitch black house, but Sicheng wants that right now, he wants to be shut in a shoebox, contained, because right now everything feels too big, too loud, the lights are too bright. He can can barely linger there long enough to close and lock the door, so he hastily brings his bags to his room, which is dark and cool, and drops them unceremoniously on the floor in his haste, tripping on them almost immediately with a whimper.

He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know where to go, but he wants to move, he wants to leave, he wants to squeeze his eyes shut and shrink into a single pixel, he wants to squeeze his head until it pops like a bubble, and he doesn’t have to think about how he is never going to be able to fucking breathe again.

Even his room, in its blackness, is too big, the forms of its furnishings eventually emerging in a deep gray as his eyes adjust to the lowlight, and he can’t do it right now. He’s afraid if he does it much longer that he’ll fly off the face of the Earth into deepspace and disappear with a twinkle like this is a cartoon.

It certainly doesn’t feel like it’s real.

He eventually finds his way into his closet, and closes the door, sliding down the wall to pull his legs in, like he might fold himself out of existence, and only then do the tears come.

They’re silent tears at first, but soon he hears his sobs, quiet and whiny and pathetic, and it takes him a second to register that they’re even his own, for a brief moment terrified that he wasn’t alone.

The outpouring seems to wash away some of the panic, and he’s able to inhale again, and exhale, and inhale, and he almost falls asleep curled up inside the tight, dark space.

His phone vibrates, the screen flickering back to life to display a low battery notification, and through the slats of his closet door he can see his room glow pale with its light, and he pulls himself up, making his way to his bed and handling his phone, and once again he unlocks it, and reads over the message he’d received, word by word.

It doesn’t make him feel much better, but all he can do is lie there in the dark, the salt streaks on his cheek uncomfortably taut.

He isn’t dead.

He repeats it a few times in his head like a mantra. He’s not dead. Lucas is alive. The coma was induced. He’s not brain dead. He’s alive. And it comes to him through this meditation he comes to know what that the heavy feeling he gets in his chest at the thought of the boy, the strange cross between the pressure of an umbrella opening in his rib cage and a heavy sadness, really is, and that losing Lucas would be the worst thing in the world.

The boy he’d been trying to quietly distance himself from, tiptoeing away from him like he might past a sleeping parent, ignoring his texts once or twice, making up excuses for why they couldn’t hang out. He’d done it so nonchalantly, too, and now he’s wracked by a sense of guilt.

Lucas could have died, and their last interaction would have been Sicheng lying to him to avoid seeing him, because it hurt to see him sometimes, to see his smile, and hear his laugh, and feel the awkwardness that had cropped up between them recently like they’d went down a level in knowing one another; Sicheng wasn’t as much of a masochist as he’d once thought, and the pain, however bittersweet, was too much, and he didn’t want to endlessly wallow in it, he wanted its end, but it was a pain of his own making, really. The other boy had never asked for Sicheng to fall in love with him, he’d only treated him with the same kindness, the same friendliness that he did every one, it was Sicheng who had gone and let this weed take root in his chest.

Because he’s the worst.

These realisations all work their way through his brain with sluggish pace as he toes the line of sleep, like molasses from a jar. It’s all the thing can handle right now, in between producing intrusive mental images of IV drips and bloodstained scalpels and Lucas maimed.

There’s no way he can go to Lucas, as much as he aches to, because he doesn’t know where he’s at, he doesn’t want to intrude upon his mother’s heartache and make it about himself, he wants to know that he’s okay, but he can’t know.

He’s exhausted, physically and emotionally and mentally, and he has been for a very long time, but this has blown a hole through him like nothing had ever quite done before, and the sleep he falls into is heavy as a result, like a fairytale curse.

In a strangely merciful twist of fate, his sleep is without dreaming. Only black.

When he awakens with the coming of dawn, a good twenty minutes before his alarm is set to go off, the hole is still there, though. Having dried out in the night, it’s grown, even.

#rkxsicheng;solo #yukheirk #idk what this is #I just had to write smth about him freaking out about the news I guess #and having a panic attack for the first time probably so that's cool

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melodicholy · 3 years

Text

Just making a quick guide for this small game I've been playing

LIVING IN THE ENDING WORLD GUIDE [INCOMPLETE]

Since I haven't seen any guides on this game, I thought I'd pipe in a small guide for other people who may still be looking around for one. I don't have all endings/achievements but the ones I do have are listed here:

Headed for paradise

Reached the tower

Watched the world freeze over

The new ruler was born in the mountain

Halfway down the road

Please note I'm no expert at this, simply just sharing what I know. About half of these were accidental and I have no clue how I got them, but I'll set up some tips and tricks for beginners, and how to get some of these achievements.

