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.

Sweetwater: Anniversary

     Gertie was a bundle of nerves wrapped in flannel and ripped jeans, and when a women stout enough to mock the originators of her favorite kind of shirts get nervous, she flees to her decidedly more willowy half sister's home. Said sister sat on a lawn chair in her little garden untangling her chocolate brown hair from a messy braid only worn out among her flowers to keep the Little Folk from knotting wild flowers into it.
    "My, its been a whole year hasn't it?" she tutted as Gertie paced about, tugging and twisting a strand of her own wild midnight and dawn tipped dyed hair.
    " Yep." She replied curtly, " Anniversary is tomorrow."
    "And you don't have any clue on what to get Shay?"
    Gertie stopped pacing and sighed helplessly.
    "I want to give them something amazing Minnie. Something that...You know."
    The woman attempted to pull the right words out of her stressed and jumbled brain and line them up to match her emotions. When nothing arose she grew more and more frustrated over her own nervousness leading to stalling, leading to panic, leading to a low-key hatred of the horribly complex structure of English and the frailty of human form until-
    Her focus slipped and the Change happened. Most Were-folks will say after the first hard change, and within a month it would be as easy and fast as a sneeze.
    In an instant where once a woman stood instead was a creature which straddled the line of the natural beauty of a midnight black wolf and the supernatural size and bipedal stance of a creature that was far bigger than any canine should be. Not to mention the clothing, now much more form fitting (as many learn to wear garments 1 to 2 sizes bigger for obvious reasons.) Gertie howled, arching her back as she threw her head toward the sky. Thoughts, feelings, and emotions merged together and boomed clear in wolf-song. A few local dogs and one of the Paige twins (Aged 11) returned with sympathy howls.
    Minnie rolled her eyes as her sister wrapped up this emotional outburst with the all too human gesture of putting her face (muzzle?) in her hands (paws?) in embarrassment.
    "Sorry," she grumbled in a growly accent only made by a werewolve's true self.
    "Oh hush," Minnie chided, getting up and patting her half sisters arm comfortingly. "I'm used to it by now, you always found it easier to communicate your stress in this side of yourself. I still remember how it took you three weeks to turn back when you two started dating."
    Minnie smirked, "And don't get me started when they asked you to move in with them."
    Gertie leveled a scowl at her sister, which set the women into a fit of impish giggles. Within moments the infectious sound caught on in a half bark-laugh that flowed back into a more human tone as Gertie returned to her human self. 
    "As cathartic as this is," She said, straightening her plaid shirt, "I still don't know what to get Shay."
    "Maybe forget about buying a something," Minnie said. "and just give them a wonderful time?"
    Gertie blinked before making the face one does when the simplest answer is presented to a complicated question.
    "I've got to go, I know what I must do!" She proclaimed with all the weight and gravitas of a theater major.
    "You going to stay for tea, or go running off to panic shop?" Minnie asked in courtesy, already knowing her sisters answer.
    "The second one, rain check?"
    Minnie waved it off, knowing she wouldn't be able to keep her sister still, as she had the look of a wolf running after a rabbit and there was no stopping her now.
    "I want details!" She called after Gertie as she sprinted to her beat up Beatle and sped off into town.

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. 

Stakeout

    Rich winced at the sloppy enchantment the goth band wannabe tried (and failed) to direct over the girl he had been stalking since 11:45PM while she was bar hopping with her friends. This had been his fourth attempt to use magic to lure her away, and every time, the girl's unbending willpower had torn the magic to shreds. Since Rich had been stalking the stalker since 11:00PM, he was getting tired of evidence gathering and the rookie who had been sticking to him like melted chocolate on shag rug all night.

     "So, is he like, a real vampire?" Asked Mitch, the aforementioned tag along. "Are real vampires even, like, real?"

     Rich sighed, tempering his irritation with the bonus this particular job granted on his paycheck, and gave Mitch a side glance. He was nothing to really look at; dangerously thin and short with strait black hair and smart square glasses, the skinny jeans, messenger bag, and black tee (giant white letters screaming NERD across his chest) gave the impression he had googled his fashion sense into being after being a gigantic DnD nerd had been popularized.

