In Loving Memory

They had been dating for almost a year before she asked him to move in with her. He'd been hesitant, at first; it was a big step, after all. Eventually, though, he'd agreed. He loved her, so why shouldn't he make that next step? There were a few weeks left on his lease when she'd asked. He planned it with her, so that he would move in as soon as his lease was up.

The first few months together were just as wonderful as he'd imagined they would be. They sat in companionable silence many nights, with him reading a book while she graded papers for her history classes. He admired that she'd worked so hard to become a full-fledged professor. His own work seemed inconsequential in comparison, though she assured him it wasn't.

"Every job, no matter how small, is important," she would say, and he'd smile because the conviction in her eyes made him really believe that, almost as much as she did.

He had odd dreams from time to time, of places both near and far, scattered across time. He chalked it up to watching too many documentaries with her. They were pleasant dreams, for the most part, and she featured heavily in them. That was not surprising, since they spent so much time together. He knew everything about her, and she knew everything about him.

So when he discovered a dusty, leather-bound scrap book, the contents came as something of a shock. He saw himself staring out of the pages... except, it wasn't really him.

Not all of the pictures were photographs. The earliest ones were sketches and paintings. Papyrus, vellum, even delicate Xuan paper (she'd schooled him soundly when he'd called it rice paper, going on and on about how many types there were.) His face, his eyes, looked out at him. The hair style wasn't always the same, but the colors were right. The dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His smile, a little shy but mostly playful.

Her impeccable handwriting was clear on every page. Location. Year. Name. Sometimes the gaps between pictures were small - perhaps thirty years or so. Sometimes there were much longer stretches of time. The longest he'd seen had been nearly a hundred and fifty years. In between, she'd included a note:

I didn't find him in time. I showed a sketch of what he should look like in every place I went to. By the time I found where he lived, it was too late. The fever took him, they said.

There were splotches on the paper, where he knew tears had fallen and smudged the ink.

He was still paging through the enormous album when she came home, startling him at the sound of the door closing. She stood stock still, her eyes wide and yet so sad. "You were never supposed to see that," she said, her voice strained.

Slowly he stood, turning to face her fully. "What is it?" he asked. "What does this even mean?"

She explained to him, then, about her curse. Immortality, she called it. He was inclined to believe her when she slit her wrist in front of him and he watched it heal within seconds. It dawned on him that she was such a brilliant history professor simply because she had actually lived it. Living forever, well, he could see how it could be a curse.

When she was through, the silence stretched. She shifted uncomfortably, nervous and looking ready to run. So he asked the one question that had been burning in his mind. "Why me?"

The woman he loved took the book from where he'd left it, her fingers brushing each picture as she turned the pages. "Because it's always been you," was her simple reply. "You just haven't remembered it yet."

The Voice of the Sea

The ship had set sail under clear skies and good winds, which had the sailors in good spirits despite her presence. Every now and again she would still catch one glowering at her. When she stared coolly back at them, they would spit at her feet or make signs against evil, despite the growls of the captain telling them off for their rudeness.

She was used to it, this animosity towards women aboard ship. The superstition was ridiculous, and she'd had good fortune to end up with captains and crew who, for the most part, held no stock in the ideas of women being bad luck on the seas. There had been a few, though, who'd cautioned her to dress as a young man and keep to herself, so she wouldn't distract the sailors.

It was unfortunate, then, that this was the only vessel going in the same direction as she.

Even more unfortunate was the storm that came from seemingly nowhere, turning calm seas and steady winds into a thrashing, churning mess that tossed the small ship about, its sails straining at the ropes. She was below-deck in the small room the captain had granted her, reading by the dim light of a candle and generally doing her best not to let the tossing bother her.

That, above everything else, is likely what set off the men who came barging into the room, convinced that she was the one who had angered the seas and caused the storms. She kicked and thrashed against them even as they tied her legs together with a spare bit of rope. One found the knife she kept on her person, and divested her of it, his grin malicious as he tossed it aside.

Her gown - gathered by the binding - fanned out around her feet like the delicate fins of a fish. She struggled against them as they dragged her topside, her voice going hoarse as she screamed in rage and fear, the sound lost under the ferocity of the storm that raged around them.

She could see the captain, running towards them, trying to make them stop, but it was too late. They dumped her unceremoniously overboard, her layers of skirts quickly soaking through, dragging her beneath the waves. She struggled, but with her legs bound, she was unable to kick. They'd left her arms untied - only because she was moving too much for them to do otherwise - but it did her no good. She couldn't reach the rope, and even if she could, she felt it swelling around her legs, now impossible to untie.

Slowly, she sank, her lungs burning as she gasped for air. Her life was over, she knew that with a certainty as the next breath she took was filled with seawater, the salt burning her throat and choking her. Her body tried to cough, tried to expel the fluid, to get air into her, but it was no use. Too late, she sank further and further. Her vision went spotty, and then ... black.

Silence.

It felt like an eternity. She floated in darkness, her body limp. Is this the afterlife? she thought, absently.

Then she heard it, a slow, musical humming, almost like singing.

No, it was singing. It grew louder and louder around her, surrounding her, filling her with life. The dress she wore shimmered with a faint light, the fabric rippling until it became scales of a brilliant blue. Her feet became fins, tipped with a blue so dark it was almost black. The magic rippled up her torso, covering her to her stomach in scales. She grew gills, and suddenly she could breathe again, and it was so wonderful and yet strange all the same.

She looked down at herself, moving what used to be her legs experimentally. They moved more sinuously now, and the motion propelled her upward. Her hands were much the same - in fact, everything above her waist was fairly normal save for the gills - and she clenched them in silent fury, her nails biting crescents into her skin. Only belatedly did she realize that her skin had taken on a rubbery texture, like dolphin skin.

She had no idea how long she sat, suspended in the water, learning her new body, but she could feel when the sea calmed around her, the storm having passed. Curious, she swam upward, blinking at the brightness of the sun. There was no sign of the ship, of course, beyond a few pieces of flotsam that hadn't been lashed down securely. Disappointed, she swam back into the depths.

It was several days before she found another living person - or, what used to be a person. She'd finally given voice to the fact that she'd become a mermaid, though she wasn't sure what magic had caused it. The whole thing still seemed so surreal. The woman she found was much older than she, and had been turned some decades past. She was taught how to harvest seaweed, how to catch fish, the best ways to eat both.