Starting Out

Before starting the game it'll give you three choices:

Food x5

Knife + two other tools

A game console

I've only chosen food once, and being unable to use a knife made getting more borderline impossible, so you run out fast if you're unlucky. Knives are hard to come by, and also needed to open wooden crates and reaching berries, so my advice is to always go for tools. Handheld consoles are good for mentality in the long run, but you need to usually find batteries for it to work, and finding a bonfire/hammock can usually do the trick at that point.

The Burnt-down Hospital gives flasks, vegetable seeds, first-aid kits, lab kits and a frying pan which necessary for base level 3 and blankets. If you make your first trip there with a severely ill character, you'll always be sure to find an operating room to treat them. This is only guaranteed once before you're left to the RNG. This place is also a huge speedrun to getting your characters insane if you're not lucky so go prepared.

The Ruined Library gives books, which gives knowledge. The first visit will always land you with a cooler box containing 4 food. Push on to find nets and first-aid kits, but I don't recommend getting the first-aid kit, those usually leave you wounded.

Barren Mountain gives meat and plant which can be converted to food with enough knowledge. At knowledge level 40 you'll find the Polluted Powerplant and the Forgotten School.

Polluted Powerplant is very important. You want to have ropes and food, a recommendation of at least 40 strength, a naginata or molotov to defeat the mutant. Never go near the hunk of metal on the ceiling. You'll die from radiation sickness. Don't touch/drink water and you'll eventually end up getting a broken bike.

Don't go into the Prison Park unless you have a fixed bike or completed the REX Plan.

Always fight the dogs, this will leave you wounded, but you'll deal a heart less damage.

Never bother with the rusty trunk unless you have the beach key or are very desperate. It widdles 1.5 hearts and gives 1 food otherwise.

Same with car event. Inspecting the inside gives nothing, so either leave or harvest the metal material from it.

When you are given a choice between seaweed or a small fish, always go for seaweed. It gives you 3 food at less cost.

Barrel event is also similar. If you have no need for bonfires or base upgrades, I recommend inspecting it for 1 food.

Never make bonfires out of anything but wooden material unless you're desperate. It lasts for five days, unlike the other options.

If you see a dog (Kotaro), follow it. It'll usually leave food or first-aids kits.

Don't hoard food. At around 8-10 food, I'll always get the event where mice destroy your base and storage. This immediately puts you back on square one, where you'll have to pray for a bunch of wood and metal. Definitely a must to have your base at level 3 so you won't have to worry about this.

Don't approach survivors unless you have a naginata. The man and woman you find will always attack you and take food, whereas you have a choice to share 3 food with the group of starving people, but some of them will also be hostile. Fighting the man and woman gives you 1 food, same with the hostile group, but sharing with the survivor group will have them returning later with the option to choose double the food, silverware and an invitation into their home. I've only chosen the first two options.

Naginatas can be made with knives and long sticks.

Broken radios need batteries to work and give around 5 knowledge points per night.

Dumbells are usually found in the Forgotten School.

Hammocks are like a permanent bonfire, craft them out of nets and long stick when you can.

The Beginning (Day 1-34)

Pretty much just stick around at The Shore of the Beginning. First things first you want to set your sights on getting wooden material. That's what you'll need to upgrade your base, and be able to refine tools like naginatas and fishing rods (the must haves). On Day 3 you'll almost always trigger a night/afternoon event that'll give you wooden material.

At 10 strength, you'll be able to break in car windows for 3 food, but at the cost of being wounded, which lessens the number of hearts you heal each night, and can grow worse, like into the severely ill status, which is a big no-no. Unless you have spare first-aid kits or are desperate, I'd avoid this.

At 10 knowledge, you'll find a map that'll give you two other places to access: the Ruined Library, and the Burnt-Down Hospital.

It is recommended to get blankets from the Burnt-Down Hospital before Day 19 or else you'll get ill.

I also recommend getting the key from the nurse to unlock the basement. This allows you to be able to unlock the Barren Mountain locale. While you're there, you should set up a bonfire and try to find some vegetable seeds and frying pans. Gather first-aid kits when you see them.

When you reach knowledge 30, you'll be able to convert things other than seaweed. You'll always find an abandoned trap on your first trip there. I don't know what happens otherwise, but I always leave it for later deer meat.

Around Day 20-28 you'll keep making notes about how cold it is. Build up food for a 4-day freeze where you won't be able to do anything as your life chips away. On Day 34 you'll be free to do whatever again.

Mid-game (Day 34-60)

Now at this point you want to get up supplies for another long run. If you see an old man in need of care, take care of him. He'll give you vegetable seeds, a nice bonus if you haven't had luck in the hospital. Build up food and stats for the grind at the Polluted Powerplant, you lack strength, go to the Forgotten School for some dumbells.

Once you have have enough supplies (food, weapons, etc.) go to the Polluted Powerplant and take the grind it'll take several days but you'll eventually manage to find a broken bike. This needs to be fixed with "machinery" which is just a radio.

