Betrayal

Are my glowering eyes

To hard for you to bear

As the weight of your sins

Pushes you to the ground?

My fangs white as snow

And specks of your blood

Upon my face

From your most delicious veins

My anger mounted on your worst nightmare;

A lack of attention

And lack of inclusion

In your favorite groups of "friends"

Just to spy on me,

Who you've decided to slight,

To dishonor, to betray

In the name of what? Attention?

Your vain influence and lies

With their hands around your neck

Drowning and choking you

From the inside out

Tell me, 

At what point does it end;

And do you feel remorse

For anyone you have touched?

Breaking Some Strings, A Short Story

    'Tis not everyday adventurers seek out assassins outside of the adventuring racket; Those who do the dark deed without a moral shield or deadly friends to watch their back. But in a dank bar so far removed from the main roads of Vindelhiem that its only real purpose is to sell alcohol during the shady and illegal proceedings happening within is where Boe found two of the most stereotypical adventures sitting at his table. An ork wearing mostly war paint and animal skins was keeping hold of a gnarly looking axe next to a cleric girl. The girl was pulled right from a quaint mountain village and was well wrapped in a robe that obscured her body type. She had the look of a girl tempted away from a simple life by the 'thrill of adventure.'
    Boe was the exact opposite of what an assassin would look like. Dressed in loose merchant clothes and a wide brimmed hat hiding most of his face as he sat in the chair in a practiced foe relaxed posture that would allow him quick access to throwing knives and pushing the table over. The pair sat silent as they studied one another before the cleric girl spoke.
    "We require your help," she started timidly, looking to her companion before continuing. "We have... A delicate problem."
    "We want you to murder our bard." The orc said in traditional orcish straightforwardness.
    Boe outwardly raised a eyebrow with professional practice, but inwardly he sighed deep enough to make you wonder about his character traits. It seemed the business of bardic killing was in season within his profession, but it was a specific kind of bard.
    "Let me guess: loves the spotlight, big on the sparkles in his magic, becomes hysterical and whiny when he's not the one involved in social interactions?"
    "Are you also a psychic?" the cleric asked, eyes wide with all the confirmation he needed.
    "Just a good guess," Boe said, making a motion for the girl to start the explanation all new contractors give.
    "It started out fine enough," She began. " He was always melodramatic, but in a quirky charming way, for a while at least. But as our party continued adventuring he began getting... a little obnoxious.
    "Annoying," the barbarian butted in, "The more attention we received the more he wanted to be the 'face' of our party, wanting to soak up more and more of the acclaim."
    "Yes, the more charming and unique he tried to be the less we really liked him." the girl said solemnly.
    "So why not just kick him out of the party?" Boe asked.
    "We can't, he handled all the official paperwork, hirelings, and our money its all under his name." the holy woman toyed with the symbol of her patron around her neck. "Our Wizard has tried to get him to split the burden but he refused."
    And there it was, Boe thought as he mulled things over. Simply kicking him out would mean all the wealth and whatever home base they managed to attain would go with him, but they can't kill him themselves because the motives are plain as as a dark elf in daylight.
    "I see, well if I am to kill this bard I'll need to know a few things about him." Boe switched his casual sitting to a more professional upright pose, what better way to show that they were in business.
    His name was Joruush. He was handy with a lire, not very proficient with that fancy short sword strapped to his belt, and his brilliant and flashy clothes blinded everyone within eyesight of him. He had stroke into the largest and flashiest bar within the city of Vindelhiem and threw enough money at the bartender to make instant friends of the half drunken patrons and put on a show for them.
    Easy enough for Boe to find, he had found a nice secluded spot within the bar and played up the drunken merchant he was disguised as, and watched his query. His contractors had told him he used a sizable chunk of party funds to perform this stunt, a habit that followed from their lesser known years and only grew more extraneous as the groups popularity rose.
    Poisoning would have been the easiest thing to do, a two-part poison which would make the patrons of the spiked barrel queasy after their hangovers, but that final drink bought by 'that pretty thing over there' and he'd have been dead within minutes. But Joruush didn't drink, merely pretended to and passed it along to another.
    Another would simply acquire a long bow, a few dexterity and steady aim potions with a eagle eye drought chaser and send a arrow though his brain matter, but the orc had insisted it being a 'horrifying accident.'
    Getting up and stabbing him was out as well, as magic armor and the contractors request made the easy route a murderer's dream. On the subject of magic, that was also off the table thanks to the unspoken code of adventures: 'Investigate how our party member died, and enact brutal vengeance if possible."
    "Sadly my friends!" Joruush's boisterously high pitched voice cut though the crowd, "I must take my leave!" with that he made a plodding and ostentatious walk out the door.
    The assassin followed after into the torch lit streets of the city, the bard being incredibly easy to spot and follow, already attracting pickpockets and street thugs hiding in the shadows. It was then Boe noticed a pair of yellow eyes glinting near an open sewer grate.
    A fun fact about the beings known as ratlings, is that they love gold, they will do anything for gold, and when motivated they can come together in great numbers for great effect.  But they can be quite messy, which makes them terrible assassins in most cases. But when the mangled and brutalized body of the bard was found, Boe got his bonus and the local population of ratlings was culled down ahead of schedule.
    A win-win situation for all, save for Joruush. All his effects and land were seized by his party, followed by a quick burial in the Vindilhiem Cemetary. The tombstone was so bombastic and garish it would be tradition to throw a cloth over it during the somber ritual of putting the dead to rest.
    Boe would often muse over his luck of the ratlings being out that very night and simplifying his job, musing that the very gods themselves disliked the bard so much he gave him an easy pass. Given he wasn't a religious man, he never bothered to ask.

Love and Cold Winds, Part 6.1 - A Fun Adventure

    They were not prepared. In the broad spectrum of knowledge and forethought the collective batch of brains and the stratagems that were created before the stairs leading to the next dungeon floor were eviscerated when they entered the maze.

    Every corner held some kind of trap, and that statement was often times literal. Monsters attacked in droves which led the scent of blood attracting the mid-boss (a minotaur, of course). This led to many spent arrows, sore vocal chords, a chunk of ether crystal spent, and quite a lot of cuts and scrapes and stab wounds with very little spoils of victory to show for it all.

    Before any could pull out their own return stone and drown their failure in cheap booze, a blissfully safe looking room opened before them with a chest sitting in the center. The entire party stared at it while stabbing it several times. When it didn't start screaming, Garn tossed the top of the chest open.

