Part One

I

The rain was cold against my skin, the small droplets pounding lightly against my face and arms and wherever I was exposed. Strange how such a beautiful, sunny day could have gone so horribly wrong. The sky wasn’t even visible now, through the mass of grey storm clouds. I was glad for the rain pelting down on me, soaking me through and through, allowing me to feel as though even my soul were drenched in tears. The salty tears streaming down my cheeks and dripping off my chin were mixing with the pure water of the sky. The sky… was it crying for me?

The first tragedy had struck no more than a year before this one. Though that one wasn’t nearly as bad on a realistic scale, they had nearly tied on the weights of my heart. At least until I understood fully what had happened and who was to blame for my whole world exploding into a whirlwind of pain and suffering on all sides. The first tragedy was like a swift blow to my stomach; quick but so hard that it flipped and tied itself in knots, making it hard for me to breathe at all. And it

was

hard for me to breathe, whenever I thought back on it. About his smiling face, how he had dragged me off after curfew just so we could look at the stars, sitting beneath our favorite tree… No! Don’t go, Shay! Stay, don’t leave me here…

I wake up sweating, and sigh heavily against the feeling of dread that consumes me when I fall asleep. That stupid dream had been haunting me for a little over a week by now, and every time that I fall into my bed I dread being sucked back into it. What was I going to do? Shawn was long gone, coming up on two years now! It had been his fault, anyway, what had happened to everyone. It wasn't my fault, it couldn't have been! But what Shawn had said that day, the day of the tragedy... No! I won't think about it; what that monster said means nothing to me! He is a cheap little liar!

Who you grew up with, who you cared about?

My mind inquires, and I hold my face in my hands as it all comes rushing back, drowning me in my own grief.

The first tragedy happened nearly two years ago, when I was 15. The afternoon sunlight warmed my face and body as I lay with eyes closed on the grassy hillside. I took a deep breath through my nose and let it out slowly as a smile crept its way onto my upturned face.
“I know you're there, Shawn.”
Though my eyes were still closed, I could almost see him grinning. He didn't say anything, trying to trick me into opening my eyes, trying to make me doubt how I could feel when he was near.
“We can play this all day, I won't give in. Don't you know me at all?” I shook my head as if I were disappointed but my smile didn't fade.
He broke, more quickly than usual, and ran to my side. I felt the vibrations as he plopped down beside me. I frowned and rolled onto my side, opening my eyes and finding him staring at me. Shawn's position and expression mirrored my own. His long, six foot frame extended on the grass was so much longer than my five foot six. The dark locks of hair that he wore just below his ears was windblown; he'd run here to find me.
“What's wrong, are you all right?”
He doesn't answer me; he just averts his gaze and reaches out a hand to absently play with my hair.
“Shawn?”
He closes his eyes, like he can't stop listening to my voice, like he wants to memorize it for if he's not here for a long time. I'm a little surprised, because he sighs, and Shawn never sighs or complains. His eyes open slowly, the black of his hair blending with the almost black of his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Orin, I'll be fine. Come on, you've spent enough time dreaming.” Shawn stands and pulls me to my feet, holding me against his chest so that I don't fall. We've done this for as long as I can remember, but, for some reason, this time feels different. My face starts getting warm, and I look up into Shawn's face; he blushes, too, but lets me go slowly. Suddenly, his expression changes and he grins at me, grabbing me around the waist and swinging me onto his back, despite my protests; and he sets off running for the village.

Trees pass by, then fields and farm houses, until, finally, most of the countryside disappears and Shawn's feet pound with the echo of cobblestone streets. Housing on either side differs from large, old plantation houses of a variety of colors, to small shack like cottages with one room and thatched roofs. My arms, wrapped around Shawn's neck, tighten slightly as we pass the gap between two fairly large houses; the ally way is slender, but it is just large enough that if you peer through at the right angle it is possible to catch a glimpse of the old, dark stoned, almost Gothic style structure miles out on the hilly landscape; many of the superstitious so named it the “Gothic Towers”. Though others in the village have evil superstitions about that outcast building, I've never really been worried. But today is feels different in so many ways, and today I just don't have a good feeling about that place. I shiver slightly and Shawn looks back at me questioningly. I shake my head, making him frown; I tell him everything.

I just don't want to worry him over nothing...

I try to convince myself, but my more honest self decides to speak up;

You just don't want him to think you're crazy. You just don't want him to know that today has an ominous feel, you want him to enjoy the nice, sunny day.