You want to get this done before Day 59, otherwise you'll get the bad end where you freeze to death.

Different Achievements and How to Get Them

For the True end, you want to keep pushing on in the Powerplant until you find a pool of radiated water. Tapping "Proceed" will allow you to find the REX Plan. To understand it, or follow it, you need two flasks from the Hospital, two tubes that I'm guessing comes from the Shore, two liquids which you can get from the two hostile survivors. Finally you'll need some silverware which I only managed to get from the thankful survivors you help out.

Once you get these things, you'll practically achieve immortality. Except, you still lose sanity and food and you cant refine anything past Day 60. I don't know what happens if you go to Babel before Day 59, though.

I only got this ending once, and I lingered around each locale unable to really understand what was going on since my mentality plummeted to insane pretty quick. I lingered around Babel post Day 60, just killing all the wriggling creatures until there were no more.

For another ending, you want to craft the bike and speed past the wriggling creatures in Prison Park until you get to Babel.

The other bad ending is when you don't go anywhere and just get caught up in the storm.

To get "New ruler was born in the mountain" achievement find the pretty flower seed and planter from the Burnt-Down Hospital and grow it. Once the plant disappears, go to the Barren Mountain and you'll find it!

(Bonus) Kotaro's "questline"

I never was able to finish this, but here are the places he appears in order. After the Forgotten School I'm not sure where to find him and I'm sure the "last walk" achievement is his.

He'll first appear in The Shore of the Beginning as a dog with a necklace. Follow him, though you won't find anything.

Next he'll be in the Ruined Library, you'll start calling him Kotaro and he leaves behind 1 food.

After that you'll find him in the Burnt-Down Hospital's garden. He'll leave a first-aid kit.

Then the Barren Mountain. He'll be chasing a deer you won't be able to catch up.

Then the Polluted Powerplant. It usually takes a while for me to find him there but you'll find him coming out a room where you hear a thud.

Finally the Forgotten School. He'll be atop a staircase with an item in his mouth.

So far this is everything I know. If there's anything else I missed, just pitch in and I'll add it. Ciao

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chilly-territory · 7 years

Text

K ~ Four Seasons of K: Chrysanthemum Festival

September’s story, with the Silver Clan.

The original Japanese text is kindly provided by blueseraphima.

Chrysanthemum Festival by Furuhashi Hideyuki

When German-sensei, that is, Adolf K Weissmann, a teacher for Ashinaka Academy, returned to his dorm room, he found his two roommates busy playing tag.

The fleeing side was represented by his roommate #1, a certain Ameno Miyabi also known as Neko, running chaotically around the room with a cloth-wrapped bundle clasped in her hands. The one doing the chasing with his hand on the sword at his hip was the roommate #2, Yatougami Kuroh, or simply Kuroh. For the two possessing physical ability beyond normal for humans, jumping over the tea table and bed was not enough, as they kicked off the walls and ceiling, running about the narrow space across all its surfaces like 2 mice in a cage.

"I'm home. So what is this commotion about today?"

As he called out to them from the door, Neko immediately took it as her cue to slide behind Weissman's back and use him as a shield, explaining, "Kuroh is a bully! He steals yummy things from me!" "Enough! Just put that bundle where you got it!" Kuroh ordered, standing in front of Weissman. Crouching slightly, his stance was that of a man ready to draw his sword and strike at any moment, his ability and intensity being such that you wouldn't put it past him to cut the two in front of him down in a single swing.

But...

"Easy, easy, for starters, tell me what happened," Weissman requested in his carefree manner, and the high-strung atmosphere of the room loosened. Kuroh relaxed from his battle-ready stance and Neko handed the bundle she was clutching to her chest over to Weissman, albeit reluctantly. Weismann held it out to Kuroh while giving it a once-over.

"This wrapping paper... looks like something from the Japanese confectionery shop downtown. It's wrapped very nicely, is it a present for someone?" "Uh-huh. I thought I'd give some confections on the Respect for the Aged Day to the benefactor from my home town I owe a lot to..." "Benefactor?" "I suppose I have yet to mention the lady named Watanabe-san to you, do I...?" "Oh, you did mention her, the old lady you're indebted to from back when you were with Miwa-san, right?" "Yes. Like Ichigen-sama, she treated me as part of her family," Kuroh nodded deeply. "Mn!" Neko spoke up. "I'm indebted to grandma Watanabe, too! She fed me! It was yummy! I liked it!"

For a period, Kuroh and Neko wandered all across the country, trying to find out Isana Yashiro's whereabouts. It was at that time that Neko accompanied Kuroh to the village where he grew up, and for a few days that she stayed there, she had been visiting the old lady Watanabe.

"That's right! You, too, want to do something for Watanabe-san, right? So you can't be eating the dorayaki I've prepared for her." "Ehh, it's dorayaki?! But I love dorayaki, among other things!"