More importantly, she was taught about The Pull.

The Pull, she was told, was when a ship was near. She was shown a few rocky islands nearby, encouraged to perch on them, her lower half in the water, letting the waves roll over her. She could still breathe air, but only for a little while. It was better to keep her gills in the water, when she could.

She first experienced The Pull almost a month after her turning. Following the older mermaid, she laid herself across a rock. Music, undeniable and fierce, almost seemed to pull itself from her throat, the sound melodic, but also sharp from the salt water that she now breathed. They were alone at first, but more and more mermaids found themselves on the rocky outcroppings, their voices united in a siren's song.

The ship drew near, her wide eyes taking in the sight of sailors abandoning ship to dive into the sea. They never resurfaced. The ship continued on, only the most willful of the crew fighting their song until it was long out of view.

The last, dying breaths of the men who'd jumped found their way into her skin, her blood, breathing new life in her. Every woman around her gave a collective sigh of contentment, before they departed, magic singing in their blood.

And so continued the pattern, until at long last there was nothing but silence.

Buzzing Like a Bee

She couldn't remember a time when there wasn't a constant, low buzzing in her head. As she grew older, there were moments when the sound seemed to grow more intense, and other times when it got so soft she could barely hear it. She knew, realistically, that it was all in her head. Literally.

Everyone could hear their own sounds, though. It had been some part of a genetic experiment, causing the body to react to certain pheromones. She learned that helpful tidbit in advanced biology. The scientists who happened upon it nearly a century ago had claimed it would help people to find their most compatible life partners. Of course, they neglected to mention how absolutely maddening the sounds could be.

She learned, over time, that the louder the buzzing, the worse the partner. Then, too, sometimes the sound was deceiving. It would start quiet, but something would happen, and it would grow louder, and louder, until it was almost unbearable, but because it was gradual, she didn't notice until it was too late.

There were quite a few "almost rights". She stayed with them for a time, mostly because she had no better options. It was settling, and she knew it. Still, if it could grow louder over time, surely the reverse could be true? She wasn't willing to dismiss someone entirely until she was sure.

But it never happened. No one made the sound lessen, and she grew convinced that she'd deal with it for the rest of her life. When she was alone, it was almost pleasant, in a way, or at least that's what she told herself.

Until one day, the buzzing just... stopped.

O Citadel

O Citadel! O Citadel!

Thy Council it is changing

O Citadel! O Citadel!

Thy Council it is changing

A new Spectre has just appeared

Right when Saren's disappeared

O Citadel! O Citadel!

Thy Council it is changing

O Citadel! O Citadel!

My crew is not too shabby

O Citadel! O Citadel!

My crew is not too shabby

Garrus is so fine and grand

And Tali's gonna make a stand

O Citadel! O Citadel!

My crew is not too shabby

O Citadel! O Citadel!

You really should have listened

O Citadel! O Citadel!

You really should have listened

There are Reapers, full of hate

The galaxy, they'll annihilate

O Citadel! O Citadel!

You really should have listened

O Citadel! O Citadel!

I'm Commander Shepard

O Citadel! O Citadel!

I'm Commander Shepard

The Normandy will save the day

Just move along, get out the way

O Citadel! O Citadel!

I'm Commander Shepard

Wreck the Halls

Use your Thu'um to shout down dragons

Falalalala la Fus Ro Dah

See the burned and broken wagons

Falalalala la Fus Ro Dah

Don we now our Daedric armor

Falala lalala Fus Ro Dah

Steal a cabbage from that farmer

Falalalala la Fus Ro Dah

I was once a trav'ling bard

Falalalala la Fus Ro Dah

Now I'm just a faceless guard

Falalalala la Fus Ro Dah

Took an arrow to the knee

Falala lalala Fus Ro Dah

Don't want dragons chasing me

Falalalala la Fus Ro Dah

Slaughtered hares with Frosty Breath

Falalalala la Fus Ro Dah

And that bandit? Marked for Death!

Falalalala la Fus Ro Dah

Throw my voice 'til I've gone hoarse

Falala lalala Fus Ro Dah

Unrelenting with my Force

Falalalala la Fus Ro Dah

Jingle Spawn

Blight is drawing close

The darkspawn horde arrives

Ostagar will fall

Taking all those lives

Loghain killed the king

By fleeing from the fight

What fun it is to fight and sing

A slaying song tonight!

(Chorus)

Apostates, high dragons,

Demons and darkspawn.

Oh! what fun it is to fight

Until they are all gone.

Apostates, high dragons,

Demons and darkspawn.

Oh! what fun it is to fight

Until they are all gone.

Run from Lothering

The Blight was too damn near

Ships to Kirkwall bring

Mother, sister, gear

This dwarf is pretty cool

The elves aren't all that bad

This Grey Warden is such a tool

And Aveline is rad.

(Chorus)

Fade rifts open up

The breach is kinda bad

I just want a cup

Of wine to cure the sad

Cullen's pretty cute

Solas is an egg

Give Corypheus the boot

And then we'll have a keg!

(Chorus)

Fallout Night

Quiet vault, rusted vault

Scientists, all your fault

See the Wasteland, dead and wild

Super mutants, ghouls reviled

Sleep wherever you can,

Sleep wherever you can.

Quiet vault, rusted vault

Guard the door, dwellers halt

Don't go out, it's safe inside

All those left, they have died

Stay in relative peace,

Stay in relative peace.

Quiet vault, rusted vault

Bandits play at assault

Deathclaws strike, people die

Secret vaults make you cry

Run as fast as you can,

Run as fast as you can.

In That Moment

It had been days - or was it weeks? - since Katalina's abduction.

There had been no ransom, not even the slightest word from her captors.

He'd thought he would never see her again.

So when Deanna burst through the doors of the little cottage they'd been using as their base during their search for her, he'd thought the worst... until he saw that she was supporting a woman who could have been her twin.

Lucaros didn't remember moving. He didn't recall running to the door - to her. The force of his impact with her might have knocked her off her feet if he hadn't already been grabbing for her, pulling her into his arms.