Suddenly I realize that my house has already flown by.
Inwardly rolling my eyes at myself, I lift one hand and tug at the tip of his ear, leaning close but far enough away that I don't upset his balance. “Where are we going? You know where I live, how could you miss my house?”
Shawn grins, his torso rumbling under me as he laughs. “It's a secret.”
I let go of his ear, just so I can bring my fist up and hit him in the head. He drops his head, laughing, hitting my arm with his chin and pinning it to his chest. I pull my legs free of his hands, wrapping them around his waist and holding on tight; I pull at the arm he has pinned, making him laugh harder. The village falls away, giving into grassy fields and flowers, just before the tree line of the forest. Still struggling, I take my free hand and take hold of his chin, thrusting upwards, but I have no leverage. Shawn smiles again, eyes flashing mischievously, and I realize that by wrapping my legs around his waist for leverage, I have left his arms free as well. Now he has the advantage: two arms, control of my direction, one of my arms pinned, and more strength than I have, plus he has better leverage. Slowly, knowing that I have no control of the situation, he reaches around to take hold of my arms. Too slow. I swing my arm around in a low arch, grabbing his wrist as it brushes past my hand and twisting his arm up behind him, in between his back and my stomach.
“Ah!” he grunts, attempting to twist his body to accommodate this awkward position. His attempts are useless, however, since my perch on his back prevents him from this type of movement for risk of losing his balance. Though I am not actually hurting him, I could if I have the inclination, and I will. Pressing his arm in its place and pinning it, I release his wrist and reach down for his other hand. His arms are too much longer than mine; I have no way of capturing his remaining arm. I close my eyes to concentrate at the same moment I feel pressure in the back of my leg, right at the knee. The sensation is close between a small pinch, a numbing tingle, and being tickled; I'm not sure which, but none of these sensations help me in the current situation. I'm not sure if I'm lucky or unlucky, for Shawn suddenly loses balance and pitches forward, dropping us both in the grass, rolling and struggling to stop or gain the upper hand over the other.
A low dip in the ground sends us about a foot in the air, but destroys much of our momentum; we come to a stop right at the edge of the glassy lake where the livestock is herded to drink. Grass or grass stains cover most of my person and I am gasping for breath. Shawn, though he is a bit less winded, is raising himself up into a crouch, laughing through his panting and shaking to dislodge the grass, succeeding mainly in making me uncomfortable and more grassy. I'm pressed into the long, soft grazing substances as he takes hold of my wrists and secures them above my head. He smiles, eyes shining, and presses his knees into the ground on either side of me, barring me from escape. “Well, I find it hard to believe we haven't had a good skirmish like this in a while. You yield?”
I scowl at him, but I bite my lip and keep down a nasty comment, inquiring instead, “Winner takes what?”
His smile grows into his signature harsh, evil grin, “Don't you mean, loser gives what?”
“No, if I had, I would have said that. What is with you today? Get off.”
His smile falters for a split second but then he rearranges his features, adopting an expression of mock solemnity, and he hisses, “Don't take me for an imbecile, Orin. I won't let you up until you've yielded.” He yawns and allows some of his weight to press me between him and the ground. His hands tighten around my wrists, not enough to hurt but they start to throb, he pulls his knees in closer to my sides. This slow compression of space is more awkward for me than painful or worrisome. I want to close my eyes, but my gaze is trapped by the gravity of his black hole eyes; his dark eyes are strangely deep, strangely alluring and hard to escape if he doesn't wish you to. His expression changes again, now it is distracted and a little unsettled, and I am suddenly able to look away again. My breathing has slowed, but for some reason my heart is still racing. I can feel the pulse in his wrist, pressed to mine, and am surprised to find that his heart is racing, too.
I clear my throat, then I sigh; “Fine, loser gives what?”
He blinks, then smiles warmly down at me. “Hmm… Since today is such a nice day, let’s make it something small. Let’s see… how about… I—“ I raise an eyebrow at him, “—I mean winner—“ he smiles wider and winks at me, “—gets five bronze?”
I deliberate. “I can’t get anything with just five bronze… Make it ten and you have a deal.”
He grins, thinking I’ve just given him free money. “Whatever you want, I’ll be happy to take more of your money.”
I smile sweetly up at him, knowing he thinks I’m about to yield. Subconsciously, he loosens his hold on my wrists, raises himself a little, giving me just enough room to maneuver. Swift as a cat springing from a hunters crouch, I bring my right knee up so it is pressing into his stomach. At the same moment, I push off with my left foot as hard as I can, forcing Shawn into a backward somersault with me. He flips over my head and the hold he has on my wrists help me to follow him, the flip ending with one of my hands holding both his wrists about his head, the other arm pressing hard against his throat. My right knee and shin press his chest to the ground, my left knee digging into the ground at his side; I grin down at him, dark-chocolate hair hanging loosely about my face, and my mix of grey and blue eyes shining. Shawn is still stunned, sprawled beneath me, one knee up behind me, the other leg flat against the grass and wild flowers.
“I guess I owe you ten bronze,” he finally manages, incredulous.