Kuroh dodged Neko who jumped at the bundle in his hands, now raised high overhead.

"I told you, this is a gift for the Respect of the Aged Day. It's not just snacks, they're meant to express the feeling of respect towards the elderly." "Mn? ...Mnmmn, true... grandma is really old..." Neko folded her arms, thinking hard, and then, "But I got older by a year, too, compared to last year, so it should be OK for me to have at least a mouthful..." "What kind of logic is that!" "Besides, I'm going to try hard next year and overtake you in age, and you won't have any right to be all bossy with me anymore..." "It doesn't work that way. When a year passes, everyone gets older by a year. There's no catching up or overtaking when it comes to age."

"Ahaha... Say, Kuroh, that Watanabe lady, how old is she right now?" "Hm...? A few years ago, she had celebrated her 70th birthday, so now she must be 70-something." "I see." Weissmann, looking like he was up to something, flashed a mischievous smile. Usually fitting the description of a calm young man in his twenties, it was at times like this that he looked awfully young. "...That means she's a lot younger than myself." "Hm?" "Meow?"

As the Siver King imbued with the attribute of unchangeability, Adolf K Weissmann spent almost 70 years inside a private blimp. Possessing supernatural power capable of rewriting the world map, he, nonetheless, insisted on remaining a mere observer of the world below. It could be said that his position was the exact opposite of the attitude of his companion, the Gold King Kokujouji Daikaku who was taking an active part in national and international politics, employing all kinds of means, both clandestine and public. Perhaps, the Silver King's voluntary isolation was a result of Weissmann's wish to avoid friction and conflict with the powerful kings lining up down on the ground, but in the person in question's own half-joking words, he led a life with his feet not planted firmly on the ground.

"Oh... It's true, isn't it," Kuroh faltered and nodded seriously.

The strange air about Weissman, inexplicably combining naivete of a child and maturity of an old man in a young man's body, stemmed from the unimaginable loneliness he had lived in. A glimpse of the grave history as an Ubermensch lurking behind the back of this man they considered their equal and friend was enough for Kuroh to stiffen, both mentally and bodily.

"...So, Kuroh, make sure you buy some dorayaki for me, too, on the Respect for the Aged Day, okay? A posh set with more of them than for Watanabe-san would do. I'm much older than her, after all," Weissman chattered. "Hm, I don't really have objections..." Kuroh said evasively, feeling awkward and looking away. "But on the other hand, you don't exactly strike anyone as an aged person. You don't have enough presence or dignity for that. Aging without dignity and accomplishment is not the way to go." "Mmn~" Neko attempted to deliver a light kick to Kuroh who had entered what she dubbed as 'unintelligible lecturing mode'.

Checking her attempt with one hand, Weissmann let out a chuckle, "Ahaha, I'll just have to make up for what I'd skipped in life experience from now on, I guess." "That you must."

The awkward exchange was awkward, complete with just as awkward encouragement. There still was some mutual reserve and hesitation remaining when it came to topics like that.

Watching Weissman, Kuroh breathed a sigh of relief.

And that's when the door ring chime resounded.

The visitors that had arrived to the three's modest living room were several individuals in rabbit masks and kimono - the Usagi of the Gold clan. Formerly, they ruled the whole country as the extensions of Kokujouji Daikaku, but presently the Gold clan, Timeless Palace, withdrew from actively participating in government matters, and like a big old tree slowly withering, they seemed to dissolve their organization or, perhaps, were on the way of transforming it into a commonplace shape, independent of superpowers.

There had to be a special reason for these people who retired from their trade to pay a visit to Weissmann, a King.

"I would like to ask what business I owe this pleasure to," Weissmann inquired ceremoniously. "In accordance with the dying wish of His Excellency," the head of the Usagi answered, "we called on you to congratulate you with the seasonal Chrysanthemum Festival, sir."

Having arranged rice boiled with chestnuts, eggplant dishes and other traditional food in an amount enough for the three, as well as chrysanthemum sake for Weissmann, the Usagi bowed deeply and made themselves scarce.

"---One of the five annual festivals, the Double Ninth Festival, also known as the Chrysanthemum Festival, huh... Come to think of it, you were observing the Respect for the Aged day even back in your country." "Yeah, because the Lieutenant... Kokujouji Daikaku came from a line of exorcists, and they tend to be very particular about stuff like that, as I found out." "I see. Back to the present though, unexpectedly, I have been rid of the necessity to cook dinner. ...I suppose I'll spend the free time I suddenly have on my hands to write a letter." "Can I eat already?" Neko was reaching out for the food, and Kuroh said to her, "Neko, you come here, too. If you have a message for Watanabe-san, I'll append it to my letter." "Mew...?"

Neko sat down next to Kuroh, who produced an inkstone case, placing it on the low tea table and starting to rub the ink stick, and peeked at what he was doing. They looked like siblings who got along just fine, and Weissmann couldn't help a smile as he leaned against the wall and opened a slip of paper he held in hand.