He did remember wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight. He buried his face into her neck, the scent of wisteria - her scent - wafting around him. She was rigid in his arms at first, but then she relaxed, and returned his embrace. He could feel her pressing against him, craving as much contact as she could get.

The two stood, clinging together as if their lives depended solely on the other. Maybe they did, with that stupid prophecy, but Lucaros knew different.

It wasn't until Deanna cleared her throat that he pulled away, albeit reluctantly. Once she'd been pulled away to have her wounds treated, and he had space to think, he realized...

...I love her.

The Advances of Industry

"What makes you think you can do anything?" she spat, her face contorted with disgust as she stared down her long nose at me. "You are just a man." Her lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. "And not even a very attractive one, at that."

I sighed inwardly, my eyes closing briefly in a silent prayer, before I turned to face her fully. "I have been doing this ever since it was invented," I explained patiently, though patient was not at all what I felt. "My team was one of the first to beta test the device, and I scored very high marks during that and all subsequent testing phases."

She gave me a look that implied she still didn't believe me, but what else could I say? I'd told her the truth. Technology and I, we got along great. It was people I couldn't stand, but a man had to eat and pay bills somehow.

Still, some days it just didn't feel worth the hassle of putting up with such ignorance.

This woman had dropped hundreds - if not thousands - on a device she only barely understood. It had not been treated with the respect it deserved, and now that it was dying (several years before the end of its expected lifespan) she suddenly needed to get it fixed.

But I, a simple man, was apparently not worthy of the 'honor' of repairing what she only saw as a fun techno-gadget, a toy to make her life easier.

It disgusted me, how people treated these objects. These machines were delicate and needed a soft touch. 'Percussive maintenance' may work on the monsters of the olden days, but rarely was it suitable for our modern times.

I was absolutely certain that this woman held to the so-called 'tried and true' methods of dealing with ornery technology.

My job was even more difficult as a man. The leading engineers of the day were women, considered to be better suited to the critical thinking required of our ever-evolving machines.

This customer's sexism was not unusual, but it still grated.

After a long, drawn out silence, she finally sighed, shaking me out of my reverie. "Fine," she snarled. "But you had better not fuck it up."

Oh, it was so tempting...

Good Intentions

Her tail flicked slowly through the water, stirring up micro-currents that caused nearby seaweed to stir and wave in the clear water. Sunlight, broken into shafts of light by the coral reef above, filtered down into the depths of the ocean in which she lived, glinting off her pale grey-green skin.

She trailed a series of bubbles behind her, blowing them through pursed lips as she expelled air from her over-water lungs. In response, her gill slits, previously hidden against her neck and upper torso, opened to let water flow through them.

Quite frankly, she preferred breathing through her gills than through her nose or mouth. She always felt so helpless on the surface, floundering and gasping for breath until her body remembered it knew how to take in air.

The humans who visited her little community had been shocked and disgusted at first, watching her go from gills to lungs. Now they tried to talk to her through things they called underwater radios. Human speech was funny, but easy enough to learn and understand, once she got the hang of it. They spoke a lovely, almost musical language. They had given her what they called a map, coated in some strange, clear film that kept it from dissolving in the water.

She, ever curious, taught them what her clicks and songs meant, explaining that dolphins spoke a similar language, though it wasn't exactly the same.

The mer-woman, as the humans had called her, had just reentered the water after a rare over-water visit with the little research ship. She was excited, because today a human woman would be joining her in the water. She'd watched the woman put on a second skin; it was black, and felt almost right, though it had an unnatural texture to it.

The tiny fins the woman had put on her feet had sent the mer-woman into fits of silent laughter, her throat not quite knowing how to form the sound for human ears. They all figured it out fairly quickly, though, and she heard their laughter ringing out across the water around them.

She felt more than heard the splash as the human woman entered the water. Turning, she made her way back through the reef, her powerful tail propelling her through the water at speeds the human could never hope to accomplish naturally. The mer-woman showed her excitement by swimming broad loops around her human companion, clicking rapidly with chatter even their machines had trouble following.

There was a brief moment where she was able to register sadness and guilt on the woman's face, before a heavy net snared her and dragged her from her home.

A tiny prick of pain, like a jellyfish sting, and the world around her drifted away into great, black nothingness.

Tears from the Moon

The rain beat down on his umbrella, a constant drumming as fat droplets hit the tightly-stretched fabric. There was no other noise; not even his footsteps penetrated the soft hiss of water hitting pavement.

Only the dim glow of street lamps lit up the night, though sometimes he could see the faint glow of the full moon from behind the cloud cover.

He'd been unable to sleep, tossing and turning as his mind went over all the ways the conversation could have gone. Could he have said this? Would that have made it worse? How could he have made it better? His every thought was of her and how their discussion had gone.

Everything he'd wanted to say, should have said, rang through his head now, drowning out even the rain. He would do anything for her, so why hadn't he said as much?

It was easy to hold himself together during the day, when people could see him, could judge him. But when the sun set and he found himself alone, his thoughts inevitably went to her.

Now she was lost. A memory, haunting his nights, his dreams. Why couldn't the ghost of her memory leave him alone, the same way she had done? He'd lost her, and instead of fighting to keep her, telling her the things he knew - now - that she had needed to hear, he'd just let her go.

He sagged, the umbrella lowering. Drops of rain hit his face, mingling with the tears that rolled down his cheeks. Looking up to the moon, he cried, letting the water wash over him.

It didn't take away the pain.

It never did.

What's in the Past

Why did they leave me?

The question raced through her mind, over and over and over again. She played through every scenario, trying to pinpoint what happened. Where everything went wrong.

I wasn't good enough to keep him around.
I wasn't pretty enough.
I wasn't thin enough.
I didn't pay enough attention to him.

She never wanted me anyway.
I was too pretty to be around her.
I reminded her of things she wanted to forget.

I should never have been born.

I shouldn't exist.

Tears slid down her cheeks, her eyes puffy and red from prolonged crying, but no sound escaped her lips. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs as she replayed in her mind, over and over again, the things he had told her.

I can't be with you.
This thing that happened... it's too much.
Too scary.
I can't do it.

It hadn't been her sole decision. He'd wanted it, too. She wasn't ready - financially or emotionally - and he just didn't want the responsibility.

She didn't regret the decision.