The sky was just beginning to darken, the warm mug in my hand steaming as we watched the first of the stars peek out of the darkness from my back porch. I steal a glance at Shawn over the rim as I bring the warm, sweet drink to my lips. I’m surprised to see him doing the same, and I fight to keep myself from laughing while drinking. He sees my face and begins laughing, lucky him for already having swallowed.
I replace the mug on the small table and bring a hand up to cover my mouth while coughing and laughing, unsuccessfully. This makes Shawn laugh even harder. Glaring at him mockingly, I reach across the table and shove his shoulder. He feigns falling by rocking back on the chair legs; noticing too late how close to the edge he is, he loses his balance and topples over the side of the porch.
My fit of coughing ends and I rush to the edge, taking in the sight of Shawn, sitting up on his elbows covered in grass, wooden seat a few feet away, and begin laughing anew. He looks up at me sheepishly and I jump down next to him. Taking the hand he extends for help, I am about to pull him up when he pulls me down, making me land on the grass beside him, looking up at the brilliant stars. Such a gorgeous day and now such a clear night? Could it truly be real?
“I’m staying here tonight, okay?”
I snap back out of my thoughts and turn my head to look at him. “What? Oh, sorry, why?”
He takes his gaze off the stars and shifts it to me, smiling. “Don’t worry, I’ve already talked to your mom and she doesn’t mind as long as we sleep in different rooms, as always. I don’t want to go home, today has just been so perfect and I don’t want to risk ruining it.”
I turn toward him a little more. “Ruin it? How?”
He turns away again, watching the sky and tracing constellations with his finger. “Mom’s away for a while, so I’d be alone at the house.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Shawn and his mother don’t get along very well, not since his father and brother died a few years back in a wild animal attack in the woods.
“Usually, but tonight I just don’t want to be alone in an empty home.”
I leave it at that, not wanting to ruin his “perfect” day myself. It’s been a while since he’s called “the house” “a home”, even an “empty” one, so I hardly notice that my home is more of a home to him than “the house”.
I turn back to the sky just as a shooting star makes its fiery path across its dark canvas. I smile and close my eyes just as I hear Shawn whisper a faint, “Make a wish.”
“I wish…”

that Shawn could have many perfect days, just like this one.

“Done, what about you?” I open my eyes and find Shawn facing toward me, on his side.
“How could I wish for anything else when I’ve already been given such an amazing gift?

I

got to spend a perfect day with

you

.” He smiles and reaches out to touch the back of my hand lightly.
I blush and smile back at him, flattered and grateful. The back door opens quietly, spilling a thin stream of light onto the porch and grass, the sweet, kind, trusting voice of my mother makes its way to my ears; “Orin, Shawn, come inside, it’s getting late. You can stay up for a little while longer if you’re quiet, but it’s time for the rest of us to go to bed.”
As she speaks, Shawn stands and pulls me up with him. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, ever the polite young man. I roll my eyes, smiling, and punch him lightly on the arm, and then wrap my fingers around the spot where I hit him; I tug him toward the door.
Mom kisses me on the cheek, short blonde hair brushing my skin lightly, tickling my nose, and her bright, intelligent blue eyes smile kindly as she tells Shawn how happy she is to see that he’s well and how glad we are to have him, even though I point out that it’s just for the night. Somehow, Shawn and I make it upstairs.
I turn to him, and hold up a finger to stop him before he can speak; “Wait here.”
Disappearing inside my room, I pull out the package I had asked my mother to purchase earlier that day, giving her ten bronze to do so. She had even wrapped it in clean, dark blue cloth with gold and silver designs webbing themselves across it. My eyes drift to the mirror to the left side of the room, a golden thread hanging from an ornate edge. I smile and silently thank my mother for both cloth and thread (and gift) as I tie the thread about the cloth enclosed box.
Slowly, I open the door a crack, peering through at Shawn before pushing the box through the crack and into his hands. He looks from it to me, still behind the mostly closed door.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“Well, open it and find out.”
An eyebrow is raised in my direction as he pulls the door fully open before turning his attention back to the box. He tugs lightly on the loose gold thread, pulls away the cloth, and opens the lid. Out of the box he pulls two long, silver chains; on the end of each hangs half of a twelve pointed star, but the center of one holds an obsidian stone while the other holds a blue-grey opal.
His eyes widen and he looks up at me; I blush. “What—“
“I bought them with the ten bronze you gave me. One for each of us.” I reach out a hand and lightly wrap my fingers around the silver and obsidian. “This one’s mine, the other one’s yours. It’s to show how important our friendship has been to me, so if for any reason you or I end up away from the other, we’ll have these to remember.”
His gaze softens and he tenderly wraps his hand around the other necklace. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me…”
I smile. “Technically it was