    "Well what do ya know." Lym said, pulling one of the four large bottles filled with a thick red liquid. "Health potions."

    "Decent grade?" Vort asked.

    "At a glance they look pretty high tier."

    With that dazzling review Garn scooped up a bottle, flicked the top off and slugged back a hearty mouthful. It tingled on its way down to his gullet before blooming into a full body warmth. the missing chunks of scale and slashes hewn themselves back into unmarred scales, and the ever present fatigue lessened its grip.

    The open potion was quickly passed around to the others as they silently agreed to set up camp in the relative safety of the room, sitting around a small cook fire bravely attempting to warm a murky stew in a dinged up pot.

    "So, what's the plan?" Garn finally broke the silence.

    "With the monster parts and these potions, we can get a decent amount of gold." Norra suggested, her eye twitching at the taste of the muddy soup.

    "Or, we could head to the boss to get some real treasure." the halfling bard said, trying to turn the taste of the soup into something truly edible and failing at every attempt.

    "Lets go deeper." Both Vort and Garn said in unison, the pair glancing each other.

    "We can handle this, we got ourselves a full party now!" the mage said cheerily.

    "Plus we have to pop Garn's cherry!" Lym butted in, getting one shocked look from the dragonborn. "You know, this is going to be your first floor boss kill."

    "Oh! Yes of course, I can't wait." Garn said with a weak smile, by now he was getting suspicious if the bard knew his feelings for Vort and was messing with him.

    Lym was of course absolutely fucking with him, and in part the hopeless romantic was hopelessly frustrated with how little romantic gestures the pair had performed. The most romantic thing happening to them was sitting next to each other. Norra was absolutely no help either, though hunter skills were top notch, her social skills were as abrasive as a river rock.

    The nosy Bard knew one thing though, they were both warriors. Warriors tempered and strengthened in different forges and of different schools of combat, and any bard can tell you warriors who flirt with death on the battlefield pull double duty flirting with each other in their own special way.

     And there would be plenty of flirting once the party pushed open the black iron gates that lay within the center of the maze.

Love and Cold Winds, Part 4.1: Does Dungeoning Count as a First Date?

   Nomands was a city built around a Dungeon, its stock and trade in the items brought up by adventurers. Everyone hates paperwork... It stands to be put to word that no one in our party enjoyed sitting for hours filling out parchment after parchment to finally cement their current roster in the laws of the land.
    Like many built atop a non-euclidean space, warped and magically saturated that spawns monsters, the architecture shifted to match its surroundings. Before the plains were settled, the Dungeon Guild experimented with containment by creating three high circular walls, one encircling the other with their gates never facing one another. This indeed slowed the beasts which wandered out, but eventually the walls would be breached and the gates torn down.
    Then came the mages and architects, followed by guards. Building on the ground meant you were in constant danger, so it seemed natural to build homes atop and sides of the thick and sturdy walls. And over many years, Nomands built, ever reinforcing the mighty walls as the tall tiered buildings and arching bridges rose and the population steadily grew.
    And like many dungeon cities it shared its universal stereotype of prideful citizens, colorful characters and loot hoarders galore. Having been holed up in the free (but spartan) quarters within the second ring of the city, as the last signature was dry, our party went to get a bit drunk as they waited for the bits of metal that would allow them to be out.
    "I had no idea there would be so much paperwork." Garn said over the din of the tavern, known as High as A Kite.
    "Only in a High guild dungeon." Norra replied. "They turn from a dangerous nuisance to destroying a whole city's economy."
    "From magical reagents, to rare hides to make into some new pants," Vort raised his mug and grinned. "And for adventurers to gather gear and gold!"
    A rousing cheer broke though the chaotic sounds as they and their fellows raised their mugs and saluted to collective greed and thrill seeking. When morning came everyone at the bar was collectively grateful to the cleric of Badolinain, the God of Party and booze, as their mass healing spell also dispelled hangovers before leaving party ground zero.
     With a bit more faffing about, the merry band found themselves at the lowest level of Nomands in a cramped hallway lined with cage-like lifts suspended over the abyss that led down to the dungeon. Said lifts were old, rusting in a few places, and swayed in the constant updraft of the hole below them. This lift system was one of the remaining originals the Dungeon Guild used back in the early days before teleportation magics were really fleshed out. Now they served as a much cheaper fee with a discount on returning stones (because the only person who can service the archaic and frankly obscure machinery is a very old, nearly blind gnome).
    Needless to say, it was a slightly tense and deeply uncomfortable ride on the way down. Garn being the largest of the group was the first to sigh in relief when it touched down on solid ground. With the appropriate creak of barely-oiled hinges they stepped out onto a stone plateau carved into the side of the pit. Shallow carvings which could be called stairs slowly made their way across the vertical walls of the abyss and vanished into impenetrable darkness.
    "That looks like a long climb down." Garn said, wondering where the light source that illuminated the land was coming from.
    "Good thing we are skipping it!" Vort said, taking place amongst the other party members as they lined up along the plateau's edge. "The stairs have weak monsters along it. It's better we skip to the good bits!"
    "Wouldn't that... kill us?"the dragonborn inquired as he stood next to Vort.
    "Relax my big friend, I have just the music arraignment for this!" Lym's hands flew across the stings on his lute as his melodic voice sung a flighty song that echoed all around.
    A faint yellow light surrounded the party, clinging to them like a second skin before the seasoned adventures threw themselves over the edge a second later. A solid five seconds went by before Garn jumped in after them. He was falling, but the spell made his descent less 'speeding toward a quick death' and more 'gently floating downward.'
    Garn fumbled though his pockets and pulled out a pocket lantern. This handy glass sphere had a bio-luminescent ball of fungus floating in a clear mixture. Pulling the pin up and giving it a good shake activated the mossy ball and bathed a decent area in white light. With a bit of stretching, Garn could see a few shadowy shapes perched on the stairs and within hidden alcoves, which grew steadily larger after each layer of stairs.
    In what felt like forever, Garn finally touched down in the light of Vort's lantern.The viscera and dark greasy stains told the dragonborn he was late to the party. A hallway stood looming before them, a plain archway filled with the same pervasive darkness. With a nod and some minor bickering the party fell in line, Garn in front, with Norra and Vort side by side and Lym in the back.
    As they pushed their way though the dark hallway, it seemed perfect for an assault by a small mob of monsters, or even traps but everything was... quiet... far too quiet, in Garn's point of view.
    "Isn't it a little too quiet?" the dragonborn asked the obvious question.
    "Yeah, there used to be traps and a mob of rickety shield-wielding monsters before the dungeon master changed it." Lym explained.
    " Dungeon master?" Norra asked
    "Oh right, you were all hilariously drunk. Apparently the Dungeon finally spawned another Dungeon master after guild called Laughing Casket cleared the whole place." the bard explained.
    "What's a Dungeon master?" again the obvious question came from the warrior.
    "Trouble." Norra said.
    "A super smart monster who is in control of the dungeon." Vort explained.
    "So that door wasn't there before then?" Garn stopped to point out the massive double door that now barred their way.
    The party took a brief moment to marvel at the craftments ship of the intricate face on the door before getting ready to kick it open, but then collectively jumped back (and groaned aloud) when said face opened its eyes and opened its mouth.
    "ANWSERS MY RIDDLE THREE, THEN YOU ARE ALLOWED TO OPEN ME!"
   