It had hurt, though. The trauma was mental more than anything. He slept in the bedroom while she lay, curled up on the couch, her body wracked with pain as the pills she'd taken did their work. It felt like knives were slicing at her insides, or like claws, ripping her apart from within.

And he slept, leaving her to face it all on her own.

A week later, when her body did things she didn't want, reacted to the pills in ways that made her hate looking at herself in the mirror, he began to show signs of being even more distant.

The distance had been growing ever since she'd taken the first pill.

Two weeks after that, he'd told her to pack up.

She had nowhere else to go close by. She asked for a week, to arrange a job transfer back to where she'd come from. At least she had friends there.

Friends she could never tell about what happened.

One person knew, and that person couldn't be there for her.

And the person she'd wanted to tell, needed to hear from, wanted nothing to do with her. She couldn't bring herself to intrude, not even for this. Especially not for this.

There was no comfort for her. Not here. Not back home.

Not anywhere.

Petrichor

The sky opened up above her, releasing a torrential downpour from the heavens. She was soaked clean through in mere seconds, but she didn't mind. The rain was warm against her skin. It sizzled when it reached the ground, releasing steam and the oddly comforting scent of hot, wet earth. To her, it smelled of summer.

It brought back memories of happier times: walking barefoot through the fields, stargazing on a warm summer night, and wading around flooded creeks. Despite the intense heat and humidity - not to mention insects - that plagued the southernmost states, she still enjoyed summer the most.

She stood, arms outstretched, letting the rain wash over her, a baptism from Mother Nature herself. Laughing, she twirled, flinging droplets of water from her arms, only for them to disappear in the sheets of water that pummeled down on her.

The rain didn't last long; it was gone almost as soon as it had arrived, a typical storm shower for the season. The clouds dispersed, their task complete, and left behind only mist and rainbows and wet ground.

As the sun shone down, baking the earth dry again, she smiled. With her eyes closed, she inhaled deeply, taking one last, deep breath of hot, wet soil, before she turned and made her way inside.

The memories clung to her like a perfume, and she spent the remainder of her day in peace.

Sea-Borne

She stood at the bow of the little boat, her white dress and long black hair flowing around her. The sea breeze tickled her nose, bringing her the tang of salt and fish. A soft glow from behind her illuminated her figure, making her appear ghostly in the moonless night.

The soft rustle of leaves at her back caused her to glance back, a smile briefly gracing her lips. The tree, with its tiny lanterns, swayed gently in the breeze. Long branches seemed to beckon to her, and she turned away from the bow and toward the tree, which sat squarely amidships.

It was an impossible sight to behold, the tree growing from her little boat. Even more impossible was the door that opened to reveal a little home, with a stove burning cheerily in one corner. Across from the door, a face stared out at her, its lines carved with a delicate hand. Slowly, the face smiled at her, its wise old eyes glinting with life.

The young woman sat at the table beneath the face, eating the food that had been laid out, and occasionally looking up, smiling and making silent conversation with her guardian.

When she had eaten her fill, she gathered up a stack of paper and a pen, and began to write. She wrote love letters, letters of sadness, letters of joy; letters to friends, and to enemies, and to strangers; and letters that had no substance, only pure emotion. She wrote until her hand cramped, and then she cupped a mug of hot tea, sipping slowly as she regarded the papers before her.

She drank until her hand no longer hurt, and then she picked up the first letter, delicately folding it into a sailboat. The young woman repeated this process for every letter she had written, until dozens of the tiny paper boats had spilled over the table and onto the floor.

When she had finished her task, she retrieved a basket and began to gather the boats up, carefully placing them, one by one, until all were secured. The face smiled down at her, wordless acknowledgement, and the woman stepped back outside, back into her tiny boat.

As the stars shone down on her, she released the boats, one at a time, until the water around her was thick with their presence. Some sank immediately, drowned by water, imperfect in their construction, but others were borne away by the current. Maybe they would reach their destinations.

She stood at the bow of the little boat, staring out at the dark, distant horizon, and resumed her watch, patiently waiting for her relief.

Masked

The room, large and round, held no furniture save for a stone bench in its center. The slab of rough rock was not lovely to behold; it was entirely utilitarian in appearance and purpose. The wall, on the other hand, was a different story.

Thousands of masks surrounded the bench. Some were fabric, others leather, still others plaster or even glass. They ranged from the truly elaborate to the most simplistic. The sole occupant of the room could not tell how they were mounted to the wall; for all he could see, it might well have been magic.

There was a break in the masks only for the door that would take him out of the room. He thought to try it, but something pulled him away from the door. It drew him to the opposite side of the room. Curious, he inspected the masks along the curve, wondering which one was calling to him.

He brushed his fingers along the rough cheek of a blue mask, the face fierce, scowling at him with gleaming red eyes. Feeling nothing, he moved on. A stone mask, expressionless and cold; a lace mask that made him think of butterflies; a leather mask that made him think of a weathered old man. None of these called to him. 

He looked higher up on the wall, and felt his heart pounding in his chest when he spotted it. That was the one, but he couldn't reach it. He searched the room, seeing no ladder, no means of climbing to reach what he was after.

Even from where he stood, far below the mask, he could see how delicate it was. Fragile glass, flecked with silver, the simple details marked in bold black and red lines. The mask looked sad and lonely. 

Frustrated, he clawed at the wall, scrabbling for purchase. He was surprised when he connected with a mask and, instead of coming away, it held strong. With renewed purpose, he began to climb, using the masks around him as hand- and foot-holds.

The mask he sought was further up than he'd first thought; the room swayed around him when he glanced down at the floor, now far beneath him. The stone bench was shrinking speck in his vision.

Still he climbed, until, at last, he was face to face with the mask. Up close, he could see tiny lines, like cracks, that trailed from the mask's eyes, as if it were crying. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I'm here." On impulse, he kissed its glass cheek.

In his head, he could hear a faint, but happy, voice.

I know.

Around him, all the other masks vanished, and the room faded away.

Crystal Roses

The garden glinted in the sunlight as hundreds of flowers slowly opened their blooms, petals spreading wide to greet the day. Dewdrops glistened on the myriad colors, a wild display that threatened the senses of onlookers. The garden, to the average person, looked much like any other flower garden. The scents of roses, orchids, and lilies perfumed the air.