     There were a lot of people like him in the Special Circumstances Division, people who though sheer accident or blundering intent gained enough magical power to garner the Magi Groups attention. Very few with the ability to push their gifts passed "It's just this weird thing I can do." Mitch was one of the very few who seemed like he could truly become a mage, hence why the Magi had 'requested' Rich to take him on a low level task, to find a fake vampire that has put three women in the hospital.

     "No, goth-head just thinks he is... Some dick taught him enough Enchantment, Biothurgy, and Transmutation to make him believe that he is. A real vampire doesn't use magic like us living folk." Rich replied, his sentence elongated as his scholarly half took over. " And yes, vampires are real. But their queen has a hard core screening process so there aren't that many running about."

     "Cool," the lore nerd beside him said, soaking up the information like a sponge. It was one of the few things about this mission that made it slightly more tolerable for Rich. "So, whats the plan? Do we have enough evidence to take him down?"

     The seasoned mage snorted. "I suppose so, Mitch. I hope you're ready to play hero because I have a plan."

=OvO=

    Malciour, (real name Malcolm) had finally found someone to feed upon. She had appeared almost magically after he had reached the boiling point with this one woman who stubbornly ignored everything he threw at her. But this one fell into his hold quickly, his power finding purchase in her mind like the ergonomic handle of a knife. He had planned on bringing her back to his place, taking his time before burying his fangs in and draining her of enough life essence to feed himself and his Master. It was getting late, and prey would begin to dwindle the closer it came to sunrise. He thought of the rumor among the ranks of 'Vampire Hunters' attacking those of his brood.

     He knew he would be fine, as he was of the 'first' generation, having grown into a true vampire where others of his generation had failed and sunk into mortal obscurity. He had more power than the underlings of the newer generation; No talent with glamours, and having to use what mundane tricks they had in their previous life to get them by. They were unlike him, dragging his prey down the alleyway, stress from the previous prey melting away as he cornered the giggling fool...

=OvO=

    Mitch was worried, but then again Mitch had always rode the line between just being worried and full blown panic attacks for most of his life. It started with him being worried about how he would be mocked about his messenger bag, seemingly cheap leather etched with odd symbols his aunt has gifted him. But when he found out one pocket was seemingly endless and the other could conjure three items per day (simple things, like food and figurines) he stopped giving a shit about the nonexistent bag jokes made in his expense.

     He was now worried about Rich's plan, as it involved him taking out a crossbow and shooting a man in the heart with it. His attention was caught between listening to the explanation of this plan and Rich summoning a being made of clear melted plastic that quickly morphed into a beautiful stereotypical horror movie-victim woman(A mimic, Rich would later explain to him).

     "Why do I have to do this?" Mitch watched the mimic go bouncing off, getting ready to run into the 'vampire'.

     "Because, it will notice me gathering enough power to hit him, while you can just pull a crossbow out." the mage said, watching as the 'vampire's' simple charm stuck to the equivalent of an animated doll. "Plus his body has been altered, his 'Master' made sure his minions can regenerate and have a cluster of nerves right above their hearts in case he needs to assert his dominance."

     "How the fuck do you know all that?" the young nerd asked.

     "Because we are but one pair of grunts working toward cleaning the dregs of a larger problem." Rich motioned him closer. "Now get ready he's on the move."

     The vampire eagerly led his 'prey away from the busy club and down the streets, traffic and security cameras growing scarce until he turned into a darkened ally. With a nod from his supervisor, Mitch reached into his bag and focused. His hand grabbed hold of something and he pulled it free, a modern carbon crossbow, a bolt already loaded. It was a lot heavier than he imagined, and he began to worry as he had never actually fired one of these outside of the realm of pen and paper.

     He didn't have that much time to really think it over as a shout echoed off the grimy walls. "What the fuck?!" Malciour screeched as his prey melted like cheap ice cream the moment tooth touched skin.