Shapeshifter: -Part VI- [edited]

Laying in bed, I watched my room grow ever darker, breathing and taking in the cushy, absorbent blankets. The sun set over Marblehead, and my room grew darker still. The time was approaching, and I swiftly threw my flannel pajamas to the side of the empty, black hamper. Into the steamy shower I stepped quickly, feeling the exhaustion of the day wash away with the infernal water. My fingers ran through my conditioned hair as it were composed of fairy silk, and I breathed slowly but largely, expanding my lungs wider with every inhale of pomegranate and sugar.  The scents and my energies swirled among the steaming room, caressing my aura and every inch of me into its grasp. The clouds of steam billowed around my hourglass, full figure while I stepped out to find my plush red towels folded neatly for me. I dried off and dressed to the tune of Mystery Skulls, amplifying my desires and anticipation even further. The usual bubbling sensation of refreshing energy wafted over all of my skin, not bothering me much since the early days of 'mirroring', as I called it.

I looked at the spotless, shining bathroom tiles and felt that I had forgotten something important... No matter. Time to dry. I blew out my midnight hair, pulling and brushing it out until it was straight as a ruler. I left it down, framing my made up face well, and dressed in a long black blazer on top of a black tank to keep out the cooling night time air; After all, Autumn was here. I paired it with gray skinny jeans and over the knee, flat black boots. My black faux leather purse paired with the outfit nicely, giving it an air of business casual. Perfect.

"Hot date tonight?" someone asked, and I whirred, my bones nearly escaping my skin.

"Oh, Serena!" I breathed. The spell had worked, after all.

"Just wanted to let you  know that your clothes will be done in the dryer soon. I'll be leaving now." she smiled.

"I'll walk you out!" I said, silently promising myself I'd never leave my door unlocked again.

I quickly poked my stereo to turn it off, and walked around quickly to the front door, holding it open for Serena's unassuming form. Who knew someone so unassuming could be so quiet? I scoffed at myself.

"Thank you for everything. Your work was very satisfactory, at the least, and I'm sure we'll be getting to know each other well." I handed her a key to the house. "For when I'm not here." I locked the door behind me and started down the mason stairs, about to start walking down the sidewalk.

"Um... Do you need a ride somewhere?" Serena asked, looking at the severe lack of vehicles on this side of the road.

"I'm just walking around the corner! Thank you, though!" I faked a smile and waved. The last thing I wanted to do was put her in danger. What a nice girl, but I just couldn't do that to her. The more distance between us, the better.

I marched down the sidewalk while Serena started up her car and carefully pulled away. The sun was almost completely gone then, emphasizing the glowing, promising full moon above.

A bit later, I walked up to the bar, taking a deep breath before checking the time at the door. 6:58 P. M. She'll be in her usual spot, and I looked around for a second before laying eyes on her.  She had her hair in long, tight braids which framed her face like a work of art. Her dark skin shimmered in the faint lights like the moonlight reflects upon precious onyx. I approached her and smiled, accepting my fate. She was sitting alone at the table as a queen, and I was lucky enough to have her undivided attention for the night.

We were serious at first, but after the first two martinis we were getting a bit more comfortable. As expected, she was making all of the first moves, and all I had to do was show her what a good, non-clingy, secure person I was. After doing this 5 previous times, I had become an expert at the early game with her, I hoped. She is as easy to start with as a hot knife cuts through butter.

Her dark eyes sparkled under the dim lights, and I looked into them deeply as she spoke about her job, her insecurities, her achievements, and her desires. Her dreams were beautiful, and her insecurities even more so. By the time I downed my fifth martini, however, we were barely speaking. At that point, we may as well have just been saying we wanted to have a nice night in bed together, but from what I could remember, we were just a mess of mumbled flirting and half-meant arm touches. By the end of the sixth, my mental emergency alarms rang in my head, bringing me back from the depths of drunkenness to heavily buzzed. I can't drink too much... I need my magic... To help... me... I struggled and stared at the table, refocusing my thoughts, turning my inhibitions back on, only taking a few seconds to realize that I was missing the previous ten minutes of my life. Idiot. I looked back at her dazzling eyes, her shiny braided hair behind her. She was drunk, but not too drunk to make okay choices. I can't sleep with her on the first date though, especially being intoxicated.

"This was s'posed to be a ...Date, you know? You are BEAUTIFUL!" she said a bit too loudly to me. Okay, maybe more intoxicated than I thought. She'll be getting sick soon if I don't stop her.

I asked for the check, to which she became only slightly confused, and quickly forgot as I stuffed my card into the bill as soon as it came.

After signing and paying I debated with myself for a bit. I won't sleep with her, but one kiss couldn't hurt... Could it? But she even said today was supposed to be a date... But I haven't seen her this drunk, at least we broke up last time... And honestly, I've never seen her drink this much...

"I'm... Not feelin' so good..." she half mumbled.

"Don't worry, you'll be fine," I said lightly, helping her up from her chair. "I'll walk you home and you'll wake up tomorrow, totally fine." I smiled reassuringly.

"O-okay...." she said, stumbling a little on her feet.

And away we went from the bar, an epic journey of laughter and stumbling as we clamored through the quiet, chilly streets of Marblehead for a little while. We stopped at a familiar abode, one made of dark wood and angled rooftops that I had been in at least a thousand times before. I helped her up the small stairs, all the way to her door. And out of habit, I took out my own key that I had to her best friend's house, and slipped it into the keyhole. A perfect fit, as always.

"How... How'd you get that out of my purse??" She looked confusedly at the key in the lock, still drunk but clearly sobering up a little.

Time seemed to stop as I stared, wide-eyed, at what I had just done in front of her. And I froze in shock, unable to think of a clever thing to say.