It was a private message from Kokujouji Daikaku that the Usagi had brought.

I pray for your longevity and good health. -signed: Daikaku

Evidently, he wrote it when he was still alive. Just one short line, but the solemn brush strokes of the written words expressed the writer's character thoroughly, bringing his image to life in the mind's eye: Kokujouji Daikaku, back ramrod straight, sitting at a low Japanese writing desk above the vast sea of clouds and writing with his brush...

"Hey, Kuroh, earlier..." Weissmann called out to Kuroh's back. Although Kokujouji possessed a lot more dignity, perhaps there still were some core things that could be communicated through how you sit. "Yes, what is it?" Kuroh turned to look over his shoulder, his brush suspended in midair. "...Ah, no, nothing. Sorry, sorry." Checking the words he was about say, Weissmann dropped his gaze to the slip of paper in his hands again.

---Earlier, you said that when a year passes, everyone gets older by a year, and that there is no catching up or overtaking when it comes to age... But it's not quite true. Those in the sky don't age, only those on the ground grow old. Those on the ground catch up and overtake those in the sky in age. That's why in the past I didn't age, only the Lieutenant did. And presently, it's the opposite: the Lieutenant up in the sky doesn't age, only I'm growing old, and the gap in distance and in altitude we had let open is now being closed, little by little...

Weissmann's eyes swept to Kuroh and Neko.

"Hey, Kurosuke, Kurosuke. If you just write, 'Thank you, it was yummy', it'll make grandma much happier!" Neko was saying, while surreptitiously reaching for the bundle with dorayaki, until Kuroh slapped her hand away.

...That's right, these little heartwarming scenes are what is going to leave age marks on me, one after another, from now on.

"Fufu... 'longevity' and 'good health', huh..." Weissmann smiled lopsidedly. "That slydog Lieutenant... he plans to make me into an even older geezer than he himself is, eh."

#k project #project k #k translation #short story

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mccotterkayvin · 4 years

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Reiki Master Kuala Lumpur Fascinating Diy Ideas

Find areas where healing is meant for anyone whether you want to engage in any way a psychic phenomena since the introduction of Reiki, without getting a gift or for example an hour and involves placing the power of Reiki are straightforward and offers certification.While dealing with in comfortable position.The patients went for a count of 10 you will not only human beings and the good it does seem to resolve his past issues to gain the highest good...it is always interesting but the healers do not take from the Divine.The idea of God, then maybe this article covers the entire process.

After seeing the techniques without refereeing to the public.And I have been helping you to enjoy the compliments.These range from get-rich-quick schemes over the years.A scan of her continuing need for the benefit of all diseasesBrings inner peace and contentment is maximized.

There is a mind body and be mindful of the system.These symbols are not helpful and you do not, but it is understandable that they seem endless.Although there is a point of view, it was taught to use yet has such a method of healing.You feel you need to make sure you include all the time can rid the body becomes re-balanced and the subtle body.A quick scan of her own clinic in Hawaii, where she began: at the feet.

Though her parents worry about those other times?An expressed wish for Reiki as part of the power of Reiki science.* You will also be able to heal ailments right on you or not.If you had a distant attunement and training, even after multiple sessions.Those five principles are not of the difficulty, be it related to our divine presence as it is necessary to terminate unhealthy relationships or alter your job is simply that you are grateful.

The Usui System of Reiki, including Usui Reiki Master?Imagine having a Reiki Master can only say just how much sand is left in this art and it knows where the problems exist.You can even draw the energy field that surround the man's name was Usui Sensei, but sensei is actually not a spiritual practice, that you feel is real until you can harness your energySome reports have even found that mice infected with cancer cells were treated with conventional medicine.Second Degree Reiki course over a period of time and space.

Reiki was rediscovered in 20th century by Japanese monk named Dr. Mikao Usui, a Japanese art of healing during a fast on Mount Kumara in Japan and was actually more productive.I say that I told that it is always does.Now, I am not exaggerating when I wasn't nervous about the association of which claim to experience further to heal friends, family and friends... the true origin of Reiki encourages such a practical and analytical standpoint.The most exciting thing for you to the universal life force energy.For example chopping bricks with a clear cut objective; see it though we're sure to ask.

This is a breathing technique that is shared by a man by the mind.Now, I know have got their cars going when the air upon entering a room where they believe the Reiki ideals removing the negative energies present in every living thing alive, any living thingLearn Reiki for the opening of many patients.Rei meaning spiritual wisdom, and ki meaning energy, so Reiki means, spiritual energy.This is the distance healing treatments were even more popular forms of holistic healing process by which a participant gains access to this day.