     " Now!" Rich shouted loudly, making the pale, sharp-toothed human to turn about with higher than average speed.

     Mitch steeled himself and aimed as best he could, praying video games had at least helped him get this stance half right, and pulled the trigger. The bolt flew threw the air with a hiss, before lodging itself directly into the artificial vampires knee. He howled in pain and dropped like a sack of bricks, clutching the wound as his still human brain was clouded by shock. Mitch was kept from being shocked himself by Rich's burst of laughter. "Oh my god, you just knocked over fake-ula with a Skyrim meme!"

"I don't know how to fucking aim a crossbow dude!" He shouted back indigently, watching as the still laughing mage produced a wooden dagger and a cellphone from his pocket.

     "YOU SHOT ME!" Screamed Malciour, still not registering what was going down as Rich approached. " WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!"

     "A lot," Was Rich's reply as he stood over the man made monster, and shoved the dagger into the cluster of nerves just above his heart.

     It was rather instant, one moment he was screaming and in the next his whole body was paralyzed, seized up in his current position and unable to move. Rich took a few photos before texting them and their location to their handler. Mitch sat down on the curb, crossbow carelessly tossed to his side.

     "That was...anticlimactic." he said after Rich joined him in sitting.

     "Yup." Was the reply.

     "Is it always like that?" Rich scratched his chin thoughtfully, " When it comes to magic," he began, "mages new to the game think that there is some unwritten code of honor among them, that magic will be the only weapon used to fight one another. Hell even some seasoned mages believe this. But there are those who are wise enough to exploit this. Your opponent is prepared for you to throw magic and monsters at them, not tear gas and stun batons."

     "Yeah, but we used magic to capture him." Said Mitch.

     "We used a little bit of magic yes, but in the end an arrow to the knee and a sharpened wooden prop knife is what got him in the end." Rich replied, chuckling. "If he wasn't a woefully under educated grunt then things would of been more interesting."

Mitch pulled open his bag and produced two cans of soda from a 12 pack he had put in, the inter-dimensional pocket kept things at just the right temperature. he handed one off before opening his.        

    "So, I dunno if I want to work for the Magi's..." he finally said.

     " Understandable," replied Rich, rolling the can in his hands.

     " I would suggest taking up some of their magic courses. Those bags only work if you've got a little bit of magic in you."

     "Why? I have my magic bag what more could I need?" he looked over to the grinning mage.

     "Well, I know an Illusion major who runs some seriously kick ass DnD Games."

N'yarlathotep (God Slave)

Power dripping from your
Cosmic, hypnotic eyes
Smells of rotting chaos,
Entropy, fear, passion...

Desire is a siren
Eating away my fears
Waving away all those
Reasonable concerns

Versus my own instincts
Seduced by the nightmares
Desire chews, gnaws, swallows
Awful sights beholden

Pharoah King awaits me
Draws the rope, I comply
Aeons of spirit gape
Witnessing the contracts

Most left unmet by ink
Papers speaking untold
Unable to sign myself
Away completely still

Hills speak, deserts cry here
Exploring gathers doubt
Sights beyond the real, though
Familiar somehow

Blinking, crowned jewels appear
Upon your lying head
Sandstone and marble, quartz
Smoothly line your castle walls

Sentences flood my brain
Thoughts chained to words, to mind
Sirens blaring, in-conceived
Half of what they used to be

Tongue more elegant, sharp
Stabs the flesh that rebels.
Rewards the brain that speaks
For the strange being now

Intellect decreasing.
In-comprehended voice,
Vocals to your music,
Nightmares and the screaming

Untold horrors hidden
Incomprehensible
Voice escapes my quick mouth
Not understanding the words

Shutting down now, help me?
Can not make a small sound
Space and time abandoned
Me and all of my soul

To this dream I now live
Trapped, caged, in this body
Always yearning, can't leave
But can not stay much more

Kill me, for I'm enslaved
If you can hear me, please
Losing all of myself
Into the black abyss

Its black nothing staring
Into me as I once did
Into its inky depths
Eyes rolling back in time