your

money, so thank you, too.”
He smiles back at me, pulling the chain over his head and tucking the star inside his shirt. “It matches your eyes,” he says quietly, placing the box on the ground and taking the second silver chain from me and lowering it over my head and around my neck. “Mine, not yours.”
“And mine matches your eyes.” I tuck the pendant under my shirt as well. “But that’s all the more reason I chose them.”
Shawn’s fingertips linger at the base of my neck and they trace my collar-bone lightly, the only spot I am truly ticklish, and I am unable stop a small fit of giggles from escaping my lips. I shake my head cheerfully and push his hand away. “What are you doing, that tickles!”
He yawns as he replies, “Sorry, guess I’m just worn out. That was our first rumble in a while; I must be out of shape. Night.” He yawns again, leans forward to lightly kiss me on the cheek, and disappears inside the guest room right across the hall from my own room.
“Night…” I mutter as I close the door once more, collapse on the bed and think,

no one picked up the box

, before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

II

A soft knock on a wooden door slides me into awareness. The knock comes again and I realize it’s coming from the other side of my door. Standing, I say a soft, “Just a minute.”
My mother would kill me if she knew I’d fallen asleep in street clothes, so I quickly shed pants and shirt and pull on a fresh pair of tank top and linen trousers, just in case.
Slowly making my way to the door, expecting to find my mother or father, I am surprised to be looking into the face of Shawn upon opening the door. I feel my eyebrows rise but he puts a hand over my mouth before I can speak, causing me to walk backwards as he enters my room; Shawn closes the door behind him.
As he removes his hand and I can breathe a little better, he whispers in my ear, “I’m sorry I woke you, I know I’m not supposed to be in here, it’s just… I woke up with a bad feeling and couldn’t fall asleep again, and I always feel better around you, so I—“
“Shawn, you’re babbling.” He bows his head and I take his hand, leading him to the end of the bed and making him sit down. I press a hand to his forehead before continuing. “Are you sick, what were you talking about?”
He shakes his head and gently removes my hand, holding it in his lap, forcing me to either kneel in front of him or sit beside him; I find the latter less demeaning. “No, I’m fine, I think; I just have this feeling that something bad is going to happen and I can’t sleep anymore. But I’m always calmer around you, so I came here… sorry, I’ll leave, I’m just being ridiculous.” He begins to stand, cheeks red and not meeting my eyes, but I squeeze his hand and put my free hand on his arm.
“It’s alright, Shay, you can stay. It’s not ridiculous; I… I’ve had a really ominous feeling all day, but I didn’t say anything. It was such a nice day and I didn’t want to worry you…” I take a deep breath. “As long as Mom doesn’t catch you in here, it’s fine.”
His expression brightens and he hugs me quickly, kisses my cheek, and pulls me up as he stands. “Thank you, I’ll make it up to you somehow.”
My eyes had widened but they close again as I yawn. “You’d better.”
I crawl back onto the bed and under the covers; Shawn hesitates, looking torn. I hold up the comforter; “Well?” I ask.
He blushes but lies down next to me, whispering, “I’ll be gone before your mom wakes up.”
I smile at him, trying to lighten his mood. “Don’t worry about it too much, it’s not like anything’s going to happen anyway. It’s just like that time we camped in the woods when we were kids, it doesn’t mean anything; just two friends having a slumber party.”
He smiles back at me and wraps his arms around my waist as both of our eyes drift close.
“Good night,” we say together.
But that simple statement turned out to be more like a good bye.
I woke the next morning to find that Shawn had kept his word; he must have left long before my mother had woken up. The sheets had been resettled around me, securing me in their warmth. It would have been too hot in the summer heat, except that my mom kept the house well below the outside temperature. I push them back and shiver slightly as I stretch my arms out over my head, stretch my jaw with a soft yawn. My muscles scream at me to sleep longer, and I see why as I glance across at the clock hanging on my wall; the time reads only a few minutes after five o’clock; my parents would have just left a few minutes earlier. My eyes widen since I never rouse this early unless something disturbs me or something dearly needs my attention. Since nothing has disturbed me, something must be excessively wrong.
My room seemed chillier than normal, and I don’t think it was because of someone messing with Mother’s thermostat. A strange, sharp ringing in my ears makes the hair on the back of my neck and arms stand on end like they were being attracted by static and I sit up ram-rod straight. The pitch of the ringing is just on the edge of human hearing, like the cry of a banshee, haunting and unmistakable. I throw the covers aside. Adrenaline is pumping through my veins and that part scares me the most; what would be making me react so strangely?
A soft creaking of the floor boards outside my room accents the pounding of my heart, my hands shake as I reach for the handle and I feel completely alone. I find myself wishing that Shawn had forgotten his promise and stayed with me. The metal of the handle is cold and stings my searing palm; Shawn had passed through here hours ago. Easing the cold metal down, I open the door a crack and peer out. The creaking stops immediately. The hallway is completely empty. Every shadow in every corner of the corridor seems to hide evil; cold is seeping into every fiber of my being. I gently open the door all the way and ease myself out of it. The latch hitting home seems much too loud and I worry that whatever is in the house will now be aware of my presence, if it wasn’t already. The guest room door is ajar.
All the thoughts in my fear stricken mind are for Shawn. Every part of my essence is straining to get to where he is, to be sure that he’s all right. My eyes dart to keep the shadows in check like a cornered animal and I stubbornly force myself to creep up to the guest room door. I peer through hesitantly, searching the small space for any sign of something amiss. The bed is placed near the center of the wall across from the door. It’s impossible for my eyes to miss his tall frame and dark lashes and hair. A sigh of relief bubbles its way up into my throat but is just as quickly extinguished as my back starts to prickle and I feel the cold grip of a leather gloved hand wrap around my esophagus.
My eye sight falters as I am slammed against the wall, but the sound is much to quiet for the impact that I receive. My ears pop as if a cannon had been set off and deafened me. Cheek pressed against the wall, hands and arms uselessly trapped between my body and wood, it’s impossible for me to view my assaulter. The leather rubs uncomfortably against my skin, the wall around my temple is slick with something that begins dripping into my ear and is seeping its way toward my eyes. Had I skimmed a loose nail in the wall?
Somehow, without a doubt, I know that this person was the reason I had woken so early. The reason I had felt the tension the day before, the reason the house was so cold. But little oxygen was reaching my brain, the grip was so tight, and tunnel vision began to set in. I was gasping for breath already and the grip tightened even more, cutting off any air I had. My limbs went numb; the darkness around my vision was uncomfortable, so I shut my eyes. I could hear the rustle of the person’s clothes as whoever it was leaned close to check if I was unconscious or dead or whatever else I could be at this point. If it hadn’t been pressed immobile against the wall, my head would have lolled. I felt a second hand grab my hair and yank my head back, cracking my neck and shocking what remained of my consciousness out of me.