This garden, however, housed most interesting secrets.

To begin with, its caretaker was a sidhe of the Seelie court. She looked human enough, even without glamour. It was one reason she'd been chosen to care for this particular garden, visible as it was to the human eye. More strange than that was what the flowers really were.

The sun rose higher in the sky, burning away the dew, and yet the flowers still glinted and sparkled. The sidhe brushed her fingers along the edges of one rose, reveling in the feel of the crystal against her skin. Nestled at the center of the rose was a small opal, white and fiery and full of magic and life.

It was not yet ready for harvest, but come autumn, the petals would fall away and leave the fully-grown opal behind.

Not all the flowers bore opals, of course. Some were growing emeralds, others rubies, still others sapphires. The Seelie court held magical gemstones in high regard, and Calista was the only sidhe capable of growing them. It was her special magic, not something she could teach; one had to be born to it. Her mother had been a gardener of supreme beauty and grace, and her father an enchanter who worked with the finest jewels.

Their magic had combined in her.

She wandered about her garden, watering the flowers where needed, and simply enjoying the sun on her face. Calista closed her eyes, inhaling the faint perfume of the crystal flowers.

It was a shock, then, when she opened her eyes to find a human male standing not two feet away, staring intently at her.

Heart and Soul

Music, eerily familiar to her ears, floated through the air. With her eyes closed, she imagined the notes, how they might look as they glided past her, surrounding her with their soft melody. When she smiled, it was soft and tinged with sorrow, though she was not quite sure why she was suddenly so sad.

There was a lull in the music, and then it resumed again, that same tune winding around her. Curious, Alaine followed the sound to its source. The room was easy to find, large and open as it was. A piano sat squarely in the center, and its sole occupant was seated there, his eyes closed as he played.

She stood silent in the doorway, unwilling to intrude yet wanting to remain. Unable to make a decision, she hovered, watching and listening. The man was stooped somewhat, indicative of his height, and his long, slender fingers delicately pressed the keys, caressing them as if they were a lover.

Alaine closed her eyes again, letting the music wash over her. As she listened, her feet moved her forward of their own accord, until she knew, without ever looking, that she was mere inches from the piano.

A long-buried memory surfaced, and music tumbled out from her lips, giving voice to the melody the man played.

The snow falls on quiet plains
A heart encased in cold
But at the core, the love she feels
Will make her heart of gold

The man's voice, rich and deep, joined her own in counter. She faltered briefly, her eyes fluttering open only to lock with his, two strangers caught in the music.

Two hearts and souls of sorrow
A life of blood and tears
Two hearts and souls of trouble
Their cries of shame and fears

A wind blows on desert fair
His soul buried and lost
Don't be afraid to dig a well
No matter what the cost

Two hearts and souls of sorrow
A life of blood and tears
Two hearts and souls of trouble
Their cries of shame and fears

Waves crash on empty beach

Two loves shall meet again

Cold and warm, so beautiful

The souls we find within

She backed away on the last note, even as the man stood, his fingers leaving the piano. He did not follow her, instead giving her the space she needed. He smiled crookedly, waiting patiently.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude," she said, her voice soft, apologetic.

"Oh, my dear, don't apologize. You didn't intrude." Her voice caught as his smile broadened. "I've been waiting for you."

Too Late

Ka-thunk.

He ran, feet barely touching the ground as he raced toward the sound.

Ka-thunk.

He was closer now. There was an odd sound, like a hiss.

Ka-thunk.

His breath came in quick gasps. He'd been running at full speed for far longer than he was used to.

Ka-thunk.

He could see his breath condensing in front of him. The air around him was cold.

Ka-thunk.

He heard another hiss, and a creaking groan, like a machine that badly needed oiling.

Ka-thunk.

He felt vibrations beneath his feet; the windows and doors along the street rattled with the reverberations.

Ka-thunk.

He could see spotlights ahead, trained on a city block that was wreathed in smoke.

Ka-thunk.

His muscles ached from the shock-waves that rolled around him.

Ka-thunk.

He was so close; there was no way he could stop now. With renewed vigor, he ran faster.

Ka-thunk.

He winced, close enough now to hear the whine of machinery; the groaning of metal was louder and more clear now.

Ka-thunk.

He had to get there before it was too late.

Ka-thunk.

He heard the distinct whistling of a mortar; a cry ripped itself from his parched throat.

Ka-thunk.

His hands reached out, as if grabbing for someone. Thunderous booms from military weapons shook the air.

Ka-thunk.

His face twisted in agony as windows shattered around him, shards of glass slicing his skin.

Ka-thunk.

He ran on despite the pain and the blood; it wasn't too late; it couldn't possibly be too late.




The very earth shook as an explosion lit up the sky, lifting dust and debris and scattering it in a wave of sound and pressure.



The next step never came.

Reflections

She was barefoot beneath the hem of the red dress; her toes curled in the grass and sank into the earth, bringing a slight smile to her lips. Long black hair spilled over her shoulders, strands blowing in the soft breeze, reflecting the moonlight.

The hilltop she stood upon overlooked a large lake, its surface still save for the occasional ripple caused by the breeze. There was not the slightest hint of fish nor turtle nor fowl. She inhaled slowly, one hand gripping an elaborately painted mask, and began to make her way down to the lake. The water spread out before her, disappearing over the horizon, appearing as if a small sea in the midst of the green hills.

She came to the edge of the lake, the sand gritty, cool, and damp beneath her feet. The moon, full and bright, shone brightly overhead, its mirror in the lake a dimmer yet still beautiful reflection.

On impulse, she leaned over to stare at her own reflection. A gasp escaped her lips, and she scrambled back a few steps, heart pounding in her chest. Slowly, she calmed herself down and made herself look again.

That was the same black hair, the same red dress, but the reflection's skin was dark where her own was pale; its eyes were red while hers were golden; its teeth, when it grinned at her, were sharp and pointed, like fangs.

Was she really this monster staring back at her? Was it a trick, some evil magic in the water?

The reflection stretched its arms out to her, beckoning. She resisted, pulling back, uncertainty in her eyes. Movement caught her attention, and she sneaked a peek, only to see her reflection was still beckoning for her.

After what felt like eons, she gave up, and went into the water.