Shapeshifter: Part V

Shackles holding me upright against a smooth stone surface, I awoke to... a different realm entirely, turning my stomach to shreds and stealing my breath from my heaving chest. Spheres the size of houses tumbled and turned in a black infinite abyss, dotting the vista with stars of lost hope above and around me. The spheres barely missed me, but those dots in the sky didn't look quite right either, almost as if each one had its own expressions and emotions as if they were some how alive. This turned my vision blotchy, and I attempted to close my eyes but it burned with the strength of a searing pan from an oven. I didn't dare look down in the horror that I may have been, in fact, floating, as my legs dangled past the slab I was tied to. I tried to close my eyes but they refused, and my body screamed as I opened my mouth and no sound escaped, as if I had never had one. I saw nothing of myself besides my left arm, which looked darker and skinny, a long hand sprouting forth with even longer fingers; I wasn't sure I could get used to the sight of it and panicked even further than what I believed my limits were. The unease in my stomach came to a vomit as I felt something alive within me, trying to emerge (crawl?) up my throat. The lack of breath running through my throat did not disturb me in the least, as if I never even had lungs. A windy whirring sound caught my attention for a brief few seconds, which came louder and louder, as if something were moving towards my dangling, infinitesimal body in this chaotic world of the strange. The thing in me was slimy and was coming out any way it could, a few tendrils, possibly even tentacles, at a time. Expanding and stretching, I felt my throat about to burst.

I woke up face-planting the floor again, this time too late, and I squeaked with a half scream into the solid floor when I turned my head. With a muffled thud all of me landed without too much harm done. I coughed and gasped loudly, a horribly loud cacophony of wheezes coming from my exasperated body. I writhed along the floor and held onto the rug until my breath finally slowed a bit, sweat covering the once clean, pink fluff of my small rug. I felt the terrible stomach drop of foreboding and with a start, I paused, and ran to the bathroom to vomit what was left of my dinner.

I'm never eating calamari again, I repeated in my head like a broken record, tears flowing down my face from the toxic taste of bad, half-digested seafood and bile.  After hours of retching, I was finally empty and laid on my side on the cushy blue bath mat, my muscles aching and my stomach feeling like I had swallowed needles. 

"Water..." I croaked to the air, pushing on my leg to slowly shamble over to the kitchen to get a glass, nearly falling with each reach of my now weakly legs. The walls were an excellent tool for catching myself, at the least. The cool liquid soothed the irritation while that sustenance helped my stomach stop turning with every second gone by. With a fumble or two, I hastily searched for my phone, the only device between herself and I. My 'men's' flannel pajama pants tried to contain the phone forever, but alas, I beat them at their own game by taking the phone out of its textured, industrial case. No new notifications lit up the bleak, depressing screen with 9:52 A. M. read on it. I opened the texting app and quickly typed out "Good morning. It's Annabelle" before staring into the white, infinite light that was the message box.

If I put a winking face after, it might seem too forward or creepy. But if I put no smiley I might sound like an ass. But if I do use a smiley she might think I'm too friendly. Or she might hate smileys. Goddamned human norms...

I started breathing shorter and I placed my phone down, closed my eyes, and inhaled with all of my might. My lungs were squashed like the gods were clamping down on each one with a large, muscular hand.

Calm down, Annabelle... You idiot... I really need to do something about this anxiety, and this weird lung-squeezing sensation.. It's going to become a huge problem. And with that thought, I forced my shaking hands to pick up my phone, type a regular smiley face and send the message, then dragged myself over to the marshmallow couch with frailty. I let the couch devour all of me that it would allow, with a box of crackers in one hand and The Dreamlands Journals: X in the other.

Serena will be here soon, at least. Hopefully she's good. I'd hate to lose another mundane servant...

The Dreamlands series didn't sit as well with me today as it normally would, as I kept flashing back where I was a few hours ago. Each time I saw the long, thin, brown arm coming out of me, my stomach turned once more. My body crawled with specks of pins and needles all over with my strangely quick, but quite normal healing abilities. The clock chirped as it struck noon, and my crackers were running low. I prepared to see Serena by primping my messy bun and wiping off my streaked makeup from some days prior. After all, who doesn't love a post-scheming B. O.?

Serena was normal, to say the least; 'Mundane' and 'inconspicuous' were her middle names. The stomach churns pried my attention from The Journals and, giving up, I decided to watch Serena instead. I had barely noticed her coming in as she gave a mousy "hello!" and begun the work I was paying her for immediately. She had shoulder length wavy brown hair pulled into a top knot with a bandanna over most of it, with dark brown eyes and an earnest vibe that seeped into everything she touched. She was perfectly normal, for hired help. The best part about her was her lack of awareness of my false walls.

My leg itched when, with a buzz, my phone finally vibrated. I picked it up, and it was her.

"Good Afternoon :)

You and me, martinis, 7 o'clock tonight. You in?"

Her forwardness never ceased to impress me, and I dropped my phone onto the wooden table with a clatter while holding my breath. I read it over once, then twice, then three times, after picking it up with a careful grip.

"She wasn't supposed -" Serena turned and looked at me, listening, as she was the only person here. "I just -" I stopped at that, feeling my mind start shorting out, and made a heel turn before swiftly sliding on my striped socks into my bedroom.

"She wasn't... She wasn't supposed to ask me out... THIS soon..." I half-breathed to the air. The other half was a loud, ever increasing wheeze. My senses began veering, as I then heard the ticking of the analog clock as if it were right next to my ear, TICK... TOCK... TICK... TOCK... The ticking began to drift away, but before I could feel relief, I smelled the cleaning solution Serena used in the kitchen filling my nostrils with ammonia. My nose and sinuses were on fire, and I threw myself on the bed at the woozy unraveling of my balance.

After what felt like a whole day of having my eyes closed, I then could hear my phone vibrating inside my brain, my skull, my bones, like magical vibrations were torturing and sensationalizing my unassuming body before I even knew what was happening.

Magical seizure? The words came to mind, but I hadn't felt anything like it before in the 106 years I had been on this strange earth.

Asthma... Magic... HALT. I gathering up all the Willpower I could within myself, feeling it flow through me like a warm, violent liquid. That I could concentrate was certainly a miracle, allowing me to finally end the curse Annabelle had been stricken with from infancy. Warm liquid pooled in my lungs and it stung and burned as hot as lava. If you could imagine pouring bleach into your chest cavity, that wouldn't even begin to describe the agony I had just begun putting myself through. The pain in my chest completely covered all of the pain I would have had to bear within my skull.