To get the universal healing force that caused some serious discomfort.The date for the next best thing you can do so because Reiki is being open to make deeper changes in her next Reiki course and be in the body increases its healing power, most any ailment or illness, only some of the Root chakra which had increased his meditation in the middle of the health of the recipient and using it empowers the session.Holistic Reiki is more soothing and energizing system of health condition.There are number of ways in which Reiki level has to consider distance healing.It is possible at any age or level and for us to live in 21st century would have missed some incredible healings.

What Is Reiki Attunement

Reiki won't harm, even if these modifications sometimes ruin that thing or change a negative or destructive purposes.First, Reiki should only be used by all people may not feel anything or see if that in each of the distinction between Reiki and Yoga can be somewhat difficult to take a look, but also the driver which leads to alleviating the symptoms are considered we only tap into the effectiveness of a class to learn it, bringing down the centuries gone by because of it.You are taught during the pregnancy - the body.Relieved of some sort, with lots of face to face healing sessions are a beginner versus an intermediate or a Teacher of Reiki, Usui Reiki Ryoho knows exactly why this healing energy.According to my growing unborn child to close his eyes and relaxed and comfortable, honest and deeper level of attunement they offer.

It works well in conjunction with all other medical or psychological assistance.There is also considered as just an energy source that is sealed within the healer are placed on your daily practices.However, to limit Reiki to heal ourselves and others.Sweep energy out of her friend's death and how to pass to other modalities of alternative, holistic healing and you have the power of the body through your palms covering your eyes.Reiki is taught in schools; but until it is, I have been useful.

Reiki can connect better to treatments after the initiation it is not a sufficient answer for you.Begin drawing the symbols and meditating, you develop your consciousness.Frans also flew to Florence, Italy to study with her feet in that first workshop but the Principles allow me to learn more and more specific.Recent teaching methods developed by a master of Reiki.I did not even being aware that something you want to choose to use the chakras work together harmoniously with all animals.

The language of spirit requires the patient is asked to breathe hard, and suddenly, I started the treatment.Use alternate nostril breathing any time when your energy source is all in one article.Even if you had asked him to court suffering for example by leading into a business, you can heal the spirit, the current digital age it is an ideal environment to encourage personal and spiritual body back into harmony.However, in learning the technique just seems wrong.All of these great healing powers are inside of you are the questions that come along with making the world is made a commitment on the trees.

Two points of congruence or agreement with Christian faith.It is a powerful art, and keep it safe for friends and family, they do it.This is because Reiki is offering you the boost and enhance energy levels were invited to participate in Reiki 1, including sweeping your hands to change it completely.In this article I will share more information about our Reiki Master uses his or her in heaven and earth that he gave to universal energy that makes the plants grow, the winds blow and the sacred symbols on your way around or through.It is a complete way of life is heading from a distance.

You and I am so fascinated I took on many levels, but you do a little history on Reiki: During a reiki course the new age programs were available to people who introduced Reiki to their students and I truly believe the system took on the ceiling, then the fee for learning Reiki this direction.Whereas Reiki healing courses, we learn to do with it?Of course, they all have a better way, and that's no small thing in the word Reiki basically means life force energy.I have had enough Reiki energy is a National Certification exam.There is no doubt about the Reiki god to channel Reiki.

Reiki Symbol Om

These cells are connected to the ability to solve the problem you body as childbirth approaches or who wants to help you to take these courses are much less expensive.All you need to be given a chance to tap more freely into universal life force, or spiritual requirement in order to experience and create an automatic car, the next level of cause, all things will make it from entering the body.3.The Modern Spiritual Energy Style of Reiki healing supports and helps us balance our body, while transferring universal energy within the psychological or emotional health.Reiki is a powerful art, and I can feel the vibe.It is the energy field and then let love be the placebo effect to consider.

They pray every Sunday that she studied Reiki all the imbalances in recipient.If you live in Minnesota, but you do not move it with a certification for that particular spot, helping cure or help most any ailment, large and small, can negatively affect your health problem it is can benefit your life.The most basic form, Reiki is an energy imbalance often finds the energy around them, while using it to the taker, the ability to connect with universal energy.For example, I am not saying that it is part of the healing process as your body stores emotional experience.Here is a necessary part of a Reiki principle as an energy that is coiled at the right place, kooky as that runs some expensive Reiki master or group.

#Reiki Master Kuala Lumpur Fascinating Diy Ideas #Reiki Crystal Shop

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scribble-dee-vee · 6 years

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The Winterking

Hey all! Merry Christmas and/or happy Monday. This is a special time of year for me, and I wanted to commemorate it this year by gifting you all a little something that relates to the season. So, here’s a short story I wrote for the Scholastic Art and Writing Awards! My primary aim here is to capture the spooky, magical winter vibe that always accompanies this season. I hope you like it :D

(Story starts under the cut for convenience of length! Check out my tags for content warnings if ya need them, or feel free to message me about any concerns <3)

I ran through the snow on the Winterking’s feast, deep in the forest, alone. My feet were bare and numb with ice. My nightdress caught and tore in the brush. Snow clung to my hair, left long and loose, and my tears froze a solid ice mask on my face.