Fox and Lion

He sank his teeth into hot, wet flesh, his fangs ripping and shredding, peeling the tender meat from the bone. Those around him looked on, some in horror, others in anticipation. None wanted to disturb his meal. Blood dripped from his lips, staining his muzzle, and he snarled at them when one dared get too close.

Slowly, the group dispersed, sure that the mighty feline was not going to share his bounty with them. They left, one by one, until only one creature remained.

She looked at him with intelligent eyes, her mouth gaping in a silent grin, almost as if she were laughing at him. The tiny vixen remained where she sat, her bushy tail slowly swishing from side to side, creating tiny clouds of dust that puffed and blew away in the breeze.

He stared at her, growling low in his throat, but still she sat, calm as could be. He shifted his attention away from her, returning to his meal, and she inched forward, going still when he looked her way again.

Eventually, warily, he ignored her once again, and once again she inched forward, still grinning.

This repeated several times, until he looked up and was startled to see that she was sitting right beside him, her eyes bright and amused. He snarled at her, trying to make her back off, but she did not flinch. Instead she laid down, slowly, gently, until her nose was just barely touching his paw.

The vixen gave a small yip of amusement, much to the lion's consternation. He backed his paw away, but did not strike at her. Her tail thumped the ground slightly, sending up another puff of dust.

He sat back, growling but unsure. She took that moment to scoot forward again, gingerly taking a bit of loose meat into her mouth. When he made no move to stop her, she swallowed it in just a few bites, then licked her chops, grinning at him again.

He huffed at her, shaking out his mane, but allowed her another bite, then another after that. She didn't eat much, and when she had her fill, she simply laid down and let him continue his meal.

Eventually, when he, too, had eaten all he could, he laid down beside her.

It's Dark on the Other Side

There comes a time when a person must simply ask themselves what, exactly, they want out of life. While most everyone wants the same basic thing - happiness - everyone has a different idea of what that word entails. For some people, it's money. For others, it's a loving spouse, maybe even children.

For me, well, it was knowledge. The day I had to ask myself that question, it took me a good long time to come up with the answer. Money was good and useful, but beyond that it never really meant much to me. I had close friends and friends I considered family, so I was all set there. But the thing I craved the most, desired the most, needed the most, in order to feel truly complete in my life... well, that was always knowledge.

What else can I learn? What mysteries lie out there in the great big wide world? How do different cultures live, how do other people think and feel and act when confronted with certain situations? I wanted to know everything. The world was my oyster, and knowledge was its pearl.

And boy did I want that pearl.

That's probably what got me into the heap of trouble I found myself in, truth be told.

It was a day just like any other. I'd found some tidbit of information that intrigued me, and I followed the bread crumbs left on that fancy invention called the Internet. Hell, I followed those crumbs all the way down the rabbit hole and hadn't even noticed that I'd gone clear through to the other side.

Let me tell you, the other side is not the best place to be. I felt like Alice when she stumbled into Wonderland, only this side of the looking glass was a hell of a lot more dangerous. You think the Red Queen was bad? She was a breath of fresh air compared to the monster on the other side.

Those crumbs of knowledge were so enticing to me that I ignored every warning sign and kept going despite my body screaming at me to turn back, and turn back now.

It's funny, in a sad way, the kinds of things you'll do for what you desire the most...

The Light-Thief

The small figure crept down the corridor, crouched low to the floor. Bare feet padded softly against cold stone, making almost no sound at all. She darted between pools of shadow, avoiding the circles of light cast by torches whenever possible.

At this late hour, there were only the guards on patrol. Even the night servants were in their rooms, getting what rest they could.

The small female hid behind columns or tapestries whenever the distinct footsteps of a guard began to near. Her highly sensitive ears twitched slightly, picking up the soft rustle of cloth, the clink of chain shirts, and the steady scuffing of heavy boots against the stone floor, the sign of a tired guard.

Perfect.

The room she needed was down another corridor, which meant the guard would have to be passed in order to get there. Holding to the shadows, dark clothes and darker fur hiding her from sight, she waited. When the guard, yawning, wandered past, she made a run for it, darting behind the guard and turning down the next hall.

The castle was not a sizable one, being the winter palace. It was the summer right now, and so staffed mostly by guards and servants and nobles who were out of favor with the crown. She had to be extra careful; after all, what better way to earn one's way back into court than to capture a thief?

Especially a thief as... unique... as herself.

She slipped into a dark alcove, straining her ears to listen for the next guard. When one could not be discerned, the small being crept forward, her bushy tail brushing the stones. She was close now, she knew.

The little thief reached the room she sought with no incidents. As soon as she opened the door, light from within blinded her, both expected and yet still surprising. In that moment, she could hear a startled cry, and then all hell broke loose. Soon she saw nothing but darkness.

In retrospect, it had been far too easy to reach that room.

To Be Afraid

What is fear? she wondered.

She knew the things of which others were afraid. Death. Loneliness. Heights. Spiders. Some people were afraid of other people, and some people were afraid of all the people, and some people were afraid of there being no people at all. There were myriad reasons to fear, and she knew them all. Even, she knew, the ultimate: being afraid of fear itself.

But she had no idea what any of it felt like.

She had great respect for things that could kill her, but that wasn't the same as fear. She could fall off a cliff face, her bones shattering into a million tiny pieces insider her body, and all it would take was one slip. She could be mugged on the street - or worse - at any point in her life.

To counter those potentials, she simply either didn't climb cliff faces, or triple-checked her gear when she did. She avoided walking alone and unarmed at night, especially down side streets or back alleys. Not out of fear, but out of pure common sense. This is something that could happen if you did this thing, so don't do this thing. Simple.

Never in her life had she felt pure fear.

Now, it coursed through her. Her heart thudded in her chest, so loud she was sure it could be heard clear across the room. Her breathing was ragged, coming in short gasps and explosive exhalations. Is this fear? she asked herself. Her skin felt hot, and she was sure she would be dizzy at any moment.

Is this what fear feels like?

Weathering the Storms

A loud crack of thunder shook the room, causing the windows to rattle so much Evie thought they would break. It was silly of her; she knew that the windows were well-made and so durable it would probably take a direct hit from one of the orbital lasers to even scratch it. There were blackout curtains on all the windows, and she pushed one aside in time to see a spear of lightning illumintate the city. Storms like this were getting more and more frequent as the planet continued to decay.