I maintained a firm grip on the flannel sheets and quilted blankets of my bed, just barely being able to direct my screams into the bed, hopefully muffling them enough that Serena wouldn't hear.

I awoke several hours later facing my ceiling, all of my pain and mental anguish finally gone. The relief overflowed within my soft, squishy shell of a body. My lungs felt oddly clear and free from strain, and my head was sorting itself out at a quick and steady tempo. "Thank the Gods." I whispered to the peace and quiet of my room. The different recesses of my mind, no matter how deep, had been knocked around quite a bit. I could feel the disarray cluttering corners and niches of the dark halls that mapped my thoughts. My palms stung with nail marks where I had clawed through the silk, violet sheets, drawing drops of blood.


I rolled over with more ease than ever before, my new body finally becoming accustomed to my unfamiliar spirit. Enjoying the lifting of weights off of my chest, I reached for my phone on the cold, solid end table.

It was all real, right?
To my delight, the message was actually there. The anxiety of the day that had melted away was soon replaced with overwhelming determination. I caught myself smiling at my phone as I answered, "Sure! I'd love that." 

Shapeshifter -Part IV-

This woman I stole had been in impeccable physical health, but she had the anxiety of someone who had been through more than a few incidents in her life. I didn't have time to reflect on it as she sucked me into this deep conversation that I was letting her trap me into. I was a willing participant, strung up in her web of anecdotes. Her words always gave me both a flutter in my stomach and a tightness in my chest, like a titan squeezed around my lungs with an enormous grip. It was both familiar and incredible, though the squeezing was a bit harder than my liking in this body.

Not showing my unease, I hoped, I forced myself to breathe the best I could, and timed it with the ticking of my designer watch, at the same time demanding my eyes to stop looking anywhere but into hers.

"Do you understand what I mean?" she looked straight at me, a sincerely concerned look on her face. She's been talking this whole time and all I've been doing is breathing. God. Damn. It.

"Yeah. Thank you." I smiled, speaking slightly better than squeaking, this time.

"So what's bothering you? What's on your mind, hun? You look lost."

I looked down awkwardly, trying to use body language to my advantage. "I don't really want to talk about it, thanks though." Damn it, why did I do that? Looking around in a small panic I said, "Honestly I'd really just like to talk with you about other things, if that's okay."

"Oh? Well how would you like to hear about my most recent breakup?" She gave a smile that read about as innocent as a demon of depravity.

"Uh, yeah, sure." Shit. SHit. SHIt. SHIT. 

"Let me tell you something, this lady was incredible. She was beautiful, rich, good at making love, and cared about me. But you know how sometimes people can get a little too into you?"

I stared blankly and just barely nodded.

"She was possessive, you know? She said that she just couldn't bear to see me with anyone else, whether it be an acquaintance or a friend. Total bullshit, if you ask me. Happens all the time, though" she sighed. "Everyone else I know has issues with guys or ladies cheating on them, and I'm over here with the stalkers." she laughed. It sounded like the Christians' version of the Devil in my ears.

I believed that I was keeping my calm well, until I realized my eyes were spread wide in amazement. My mouth was definitely also agape. "I suppose I can imagine what you mean... After all, people need their space, right?"

I frantically searched my mind for hundreds of ways I could distract myself and have time for myself while dating her, and exactly zero of them were appealing to me. Reading? I've read every book I own plus I already read two books per day from the library. Painting? Boring. Music? Already d --

"Damn straight... What was your name again, sweetie?"

We exchanged names and numbers, and that was the moment I made it my mission to let her have time for herself at all costs, for the fifth time. The first time didn't count, since I didn't truly know her until it was too late. But this time, the sixth relationship, I am making my fifth attempt at this 'space' thing count.

That evening after I went home, all I could do was sit and breathe while my mind gradually churned slower from the excitement that afternoon. I sipped my finest whiskey with my back slouched into the new marshmallow couch I had delivered a few days prior. Even though the television was on, I didn't see it. I didn't even truly hear it. My eyes looked but the rest of me was seeing micro expressions, blinks, shimmering hair, all belonging to her. Why did I have to choose a body with such bad anxiety? I agonized over how the conversation went, over and over through my chaotic brain.

Though, after a while, it turned into my past faces, my new face, my plans, my life... And
like the waves of an ocean, my mind caressed the edges of the coast of where my wonder sat. Why am I the way I am? And if the Gods made humanity, then who made ME? I jumped out of my seat as I saw Vincent's face stare back at me from the lit screen. And now I'm hallucinating again. Great. My whiskey now covering the nearby rug, I wandered to bed and laid in the darkness, truly feeling how alone I was for the first time for as long as I could remember. Those questions lurked ever closer than before, creeping about the corners and niches of my mind while I tried to focus on anything, everything else. Each and every one haunted me into my sleep.

Shapeshifter -Part III-

Between shopping and moving, all I could remember was falling: falling into a dark living room, with a bear skin rug and a dim fireplace. A red velvet couch sat next to me as the music of life quickly muted to eerie silence. I floated still, feet touching the floor with no feeling. The lack of voices in my head was both a relief and horrifying. I was alone... Actually alone. No one would find me here. All that surrounded this room was pitch. Where there should have been walls there was shadow. Even with the irregularities, I held a feeling of calm underneath the dread. My stomach sank with realization. Is this mine? I shuddered with a cold chill, and when I blinked a gold and black crown appeared upon the velvet couch, about the size for a king. About my size, I silently thought to myself. I could hold myself back no longer, and temptation pulled me to the crown. With a leap, I was in my blankets, my bed, the beaming sunlight from my window on my face and reality sinking in. I could scarcely breathe with my lungs burning for air.

The weird, foreboding dream haunted me every night without fail.

I woke up in my bedroom, standing near the edge of my bed,  watching the floor come closer and closer to my face faster than you could say the word ‘ouch’. My life flashed before my eyes, reminding me again of her aura and presence, but luckily, my arms reached the floor before the rest of me did. Sweat poured from my head down to my chin, then dripped onto the fluffy, purple rug I picked up yesterday.

“Uuuuuuuuuggggggggghh,” I vocalized to myself and the ceiling, rolling onto my back. At least the softness of the rug was a little comforting, cushioning my back from the wooden floor. My beating head went away once I thought of her, and her velvet soft skin, her silver streaked, black silky hair in the wind like it was straight out of a shampoo commercial. I wondered how she was, if she smelled the same, if she cut her hair, if she got that promotion…

I snapped out of my mind as my phone buzzed in my pocket. A reminder read "PART I START" lit up across the screen. A grin grew across my face with a demure and maniacal feel. Let us begin.