Pain, searing through my head; scratches in my throat as I tried to swallow despite my dry mouth. The light… so bright, can’t stand it… And it all came rushing back. The gloved stranger, rough leather choking me, blood running down my face. As if lightning had run through my body, I find myself sitting upright on the floor, slumping back against the wall as the pain nearly overwhelmed me again. I bring a hand up to my aching head, not surprised to find a small stream of red oozing out from around the dried and cracking blood. Tilting my head up, I can see where my head would have been; there’s no sign of blood whatsoever on the wall.
And then my thoughts are not for myself alone.

Shawn

. I jerked away from the wall as if it had burned me, falling to my hands and knees and pushing myself up once more. Standing causes me to sway but I grit my teeth and bear it. Using the wall as support, I more fall than walk to the open door. I slump against the frame and screw my eyes shut against the scene in front of me. The covers on the bed are thrown back; most of them have fallen to the floor. Scratches that are feet long and inches deep crisscross across the walls, shredding the wallpaper. Drawers from the bedside dresser her yanked out of their places, the contents dug through and thrown across the floor. The window was shattered, most of the glass having fallen to the outside, and faint blood smears could be seen on the head rest and window pain, even a bit on the walls; everything signaled a struggle. Everything showed that Shawn had been hurt, or he had hurt whoever was here, but from the strength behind their attack on me… it wasn’t likely.
Everything undeniably confessed… that Shawn was gone.

III

After the first month or so, I had finally put behind me the fear and grief that this event had placed upon me; or at least, I had learned how to hide it and work through it. I could not just leave my family to worry over me as well as Shawn; everyone had taken matters harshly, even my little four-year-old twin brother and sister, Nathaniel and Lorelei. This surprises me only mildly, even though they had been out of the house the day before and of the event. Shawn had been more a part of our family rather than part of his mother’s; his mother didn’t even seem to show the proper amount of grief that a mother should have about her last remaining son disappearing. For all she knew, he could be… dead. I closed my eyes against the thought.
That’s when I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit around, wallowing, waiting to find out whether he was dead or alive. No one knew if he was still among us, where he’d gone, how to get news, or if he was ever coming back. But I was not going to just wait like the rest of the village; I was taking matters into my own hands. I did not have much hope that I would find anything, but I would have to start