Another boom of thunder rumbled through her small room. Sighing, she let the curtain drop and went to her desk, rather than back to bed. There was no way she was getting any sleep now. Might as well get some work done.

She waved her hand over the desk, activating the terminal. The gentle glow cast soft shadows on her face as she brought up her latest project. The thunderstorm continued to rage outside, but it only cemented her need to work. She was near a breakthrough, she just knew it. It was absolutely vital that she find it and progress to the next stage of her work.

The planet outside was not Earth, the origin of humanity. It wasn't even in the same solar system, in fact. Humankind had left Earth hundreds of years ago in vast colonial ships, leaving behind a scant few thousand on their dying world.

Many of those ships reached their destinations and found the potential new worlds to be dead, useless, or completely hostile. Terraforming had been in its infant stages at that point, and few worlds had survived the process. Sigma Tau had been one of the few that match Earth closely enough to allow for habitation, though the native population had suffered greatly.

Evie knew her history, knew that humans were always meddling where they needn't, were always destroying, always pushing their way in to places they didn't belong. But those original settlers were hundreds of years in the past. Evie had been born on Sigma Tau. She didn't approve of her forebears actions, but that would not stop her from trying to save the planet of her birth.

The heart of her city was a massive terraforming station. Every ship had been equipped with what had been groundbreaking technology. It had been added to and upgraded over the years but the meddling had caused massive climate shifts that eventually led to superstorms, much like the one over the city now.

Evie was doing her best to correct the meddling. Her proposition to shut down the facility entirely and let nature take its natural course had been shut down nearly unanimously. She'd been given two options, after that: fix it, or quit and let someone else try.

There was no one else with her level of training. So, she'd had no real choice at all.

Beauty

She sat cross-legged on the floor, polishing a bit of metal with a soft cloth and sweet-smelling oil. A fire crackled in the hearth near her, the flames casting shadows that twisted around her. Carefully she worked the oil onto every tiny bit of the metal, before, satisfied, she set it down and picked up another.

In a plush chair behind her, a man sat, his shadowed eyes watching her work. "Why don't you ever try to get the dents out?" he asked after a long stretch of silence.

She turned, a lock of hair falling into her eyes as she smiled up at him. "Because it shows where you've been."

"But don't you think it looks ugly, dented like that?"

"Not at all," she replied, returning to her work. "It adds character. The dents, the scratches... they show that you've been somewhere, and that you made it back."

He shifted in the chair, frowning down at her. He'd never seen it that way before. Piece by piece, she oiled and polished. Every time she finished, she would gently, almost reverently, place it on the floor before plucking the next from the steadily shrinking pile.

"Don't you ever get tired of polishing it?"

She paused, her hand hovering above the cool metal surface, and then shook her head as she went back to work. "No. I like to take care of it. This armor has seen a lot. It deserves to be cared for."

She was polishing the breastplate now, and he could see her fingers brush a large scratch. If it were worn, it would have been right over the heart. He grimaced and rubbed his chest, a remembered pain coming back to him. As if she could see his movements, she leaned back briefly, resting her head on his knee.

"The armor may look banged up and ugly, but its purpose is beautiful, and that's what makes it beautiful to me." Her thumb traced the scratch before she once again took up the cloth and oil. She finished the breastplate and set it to the side before picking up the helm, the final piece. Of all the armor, this was by far the most damaged, but she tended to it just as lovingly as she had the others.

As she worked, he reached over to inspect a vase she'd repaired. At the time, he hadn't known why she'd kept it when it broke. Now, though, he could see that each crack had been mended with gold; the vase was whole, though no longer what it had once been. The firelight reflected and made it seem to shine, and he smiled. "I think I see now." He gently set the vase back down. "You care, because it has a rich history, and it's all the more beautiful because it was damaged, but it's still strong. Is that it?"

She rose and set the helm on the floor before she bracing herself on the arms of his chair. Her hair framed her face as she looked into his eyes. He could see her smile, the compassion and love that dwelled in her heart. "Yes," she said simply, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

The Darkness Inside

Every night when she fell asleep, the dark shadows normally locked behind her eyes shifted and moved. They would flow like ink, pooling in her pillow until they took shape, becoming the demons I knew them to be. She was adept at concealing them; only someone who knew to look could tell they were mocking her from the back of her mind.

I was certain she had no idea that they did this. They sat, staring at me, their black eyes intent. I knew they were waiting, expecting me to sleep.

My own demons would join them when I did.

I waved the devils aside and took her in my arms, holding her close. She made a soft, contented sound and relaxed against me, safe and warm. Did they torment her when she was alone? It made sense. I glared at them, but they only grinned back.

As I drifted into sleep, I imagined I could feel my own darkness slipping out of me. The mocking laughter faded away as like called to like. I held her closer, a silent promise to protect her as long as I was there.

This happened more and more frequently, as I stayed with her more often. She slept better for it, and I liked holding her in my arms. That our demons got along with each other was an odd sort of bonus. They tormented her less, and sometimes it seemed as if her eyes were less shadowed.

She was up later than usual one night, a haunted look in her eyes, the darkness back in full force. When I asked her what was wrong, she shook her head, unwilling to discuss it just then. I wasn't happy, but I didn't press the issue; she would tell me when she was ready.

A few days later, after a particularly restless night, she sat across from me, absently stirring her drink, watching the steam rise. I'll never forget the things she said that morning. She told me about her past, the things that haunted her, that kept her awake and never let her rest. Her eyes were downcast, and she gave me a sad sort of smile, as if she expected me to be scared off, or disappointed, or whatever else the men before me had put her through.

She told me about the one who assaulted her, and stalked her. She told me about the one who cheated on her, used her and left her when he was through. She spoke of her mother's abuse, and how unwanted she had been. How she sometimes still felt that no one wanted her, that she was a failure. How she'd been abandoned when she needed support the most.

Everyone has their demons, and I told her as much. I didn't tell her that I'd known, maybe not what they were, but certainly that they existed.

Then I reached across the table and took her hands in mine, squeezing them gently. "Your demons don't scare me," I told her. She smiled, and I could see a spark of light in her eyes, driving the demons away.