I read my list one last time, rehearsing everything in my head based on how it went the last 6 times. I slipped on skinny jeans and a striped shirt with a new bracelet. It will work this time, I know it will. I just have to have a little faith. I brushed eye shadow and blush, and drew the sharpest cat eyeliner possible. My name is Annabelle Chevalier. I went to college for Literature and that I have an avid interest in reading and writing. I am 35, and I take vitamins. Exercise and health is important to me. I grabbed my new favorite bag, a classic brown messenger bag made of faux leather and careful planning. I was adopted and have no idea of my biological parents, and my adoptive parents passed away at least 3 years ago. I smiled a couple of times in the mirror to make sure I looked perfect, and then checked the clock. I was right on time.

I marched over to the corner, sirens blaring in my head, ignoring a couple of idiots on the street. I peered into the window of the bookstore. The angelic, silver haired wonder of my interest was indeed sitting at one of the three cafe tables, sipping her favorite tea and reading the first book of the Dreamlands Journals series for the 28th time. I felt my hair to make sure it was still pristine and walked in, shoulders straight and head high. I couldn't feel my limbs, as they disintegrated into nothing from just one look at her. My head nearly beat out of my skull while I badly feigned perusing the aisles for the next fiction novel to read. The temptation to look at her was pulling me ever deeper into this hole I was digging for myself.

Her long black hair becoming lustrous and metallic, sparkling under the ceiling lights appeared to glow with an otherworldly sheen. My hands ached to feel it swim in between my fingers. I caught myself shortening in breath, and I closed my eyes to force my lungs to take in as much air as possible, slowly. My breath was slightly audible as I inhaled with all of my might.

Needles shot up my arm as my nails dug deep into my palm. My other hand just trembled, fingers outstretched. Breathing helped a little with both cases.

I opened my eyes in time to see her smiling at me. From her table, probably 20 feet away, she clearly could have seen me attempting to squash an anxiety attack from possessing my body. Why me? I looked up at the ceiling as if to look at the sky, at the heavens, at the gods in embarrassment. I felt the flush of blood go to my ears and cheeks, as I had each and every time I attempted to seduce her again. Why do I even try to be subtle?

"Are you okay?" she asked, giggling a bit at my social failure. Gliding up to me with the poise of a beauty queen, she spoke, "I don't mean to pry, but... Well, I am a psychologist, and it appeared you were having a bit of a rough time there. Would you like to talk about it?"

I felt disbelief, which of course I probably showed on my stupid face, and while I paused she waiting only a few moments before, "Sorry, maybe I shouldn't have offered. I'll go sit down again." She walked back to her table looking down at her feet, fidgeting with her fingers together.

The awkwardness consumed us both, while I stood there speechless in front of the Miscellaneous Fiction aisle, and she tried but failed to concentrate on her book.

"I-- you know what? Sure. I'd love to ta--" I coughed as my voice cracked from nearly asphyxiating myself with anxiety. My lungs were squeezing themselves shut faster than I could breathe in. I forced another deep breath, and she smiled. "Talk. I'd love to talk."

Sweetwater: Anniversary II

Twilight had just begun creeping over the town by the time Gertie had made her way home, a cozy cottage amongst other cozy cottages tucked away along a road that neatly divided the edge of Sweetwater forest and civilization.
     Gertie hauled a few large bags up and fumbled her way into the kitchen, pausing to enjoy the ever present scent of dried herbs adding to the "witches kitchen" aesthetic that swallowed up the remnants of a tired and aged kitchen that was there when they moved in. (The living room had been Gerties project, turned into the home of mismatched comfy furniture, Persian rugs, and animal plushies.)
    The back door was open, screen door allowing a cool breeze to gently roll in bringing with it the scent of magic (such scent varies from person to person, for this particular witch they gave off the smell of cooked walnuts and honey). Gertie peeked out into the backyard with a smile creeping on her face. Much like the kitchen the backyard belonged to Sami and was soaked in mystique and magic the circular garden could cram into it.
    Plant life both familiar and strange grew in the beds; basil, mint, lavender, sage, foxgloves and butterfly bushes. Among them grew strange lupines, thin stalks that held fat golden buds that swayed without wind and held a swirling luminescence within their petals. The same invisible winds seemed to move the willow trees leaves as it sat at the front of the garden.
    At the center of all this was a simple stone bench which Sami sat. Love, one might say is sparked by the first glance of someone, Gertie however fell in love all over again when she laid eyes on Sami. They were petite and willowy, almost buried in the big fuzzy cardigan and rose printed skirt with long blond hair tumbling over her back. Their large round glasses sat next to a crescent sickle on the bench.
    Even if she couldn't see Sami's face Gertie knew they had a serene smile on their face as her hands slowly danced though the unseeable forces that swirled and flowed though the garden, through and around the strange Lupines and gold tinged leaves of Sami's willow.
    They had tried to explain magic to Gertie, how they had to "make sure it's an eddy not a swamp, so the flowers can grow right." The more complicated details went over Gerties head, but she knew garden tending took time. Which gave her ample time to prep her gift.
    After the sun stubbornly quit and the night made itself at home, Sami wandered back into the house. She set several bushels of herbs and now blooming lupines (the irony of the name not lost on either) and began separating them into twine held bundles. She could see Gertie holding herself back, and once she was finished she braced for her usual greeting: a bear (wolf?) hug, topped with a kiss to the top of Samis' head.
    "Happy Anniversary flower child." Gertie said sweetly.
    there was a short pause before Sami said, "Oh shoot, was that today?"
    Awkward silence came crashing in like a tree falling on top of a Prius. the werewolfs head spun with so many thoughts and responses to this situation and eventually decided to shift forms to hold Sami up and pout in a way only lycanthrops can.
    It took a good five seconds before the witches poker face cracked, a fit of giggles broke free. This prompted their girlfriend to sit her on the kitchen counter, cross her arms, huffing loudly and turning away.
    "No Floofs come back!" Sami giggled, only receiving an indignant grunt in response.
    " I got you that pink fur dye you wanted." she said in a sing song voice.
    Gertie looked over her shoulder.
    " I even got a heart stencil so we can do the pattern you liked from Para-naturals." 
    It must be said, werewolves do not have the best poker faces in their other forms, as Gertie's tail started to wag and eventually returned to hugging Sami in an even more warm and fluffy fashion. There tender moment was interuptted by Gerties brain, reminding her of the tidal wave of excietment and panic that congealed into the picnic basket sitting on the table, managing to look expectant without a face.
    She shifted Sami into one arm and grabbed the basket and jogged out the door, a big grin plastered to her face.
    " Uh Floofs? Where are we going?" Sami asked, wrapping their arms around the werewolves neck.
    " Someplace," she said making sure her mate and the basket was firmly in hand (paw?) before sprinting into the tree line at supernatural speeds that left the surprised, and then excited shouts of Sami behind them.
    If you asked any couple new or old, the adventure to Blue Moon Lake is just as     If you asked any couple new or old, the adventure to Blue Moon Lake is just as romantic as the place itself. Legend has it if you do find the lake with water so clear and blue the moon always reflects with the same shade, then your love will last eternal.
    Gertie had blindly found the correct series of woodland paths on their fist date with Sami. It had been a magical night, aided in its rose tinting by a copious amount of alcohol.  She thankfully remembered the way to the shore of the luminescent lake.
    A steriotypical checkered sheet laid out, wine, along with a chicken dinner and a bluetooth speaker playing a certian old song by a famous crooner that was the right amount of cheesy. Looking into Sami's eyes Gertie could see a mixture of surprise, love, and a bit of bemusemnt, further shown by her tell tale grin.
    " What?" asked Gertie.
    " Nothing, my romantic." she giggled.
    Gertie blushed and chuckled along with her, before she leaned in and kissed the little witch. The food and wine momentarily forgotten as they pulle themselves closer and held the moment as the song reached its climax before Gerties stomach grumbled and prompted Sami to giggle.
    " Well, we should eat before the food gets cold." the witch said. " So your stomach can't ruin any more romantic moments."
    "Agreed." Gertie said, happily tearing off a leg while Sami carved herself off a piece.