somewhere

,, right? So I headed out the door, Nathan and Lore in tow (I had babysitting duty today), and made my way up the street towards the large, ornate library building.
For this specific day the research was slow; Nathaniel kept begging me to play with him in the grass just off the terrace set up for comfortable summer reading; Lorelei kept sliding onto my lap to either shove a book that she wanted to read under my nose, or to flip through the pages of whatever held my attention at that moment. We were on the back terrace, on a snug garden bench; the bench faced the large, beautiful glass doors and windows that covered a bit more than half of the lake-facing wall. The sun was high and hot, shining in my eyes because of the reflective glass, and as I turned my head away from its glare I imagined that I saw a shadow; it was out of the corner of my eye, rushing out of the way, toward the alley that held the view of the evil Gothic Towers...
I came back to the library, day after day, searching through book after book; I once found interesting, detailed blue prints from way back at the construction of the town. Several of these showed the library, and as I shuffled through them, I came across a familiar building; a smaller, less intimidating version of the Gothic Towers, before all of the gargoyles and spikes had been added, who knows how many years ago. It seemed even more like a church than the chapel close to the center of town. I tried to make out the builders notes, but they were worn and faded to the point that I doubt even someone trained to restore such documents would understand any of it. I turned the paper over in my hands, hoping to find a date or anything useful, but on the back was a map of some sort; it showed a web of rooms and corridors and here and there little blotches that I could not make out. Even though I borrowed a magnifying glass from one of the librarians, I was unable to make sense of the symbols. There was no existing legend to be found, to help me read the map…

That’s it!

I yelled in my mind, delighted. . I had once read a book of myths and legends when I was nine or ten. The title evaded me the more I thought about it, but I vaguely remembered that there had been a local myth about the old “castle” just outside of town. Resisting the urge to run, I briskly walked back to the entrance of the library, magnifying glass in hand. How was I going to find that dang book? The librarian I’d borrowed the glass from—a tall, blonde haired man with suspicious eyes that would always scowl— was still seated at his desk, stamping return dates on book cards rhythmically. He may have looked mean and unappealing, but he had a very kind smile and was quite easy to talk to.
“Back already, Orin?” he smiled at me, and teased, “Don’t need glasses yet?”
I smile back, but do not laugh. “Yeah, they don’t help; even with this thing I couldn’t make out what it meant.”
I placed the glass on his desk as he chuckled, and I continued; “I was looking for the key on the map and it reminded me of a book of stories I read when I was little. It held myths and legends about the town? Do you know which book it was?”
His forehead wrinkled in thought, and he tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm… I believe what you’re looking for is "Leggende e Miti: Mai come noi Vediamo"... Don’t give me that look! It was brought back just this morning, that’s how I knew…” He slid away and returned with a thick, leather bound book with the Italian title written elegantly across its spine.
“Why is the title Italian but the inside is English?”
The librarian shrugged. “It was originally written in Italian, I suppose; the scholars who translated it must have thought that the title sounded better in its Italian form.”
“Any chance you know the title in English?”
As he passed the book over the counter to me he explained; “It’s one of the harder titles to translate: ‘mai’ can mean either ‘never’ or ‘ever’, but its most commonly translated as ‘ever’. ‘Leggende e Miti’ is fairly easy: ‘Legends and Myths’. ‘Mai come noi Vediamo’ is a bit more challenging: ‘Never as we See’.”
“"Legends and Myths: Never as we See"… That’s rather strange… What do you suppose it means?”
He smiled again. “Find out.”
I turned and rolled my eyes when he was no longer able to see my face. Whatever. Glancing around the corner, I strolled back to my window seat: outside it was pouring rain, making it impossible to sit out on the terrace. I did not particularly feel like reading every single myth about our small little town, especially when they made up such a large book, so I ran my finger down the list of contents; a few of the passages had small marks beside them, indicating that they were missing. I turned to where a few would have been, and sure enough I could easily tell that they had fallen out; the glue in the spine where they had been, skimming roughly against my fingertips, had faded to a pale yellow-brown.
I crossed my fingers and hoped that the missing passages did not include the one that I needed. Turning back to the table of contents, I began searching once more. My finger stopped upon a, somehow, familiar title that caught my eye: “Seen but Untouched”.

Why does it seem familiar?

I asked myself countless times. My eyes scrolled across to the page number; pg. 176. No mark telling that it was missing. My pulse started to race, and I rushed to flip the pages; I was inching closer, I could feel it.

163, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174…

I held my breath and prepared myself to turn the next page. The paper flipped easily, worn from years of reading:

17…9?!?

Where pages 175 and 176 should have been, there was a skip from page 175 to 179. Ragged edges of paper stuck out from between both pages, the broken remnants of a well loved spine being ruined; these pages had been torn, they had not just fallen out over time as the rest had. Someone had deliberately taken the passage, so no one could read it… and if each page had yet to be marked missing, someone must have stolen the legend fairly recently. Had someone known I was researching? Had they stopped me from getting my hands on that passage?

You don’t know that!

I screamed at myself, inside my head. At least, I hope it was inside my head. I was not completely in control of myself.
But I did know. Somehow I just knew, let’s just say it was intuition… intuition told me that it was missing because of me.