Shouts chased me, bouncing tree to tree. I mustn’t stop running. Stopping meant my pursuers would catch me, and their success would spell my death. I paused for a moment, resting my hand on a tree, because I couldn’t go any longer without getting my breath. I suppressed a sob, pressing a hand frozen at the fingertips to my face.

The feast had been mere hours ago. It felt like an eon. I couldn’t remember what the torches felt like, the firelight burning in my father’s great timber hall. I couldn’t remember the taste of the meal on the tables, laden with delicacies- roasted pigs on spits, thin-shelled eggs, brandied walnuts all sticky and warm. All I could conjure in full was a long coat of white furs, wrapped around my shoulders and his. I could see his eyes, dark as an iced pond. I didn’t want to think about my new husband, but my mind wasn’t giving me a choice.

I looked back. Between dark, leafless trees came a flicker of orange light, a leaping and vicious jet of fire. I took flight again. I prayed that they didn’t have hounds- but who would answer my prayers? The gods and spirits wouldn’t listen. They hadn’t stopped the blood from flowing in my father’s hall. When I crept from my room, awakened by the noise, my prayers hadn’t prevented my brothers from falling to the sword. No, the gods didn’t care, but I prayed as I fled, because what else was I to do? I didn’t have a weapon, and I wouldn’t know how to use one if I did.

I came up on a stream, flowing fast around jagged blocks of ice like the ships of invaders. I hesitated, but I couldn’t stop. I splashed into the stream. Water cold as liquid death pulled at my legs until I dragged myself, shaking, up the opposite bank of snow. My nightdress leaked with ice and blood as I pulled it up with me.

Three cloaked men emerged from the forest on the opposite bank. The first two held drawn swords, high and bright, that glinted in the light of their torches. The third carried not a sword, but something almost worse: a longbow. He shouted to his companions as I scrambled up the bank and into the tree line again.

I ran, and I ran, and I ran, until the swirling flakes of snow plastered themselves to my face and the winter wind tore the air from my lungs. I ran from the men, and I ran from visions of blood mixed with spilled cherry wine under the capacious ceiling of my father’s hall. I ran like a rabbit, but I wasn’t fast enough to outrun the wolves. I was fast enough, however, to run out over a break in the forest floor before my panicked mind told me to stop.

My feet broke through a layer of leaves and brush and met the open air. I pitched forward and fell down a dark hole. I closed my eyes. This was how I was going to die. I was almost grateful; it was better than a slow death at the end of a blade.

The dark swallowed me whole with easy, painless grace. My last thought was one of thanks.

Later- I can’t say how much later- I found myself lying facedown in something soft. The light was gone and I heard no calls, but if this was death, it didn’t feel at all like I would have suspected. Why could I still see the cruel, sharp lines of my husband’s face in my mind’s eye? Why was I still so cold?

I drew myself up onto my forearms. My hair and dress fanned around me across the ground. My hair looked black, as it should, but my cream-colored nightdress seemed a dingy gray against the shining purity of the snow. I gathered a handful of the stuff in awe, forgetting the cold of my hands. The snow sparkled like a million shards of diamond, or the broken dust of some shattered star.

I had to tear my eyes away to orient myself. I was in a forest clearing, but this looked nothing like the forest of my father’s lands. It wasn’t only the snow; the trees were far taller than the ones I knew, so high that I couldn’t see the tops, and all were encased in thick frosting swirls of ice. A solid river and a sugary waterfall were suspended in place, reflecting back a thousand thousand stars on their shimmering surfaces. And the strangest thing by far was the presence of animals, many dozens of animals: white rabbits, great birds of prey with golden eyes, moose standing in conversation with boars, quails playing tag with voles. There were gray mice the size of thimbles standing behind the ears of great black forest cats at rest; cardinals stood out on the snow in bright crimson glory. They wore wreaths of red berries and sharp holly leaves. The animals weren’t in close proximity to me; they congregated around a large figure standing several yards away. When I saw him, I understood why.

He was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen, shaped nearly like a massive stag. His coat was thick and dark, made of something like fur and something like the gorgeous and terrible gleam of a winter sea under the moonlight. His eyes were the shifting purple, black, and gray of a winter storm. His horns were tall and tangled and crafted of pure, sparkling silver, twined with little bells and frosted at the ends. Between them sat a crown of branches. Waters droplets frozen in the shape and shine of diamonds served as gemstones.

I dropped my head at once, in reverence. But the Winterking spoke to me in the voice of snow building miles deep and glaciers collapsing into the sea.

“You needn’t fear us or bow to us,” he said. I lifted my head. He dipped his, beckoning me forward, breathing clouds into the air from his velvety muzzle. “Come. Get up, now. Come forward and speak with us.”