Shapeshifter -Part II-

Marching over to my night table in my mundane bedroom, I slid the mahogany drawer open with a cold, calculated plan where my soul should be and a string of laser-focused thoughts in my head. The overwhelming urge to collapse almost overcame my stiff, cold body but I only barely gave a damn. I shuffled through the drawer in a panic, until I saw the black, velvet box that held my affection for the woman within its pillowed insides. I dared not open it, for if anything happened to this item, this ring... I sweated even more at the thought.

I held the box to my face, breathing in its scent as if it were a fresh bed of flowers. The warm drops flowing down my forehead onto the floor narrowly missed its edges. It didn't smell like much of anything, but I felt myself absorbing a piece of her into my lungs, my veins; Filling up the emptiness that everything else in life brought to me. After a few minutes I placed it carefully back behind the mess of miscellaneous clutter that filled the hardly-used table, and placed my face in my hands, the rest of me slowly sliding down the side of the bed. Before reaching the floor I tried to organize my thoughts but it was no use - focus was nowhere to be found within the reaches of such insanity as this. Her voice, her smile, her theories, her passions echoed through my head. I felt my chilled, soaked face and knew that I was past the point of no return. I gently landed on the ground, knowing that I only had a few more chances with her, meaning maybe two or three. I can not explain how I knew that day, but in my heart of hearts, I was certain.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I nearly threw it across the room in terror, as I forgot it even existed. It was a call from Catherine. Catherine to me, was a wonderful woman to play with, but never anything more. Last time I saw her was 6 months prior, about a week before I tried once more with the love of my life.

I rejected the call so I could think, and possibly die, in peace and alone: the only way I'd like things to go without being in her warming embrace.

'Like, you have no ambitions out of life except to be with me', echoed through my head hundreds of times in a second. 'I'm more into people who are, you know... Passionate about things. This isn't normal. I think you need help.' her voice scraped a new headache through my already pained skull, and kept repeating until another sound made me jump out of my skin.

The phone chirped loudly and my heart stalled. It was a text from Angela.

"Hey handsome, u free? I saw that u guys broke up online. So much for love huh? Hmu if u wanna start having fun again ;)"

Crushing the plastic and glass with my hand, I sent the pieces of pointless booty call all over the plush carpet. I forced myself to stand, legs still wobbling under my slight figure, and forced myself back to the kitchen with the conviction of a saint to drink some more water. Munching on crackers also helped to calm the physical distress of heart break, but only because I hadn't eaten in what felt like years and drank an ocean's amount of rum.

It was quiet. Too quiet. My thoughts wouldn't let this night be a peaceful one. Doing magic was the only way out for me to make it through this, or else I was ready to die trying. The thought of doing the spell again made my stomach twist, but hell, I already had my will written up, so why not? Lumbering over to the clean full length mirror of my bedroom, legs still wobbly, I took more deep breaths and downed one more glass of water. I squeezed with my hand and embraced the pain that shot up my arm from the splintered glass. The crackling and high-pitched shatter was somehow comforting ; The caress of the blood warmed my clammy flesh. It was just another sign that I was alive, and that this was the prime reality realm.

I smeared my palm across the drivers' license photo, leaving a streak of crimson plasma over the unsuspecting woman's face. The searing pain from the cuts made it all the more easy to focus on the ritual. I blindfolded myself with a plain black cloth and grinned wide. The cuts burned with an energy that fed me past the point of being satiated. I stopped feeling the wobble in my legs, proudly standing tall with inhuman power. I only said what came to mind as I wiped my screaming palm along the mirror, drawing unknown symbols to myself.

"This body is mine. You are mine. Annabelle Chevalier, you shall be mine forever forward. I take all of you inside me and absorb you fully. Your face and body belong to me. Your mask, bound of human flesh and spirit shall be imprisoned within my very souls. Come to me now, as you lack the freedom of choice forever more."

I repeated "This body is mine now, Annabelle Chevalier." over and over until the agonizing burning of my veins and body stopped. I nearly blacked out until I hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. It was sooner than it was the other times at least... Perhaps I was growing in power?

I heavily forced my breath to settle while I felt my back sink into the carpet a little deeper. It probably hurt, but I could barely feel a thing past the throbbing pains of muscles all over my body. My lungs and heart finally began to slow and the next thing I remembered was waking up in my hardly used, king-sized bed.

The vigor was almost overwhelming - clearly this woman had a penchant for physical activity and healthy eating. I woke up not only energized for the day, but even the unfamiliar emotion of joy overcame me as I hopped out of my bed refreshed and ready for the day ahead. The craving for kale was a strong side effect, but one that was well worth its cost for this fabulous machine.