Would she be frightened by mine? Somehow, I didn't think so.

The Memory of You

I can feel your gentle caress
And your warm breath on my shoulder.
I can still hear your soft whispers
And the sound of your laughter.
I can see your loving smile
And that glimmer of joy in your eyes.
I still reach beside me to hold you
Only to find that you're not there.
Only to find that you're there... but gone.
I still feel your lips on mine
And the comfort of your encircling arms.
I still hear the words you speak
And the quiet as we lie together.
I still see your arm around my waist
And the way the light strikes your hair.
I still move to make room for you
Only to find that you're not there.
Only to find that you're there... but gone.
I still hear the sadness in your voice
As we part yet another time,
And I still feel the shivers
That your memory causes
Whenever I think of you.
I still wait for you
Even when I know you'll not be home yet,
And I still look for you
Only to find that you're not there.
Only to find that you're there... but gone.

Desperation

How do I know what is real?
The colors and shapes and sounds
Are all jumbled together,
A noisy call for mind and heart and soul.
But how does one answer when the mind is closed,
When the heart is cold, when the soul is lost?
How does the bitter husk
Of a once lively girl, full of joy,
Say that she is no more?

She wonders if she can ever love again
For her heart is not yet free
And she struggles against the bonds of pain.
The pain of loves long past
And the fruitless search for true happiness.
People always told her that love would prevail,
That she would find a way to happiness,
But the drained spirit is too saddened,
Far too deep in bitter misery
To do more than sit and wait.

And wait she does... forever.

Shadow and Flame

Shadow creeps across the sky
Rain hangs in the still air
Warm breath escapes soft lips
A fog of mystery that disappears

A pale beauty lies with her lover
Together embraced against the frozen night
They whisper to each other
Smooth caresses of silken sound

They move together, sliding
A battle of desire
A war against the oncoming frost
The desperate attempt to keep each other warm

Flames of passion engulf the pair
At last they become one
As the shadows leave the sky
Keeping them in their state of eternal joy

If...

To what stars will time lie to,
With immortal man
The truth to be?

While beggars watch
From perilous seats,
Soon to be kings and queens.

And the sea stands still,
Its breath held tight
As man begins to fight.

The skies turn dark,
The sun is gone
Into the mirror's life.

So what does time lie to
If man immortal truly be?
For none shall falsify,
Nor reality hide,
When immortal is man
And human are we.

The Model Failure

 It was his first time going to the park on the little island. Sure, he'd heard about it from his friends, but he'd only just moved to the city. When they took him out one Saturday morning, he went in not expecting much. After all, a place called Mud Island couldn't possibly be that interesting, right?

He was surprised, then, when his friends took him across the walking bridge. The park was larger than he'd thought it would be, and he could see people milling about; tourists and locals alike were flocking to the island. In the distance, the excited shrieks of children could be heard over the low, steady rumble of the tram beneath his feet.

It was a beautiful day, warm and a bit muggy but not unbearable. There was a breeze coming in off the Mississippi River, cool and not as … fishy … as he'd thought it might be. His friends were around him, chattering and joking, getting into shoving matches over nothing. He shook his head and simply ignored their displays, focusing instead on everything going on around him.

It took quite a few flights of stairs and escalators for their little group to reach the ground, when he was assaulted by the sight of dozens of children – and adults – splashing in what looked like a tiny river. In fact, as he looked closer, he could see the winds and curves as water snaked around a bend.

“Hey, Jack, what do you think of Mud Island, huh?” Andy asked, nudging him with an elbow. “They recreated the entire river, start to finish. C'mon!” And suddenly Jack was being dragged towards the nearer end of the park, where walls of cascading water burbled around a common area.

“They match the water level to the actual river,” was Peter's aside, gesturing to the main attraction.

Jack simply stood gape-jawed with wonder. He'd never seen something so meticulously constructed. He stepped up to the edge of the miniature river, his eyes taking in the lakes and varying depths of the river. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted, of all things, a dam, constructed of what he could only guess was stainless steel. Water flowed over the dam's edges in a steady stream, though the bulk of it was trapped into a large lake.

“That's Lake Itasca, up in Minnesota.” Andy gestured to the pool. “It's where they say the main source of the river comes from.”

“Hey, guys, look at me!” Peter raised a foot, playfully smashing it into the tiny dam. “I'm a giant! Grr!”

They all laughingly took turns pretending to be monstrous humans wreaking havoc on the river. When it came to Jack's turn, he stomped the metal structure, jumping back in surprise when it simply broke. “Shit!” he exclaimed, leaning over to try and put it back in place.

“Leave it, man. It was probably just weak metal. They'll come and fix it.”

“Yeah, let's get away from here before anyone notices. It's cool, Jack, no one will know.”

He felt bad, of course, but they were right. Likely it had just been in need of replacement from the beginning, and the added strain of grown men playing around on it had weakened it further. That he had been the one to deal the final blow was just a coincidence.

They pressed on, following the river all the way to the end, where a large pond mimicked the Gulf of Mexico. They rented paddle boats, daring each other to races around the pond, playing chicken with each other. Jack ended up in one of the swan boats, and even though he was having fun, he still felt guilty about his earlier accident.

Turns out, he was right to.

It was the next morning when he heard the news. He had to look up the story on the internet to make sure that he'd heard it right on the television.

Dam at Lake Itasca Bursts, Cause Unknown

He received quite a few messages from his friends, exclaiming about the coincidence. Wasn't it funny that the dam that burst had been the same one he'd accidentally destroyed at the park? At least no one had been reported as injured – or worse – but it was still a terrible accident. It would take a long time to rebuild the dam, and a lot of money. Until then, the river would probably flood, especially close to the source.

Jack thought he'd managed to avoid his family's curse. He'd never had any problems before, so why now? Were they manifesting late? He hadn't wanted any of this to happen.

“That's a very odd way for it to manifest,” said his father, startling him out of his thoughts. “Usually it's drawing or painting or something.”

“It's still not a pleasant thing to discover, either way,” Jack replied glumly. “I can't just reach in and fix it.”

“No, you can't. And now you know to be more careful. No mucking about with models like that, not anymore.”

“That should be easy enough to avoid, right?”

If only he had known how wrong he was...