IV

You would think that since this day had such a huge impact on my life I would remember the exact date, but I only remember that it happened in late autumn. My favorite season…
I was back in the hills, in the field where I had started my last day with Shawn, playing our stubborn games. Our favorite tree rested at the top of this hill, its leaves not quite yet fallen, glowed with beautiful reds and gold’s in the suns dying rays. I had grown taller since that day, developed more both mentally and physically. Now being five eight, I could reach the lowest branch by jumping instead of shimmying up the trunk the way I had done as a child. I had cut my hair shorter; it hung in layers around my shoulders, the shortest lengths of it coming up around my chin and blending with the longer sections. My wardrobe had been improved, as many of my shirts had ceased to fit, becoming too short and too tight at the bust line. I had even pierced the cartilage at the top of my right ear, on my “sweet sixteen”, with a hot needle, ice, and my mothers help. A small obsidian stud had, since, always rested there, matching the necklace that I wore under my shirt. The cold silver of the chain and half-twelve-pointed-star caused goose bumps to rise on my pale skin; the obsidian in the center reminded me of half of a yin-yang sign. It had been over a year now since I had seen the owner of the partner necklace.
It was an oddly warm day, and it was also unusually gorgeous. I felt nary a chill on my bare legs and arms, even though I was wearing soft plaid shorts and a dark brown tank top. Light on my feet, I jumped to catch the lowest branch and swung myself up to sit and watch the clouds. Ever since that day, I had avoided lying on the grass facing the town for too long. Now, sitting in the tall oak, I strained to make out the soft outline of a mountain range far out in the distance. The forest just after the lake was a blend of rich color. Almost none of the leaves had fallen anywhere around the village. Farmers could be seen as small specks in their fields, harvesting pumpkins for the children and other crops that were grown at this time of year. Mothers could be seen walking their children towards the field houses to choose from this year’s choice crops.
A familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach, a feeling that I had not felt in over a year, brought tears to my eyes. The same feeling I had had while he and I had been playing our stubborn game; but that was impossible. I shook it off and closed my eyes to absorb the suns warmth.
“You shouldn’t fall asleep in trees, you know. You could easily fall out and hurt yourself.”
The voice, coming from directly above me, startles me so badly that I jump and nearly lose my balance. As I wobble, the owner of the voice drops onto the branch beside me from the branch above me. My eyes widen as they take in the familiar face, the dark eyes and lashes, the slightly longer dark hair blending with each. Pain rushes to flush out all of my other emotions before it is replaced with a joy I had not even known I could feel.
“Shawn!” My voice cracks and tears stream down my cheeks, but I throw myself at him and wrap my arms around him fiercely. In my haste, my body seems to have forgotten that we are sitting in a tree, and so we lose balance. I brace myself for impact with the ground; but when I open my eyes, Shawn has one arm around my waist and has caught the branch with his other hand. When had he become so strong and agile?
As I uncurl from my ball and set my feet down beside his, I look into his face a little less hysterically. Yes, it is definitely Shawn standing before me, but he is different. He has matured as well; dark circles are under his eyes, his features are more distinguished, his most prominent features now have sharper angles. And… he looks altogether more resigned. Now that he is slightly older than seventeen, he is probably done growing, but his build is a little bit wider. He still isn’t bulky—he had always tended toward leaner muscle—but there is a new strength in him that I have never seen before. I realize now that this person may well be entirely different from the person I had known, and that thought pains me. Almost as much as the carefully guarded expression he is setting on me now.
“Orin, you have to get out of here.”
It feels oddly good to hear him say my name again. And then I process the comment, or rather command, and I am stunned. What in the world is going on? Suddenly my best friend reappears after a year, so different and who knows what has changed, and he is telling me to

leave?!?

This is definitely not the same person I once knew; the old Shawn would never have asked me to do something so strange without an explanation. I give him a look as I question his sanity, and he sighs, grabbing my shoulders. “I’m serious, Rin. I can’t tell you why, but you

have

to get the hell out of here. Not just out of the field, out of the village; you have to run.”
Who in the world is this? Never once has Shawn called me “Rin”. Once, when we were little, he had forgotten the “n” in my name, and he would still call me “Ori” on occasion, but never “Rin”. And to run from my home? What was he thinking? And Shawn

never

used to curse. He thought that the people who used profanities to act cool were overrated and retarded.
I jerk out of his grasp and narrow my eyes on him. “Oh, so sorry Mr. High-and-Mighty, I didn’t know you were in charge. Where do you get off telling

me

what to do?”
He seems a bit surprised at my harsh tone and takes a step toward me; I take two backwards. “Rin—“
“Don’t call me Rin!”
His eyes widen again. “Orin.” I lift my chin defiantly. “Please, just trust me—“
“And why should I? I don’t even