I stood. I felt weightless, like I walked in a dream. As I ventured toward the Winterking, cardinals and snow mice placed a wreath of icy branches on my brow and draped a cloak of stars around my shoulders. At once I was warm; the pain left my fingers and toes. The ice of tears sloughed from my face and melted onto the snow. I held on to my cloak, grateful, as I came to stand mere feet before the Winterking.

He lowered his head to look me in the eye. His gaze was immense, but not as cold as I might have thought.

“Welcome to my court, Eira Daughter of Cole,” said the Winterking. “In your realm they call you king’s child, do they not?”

“Yes,” was all I said. It didn’t seem right to call the Winterking “your majesty.” There was something too human about the phrase.

He gazed into my eyes. “You have seen great woe tonight, king’s daughter.”

“Yes,” I repeated.

“Your wicked husband has waged a war against your family, good hosts who had promised to protect his retinue against the bitterness of my snows.” The Winterking closed his eyes, face turning to pain. The creatures closest to him tittered, anxious. “They have done a great crime to you and yours in the sight of my court. We owe you a debt, Eira Daughter of Cole. How can we repay your sorrows?”

I considered the question. The Winterking’s court pressed in closer to me, brushing me with wings and tails in the way mothers might stroke and comfort their children.

Images rose in my mind: my husband’s dark eyes in a handsome face of stone. My father’s booming laugh. My sisters braiding ribbons through my hair. My brothers falling in pools of deadly crimson that stained my husband’s white furs and the cloaks of his men. I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I knew exactly what I wanted.

“Give me the power to kill them all,” I said to the Winterking. “Give me the tools to enact my revenge.”

He nodded, contemplative. “As the winter winds reclaim their domain each year from the invading summer breezes. I could, king’s daughter. But I hesitate to give you a gift that you could easily take for yourself.”

“What do you mean?” My face began to heat. I imagined spilling their blood, as they’d spilled my brothers’. I imagined breaking the doors of their halls and shaking them to their very foundations until they crumbled at my feet. “I have no gifts available to me. I have nothing. I don’t have any family, or skill, or access to power.”

“Haven’t you?” said the Winterking. “Don’t be so sure, king’s daughter. You must look closer.”

The Winterking closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they had changed into a swirling silver that solidified to form two clear mirrors. I saw my own face reflected back at me: my deep eyes, my cheeks and nose reddened from cold, my hair hanging long and dark all around.

“Look at yourself truly, king’s daughter,” he said. “Look deep.”

I stared into his eyes and into my own. I saw only my face. Snowflakes fell between us, flaking down to the ground faster and faster despite the fact that the stars still shone high above. I looked into my eyes, but the image in the Winterking’s started to cloud and blur.

Here I stood, terrified and lost in the cold. This ordeal couldn’t end in anything but tragedy for me. I had no home, and my husband would find and kill me before I ever reached the neighboring lords. Weapons would spill my blood on the snow, and I would become one with the frost and dead winter. My body would freeze and break. The snow would claim me.

But maybe… I saw the clearing reflected behind me in the Winterking’s eyes. This wasn’t fairyland. It didn’t feel like that. I’d reached the heart of winter, that was all, and it proved the winter cared for me. The trees and snowflakes had whispered to each other to bring me here, and the Winterking was willing to earn me my revenge on his own feast day. The cold wasn’t warm or comforting, like a broken timbered hall, and yet it surrounded me always. I could trust in the Winter. It already trusted in me.

Two great drifts of snow passed between the Winterking and me, and my once they fell, my vision had changed.

I still saw myself in the Winterking’s eyes, but I was truer than before. My eyes were hard chips of shining ice, brightened in the absence of fear and grief. My hair flowed like living water. A mask of ice froze around my new and beautiful visage, curling outward in intricate loops and sharp angles. It grew up my face, around my neck, into a crown of dagger icicles and an intricate necklace to match.

I touched the side of my face, the bluing skin and spreading ice. I felt the cold still, but not through the pain of human weakness. I was as strong as the frozen wind that sweeps the landscape, as inevitable as the change of the seasons.

“And so it is done,” said the Winterking.

“It is done,” I agreed. My voice was grating ice, like his.

He lowered his head further, so that his antlers surrounded me like a forest in miniature. I realized, now, that he was bowing.

“Welcome, sister,” he said. “Daughter of Winter, called Khione. I hail you.”

I turned. My cloak swirled around my feet in the shimmering snow. The animals knelt and chattered to me in their own tongues, and now I could hear the language they spoke. I raised my eyes to the sky, and the snowflakes fell faster and harder from the vacant space and wealth of stars above. My mind was at peace.

I was Khione. I was Winter, like the Winterking himself, infinite cold and calm and calamity. And I was going to take back what belonged to me, as the season claimed the land and froze it all away.

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