The Peculiar Story of Darla Deen

  Darla Deen was always keen that she was not like other infants. She hardly ever cried, and her parents never saw why, since the Fey and a long passed cat kept her company. And At night some Folk would say the Moon Doe would lay, by her sill and sing sweet lullaby.
  Darla Deen was always keen that she was not like other six year olds. When most her age were content to play with inanimate clay, she made it move and dance. To add to the oddities, ravens kept her company, seeking favor by scaring bullies away. And then one day, when all the strangeness got in the way, a man from a odd school came. He gave Darla one look, even talked to the rooks and decided Darla needed a school change. So within a few days Darla had a uniform change, and off to Academy she went.
  Darla Deen, at the age of 16 still knew she was not like her peers. The Academy she adored with its magics and more, made her feel like just another girl. But as time marched on, her powers grew strong, and even made a few teachers rather twitchy. For not even the best could contest Darlas' incredible prowess of Directing the Etheric Flow. And very few would know, because it never really showed, that miss Deen never studied not once. For she already knew it all, but were it was learned she did not recall, so they claimed her a genius.
  Darla Deen, age 18 graduated with top degrees. She declined a position of teaching new acquisitions and set off on her own. Darla Deen could been seen almost anywhere across this world. Her fame spread wide but she could always hide from those who sought her out. the reason for her travels is a mystery still unraveled but I would hazard a guess, that Darla Deens' Quest was to find something within herself.
  Darla Deen at 20 would meet the peculiar man that was I. It was out by a lake (it was quite great) where I was caught by Darla's' eyes. It was easy I admit since the fox head didn't quite fit with the orange suit and tie. We chatted for a bit until Darla felt fit to ask me her question of "Why?"
  To which I said: "Darla Deen you are always quite keen, but I understand why this eludes you. Through your whole life you've felt it, how you didn't quite fit in, that some great self truth escaped you. But I am here now to give you just that, since the person playing with you is cheating."
  And I told her a story, of self possessed romance and woe, of a man filled with wretched desire, and so this man cast a spell so simple or complex none could tell, one held in places by falsities and lies. That spell soon lay broken as the real Darla had awoken, and boy was she mad as hell. As her form grew and swelled, she asked why it all took so long. I simply replied "Humans are easy to hide, especially so when you don't quite know which magician your friend might be inside."
  Darla Deen, A dragon and maybe one day a queen, simply rolled her eyes. But she thanked me for this day before she was off and away to char a vain and foolish man. And well I could sit idly by, such a thing an entertainment gold mine! So like any good friend, I made sure their path's crossed again and boy oh boy did he ever fry.

Artemis

Titanium and slate upon
Your moving lips and heart
Tell me how to worship when we’re
Millenia apart

Your multicolored eyes on me
Have never caused me harm
Your weapons, sharp and pointed aim
As flexing shapes your arm

And I dance to the moon
I’ll always fight within your sky
And I pray in the night
On the quarters’ peeking scry

Vulnerable skin and arrows
Glancing dark aside here
Shout the magic words and say I
Still hold your justice near

Stars sparkling down me unto veins
I feel will come alive
Touch me up and down, I tremble
My soul will truly thrive

And I dance under moon
Willingly follow you and I
Am loving, I imbue
Most people who are loving you

Shady oaks and pines above us
I vow to never stray
Believing you will never leave,
Believing you will stay

In the oak bed I made for us
I know you will not lay
Your tender lips away from mine
My goddess, meant to slay

Storm Into Light

Whistling

Through my ears

Shivering

Drawing tears

Over my cheeks



Icy hands

Covering

Darkened eyes

Paneling

Shook me alone



Crunching

Natures’ dead

Handling

Glass and wood

Fear in my eyes



Flickering

Alone, She

Stealthily

Watches me

Safety ahead



Stoically

Quiver, bow

Guardingly

Covers me

“Protect me so.”



Clumsily

Paper bonds

Featherfall

Binding us

Forever long



Artemis

Smiles down

Gently

Waving hand

Over my breath.