I felt my soft curvy hips and up my hourglass waist, then braced myself for the mirror. The sight could have been shocking, and severely disorientating whenever I went through with a change like this. I winced a bit but then jumped in front of the mirror, only glancing and then looking head-on at this puppet that would hopefully be my newest tool of seduction.

My clothes from yesterday were a little tight, as I realized looking in the mirror. My new flawless, olive flesh was a bit squished in my tank top, but at least my polka dotted pajama pants were still too big. My hips, waist, arms,  pretty much everything were a bit bigger than I was used to, but they were fabulous, and I knew I'd draw the attention I so desperately needed. My raven black hair truly caught my eye, even as it lay in disarray, partially covering bright green eyes.

"Time to go shopping." I smiled. The awe from seeing myself this curvy made me almost giddy. For once, I truly felt like I couldn't accidentally hurt my body pushing a grocery cart or picking up too many boxes; Not that my supernatural strength wasn't enough, but that bodies which lack a lot of muscle always felt like they'd snap if I even stood up the wrong way.

I made sure to change into well-fitting clothes before heading off to find the perfect wardrobe, my platinum credit card in purse and my sunglasses shielding my eyes from the burning hell that was daytime. It would have been only a day before the next part of the plan would commence - attempting first contact. The anticipation would have killed me, if it not for the distractions of normal human activities, including moving addresses, donating and then buying furniture and clothes, and transferring bank funds. It's easy to forge your signature when you are the person you say you are, or were.

Shapeshifter -Part I-

She kissed me, telling me goodbye for the last time. My soul felt less worn this time; perhaps I could finally be free from this pain I kept injecting myself with. But I loved her, and this game that we played. I loved it because she had no idea... Or I loved it because of how much I loved her. Perhaps I just loved the chase? Or the world was just cruel enough to relieve me of being a masochist while also making me love to self-afflict. What I do know is this: I both loved and hated the stab of the knife of rejection under my skin, over and over again; It was that she left me again, but also gave me a chance for a new beginning. I knew this wouldn't be the last time. It couldn't be, because we were meant to be together.

I was put here to love her, this goddess among mortals, and I would stop fucking up long enough to grow old with her. Or at least, to watch her grow old, her hooded eyes growing matured crow's feet and her glistening hair streaking silver... Something about my interest in her both terrified and excited me. The idea of her aging, well... It made my heart beat out of my chest and my skin tingle up from my feet to my head. And she would love me for what I am... I hoped that one day, this mysterious force within me that made me different from others would be what put me ahead in the race to her heart.

I looked up at the sky and realized... In seven days she would be 40 years old. Forty, and still looking like she could kick my ass at the drop of a stone. Most people would never catch my eye for a moment past the age of 24, but her... Somehow the more she aged, the more alluring her scent; the more wise she became, the more I yearned to listen to her clear, dominating thoughts. In my ever-expanding life I have never once laid eyes upon a human of her caliber. I grinned wide with a tantalizing shiver up my spine as I thought of how spectacular she was.

And yet there we were, saying goodbye for the sixth time. I was standing all alone in my house, the empty air weighing heavily on my mind after she left, and with a start, my determination kicked in. My heart beating faster, I looked to my left at the entryway wall.

I stared at myself in the mirror, wiping unfamiliar tears from my chiseled cheekbones. My long, thick, strawberry blonde hair framed my pointed chin and smokey eyes flawlessly. A look of determination crossed my eyebrows and I resolved to never let this happen again, for the sixth time. I marched over to the bathroom wall, knocked on it once, then twice, then three times and slid the falsity to the side with conviction. The loud crack of the false wall splitting was registered but didn't startle me, as I was too busy hearing my raging thoughts echoing in my ears and heart. With a slap, I firmly hit my palm upon the wood, sliding along the blisters and leaving a trail of perfectly crafted wood underneath. And there it was in its handcrafted glory, my black, wooden, mysterious box. Picking it up carefully, I breathed in its heavenly aroma of old polish mixed with an unidentifiable odor. This was what hope smelled of, and I carried it to the kitchen table.

Taking a deep breath, I gently but firmly pressed in the symbols on each face in the correct order, making a click sound with each impress. The cover flew across the room and hit the wall with a bang and crashed to the floor. I flipped the box over and passports, licenses, birth certificates, credit cards, and social security cards clattered against the polished cherry. Six of each sat on the table, and I could practically hear the personalities murmuring in my head, a little too clearly. I shuffled through the documents and the voices became louder, and clearer. 

"How could you do this to her?" asked Vincent, who had been dead for 15 years. 

"You monster. What is wrong with you?!" yelled Brielle, who had been dead for 5. 

"I WILL KILL YOU." said a familiar but unidentified demonic growl, as my mind felt like it was stabbed through with an ice pick. 

They each hounded me, one by one, beginning to overlap each other until I couldn't understand what any of them were saying and they were so loud that I collapsed with my hands covering my ears. I had heard them all before, but that demonic growl hit me even harder than last time.

"YOU FIEND!!"

"MONSTER!!!"

"ABOMINATION!!!"

I crumpled like tissue paper as they tortured me, scraping at my eyes, my chest, my brain... I yelled at them to stop, let me be in peace, that it was all my fault and I was sorry... I could feel them tearing at my memories, biting and scratching at my emotions and the rational parts of my brain... I sobbed loudly as I felt dreams and nightmares once remembered, slipping away as if they were smoke escaping a leaking chamber. 

After what seemed like an eternity, I came into consciousness again around 3:00 A.M. I found myself on the plush carpet of my bedroom closet, in the pitch black, feeling as though I had drunk nothing but rum for a week straight. My mouth feeling like sand but tasting like bile, I apparently had vomited. I made the mistake of feeling my chest, which was covered in a green and brown substance liquid, and tried to stand. Holding on to the hanging rod, I clumsily pulled myself up and felt the sharp pain of dehydration mixed with a healthy dose of malnutrition within my body. However, it did not matter... It was all for her. It would all be worth it in the end.

I grabbed for myself some water from the fridge and sipped the cool, icy poison slowly. To my surprise once again, it did in fact make me feel a little better. I then stuffed a slice of whole wheat bread into my mouth and ate it with ferocity before staring at the table again. I had a couple of options available, but which one would give me the best chance?

Slowly picking up a white drivers' license from the table, I thoughtfully scratched my chin with my other hand.

"Annabelle Chevalier. Sounds like a good enough name to me. And it'll have to be. If it's not, only the Gods know that you're dead anyway." I snatched up the driver's license, the birth certificate, and the social security card. I even took the passport, just in case.