know

you anymore! You were never the boss of me, and you’re far from it now! Where do you get off telling me to leave the only home I’ve ever known, huh?!?”
He steps toward me again and I skirt around him, but he grabs my arm so firmly it nearly hurts. I yank it back out of his grasp and take of running down the hill. I hear his running footsteps behind me and put on a burst of speed, wishing my legs were longer. Why did this have to be such a big hill?
Suddenly his arm is catching me around the waist and I am toppling forward into the tall grass. We roll down the hill in a cascade of flailing limbs and grass. Somehow, instead of rolling straight down the hillside, we start to turn and the roll ends with our feet to the village, three quarters down the hill. My head aches as it presses into the ground and I shake it to clear it. Shawn is crouched on top of me, breathing hard; his knees are to either side of me, his forearms pressing into the ground on either side of my head, boxing me in.
“Well,” he mutters, “This is familiar.”
And I burst into tears, burying my face in his chest.
He stiffens, holding his breath, as my tears drench his shirt. I hate crying in front of this almost-stranger, but at the sight of him I just cannot hold myself back any longer. For over 365 days I had held back my tears, cut myself off from pain. Now, with him right in front of me, all the pain and memory is back. The feel of the wall, slick with my blood; the perfect day before the storm; the sight of the guest room where I had worried that he had been killed; every thought and feeling is being magnified in my minds eye. After what seems like forever but was probably no more than a few minutes at the most, he relaxes, muscles fluid instead of rigid. A strange sigh escapes his lips as he wraps one arm around me and holds us up with the other. It seems strange because it is not quite an exasperated sound, and his voice holds only the slightest tone of tiredness; I’m not sure what to make of it.
After a while, I regain at least a bit of my composure and it slowly settles in that I should have nothing to do with this person, let alone be turning to him for comfort. The thought startles me, but something inside me knows that it is the truth; I should not involve myself with this person. Not anymore, not after the day that he had disappeared. Somehow I knew that he was dangerous.
Shivering, I push him away roughly, surprising him and causing him to land splayed on the grass beside me. I roll to my feet, nearly losing my balance, but I regain my footing as I begin running once more. I am almost to the edge of town when I dare to glance back; there is an impression in the grass where he had lain, but Shawn was no where to be found. My eyes widen; where could he have gotten to so quickly? Suddenly I slam into something hard, nearly falling to the ground once more as strong arms catch me, holding me up. My head is spinning and I look up into the heartbreakingly familiar face once more. Before the dark eyes go blank, I catch a small, pained look; a vulnerable look. It takes all my self control not to feel sorry for him and try to comfort him like we are still best friends.
I stagger back, away from his arms. He is faster and stronger; there is no chance of escape. We do not meet each others eyes, and his voice is soft when he says, “Please listen. You don’t trust me, I understand that. We’ve both changed. But please believe me when I say that you’ll get hurt if you stay here.” Suddenly his eyes are wide again and he does not quite manage to hide the fear in his voice. “You’ve forced his hand, he says; he’s always muttering, says you have to pay. Please, go, don’t look back, get as far away from him as possible and don’t let him know where you are.”
He looks so vulnerable, more like the old Shawn than he has this entire strange encounter; his hand comes up to cover his face and he turns his head away from me. The old Orin still wishes to comfort the old Shawn. I pull his hand away from his face and turn his head, forcing him to look at me. I can feel myself searching his eyes, though I make no conscious decision to do so. “Who are you talking about?”
His rigid expression softens, but his eyes go blank again; he has regained control over himself. He shakes his head once, tersely. Either he can’t or won’t tell me; once I would have been able to tell which. I sigh, and drop my hands, the new Orin once more. The old me would have blanched at the thought of hurting him. The new me was about to do so purposefully, to force on him the same pain he had caused me. “You’re telling me to leave? Well, I won’t. You want to know something? It’s because

I

still belong here. You don’t have a place here anymore, Shay,” I put as much sarcasm into the name as I am able; “You could

never

belong in my life anymore.”
If he did not command such amazing, new control over himself, I could tell he would have flinched. Slowly, I process my own words, as he processes them, and I shock myself; we stand in silence. Softly, he curses under his breath, and this angers me; I do not need any more reminders that my best friend is gone. “You could never see it, Orin, and you still can’t.”
This strange statement strikes a nerve. I resist the urge to swear back at him. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?”
He clenches his fists and for a short moment I am frightened that he is going to strike me. “You could never see the way people see you, Orin! The way

everyone

you meet loves you, the way

everyone

looks up to you! Do you know the kinds of things they say about you when you’re not around?! Have you never noticed the way every god—“ I bleep him out in my mind, just because I refuse to be angry anymore, “idiot male in this *bleep* hole looks at you?!? EVERYONE, ORIN!!” He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths, clenching his jaw. I take an involuntary step back.
His eyes open again and he settles me with a furious glare. “Did you ever once wonder

why

I hated my mom, ever

once

wonder how

I

felt about loving your

precious

home better than my own? My mother,” he said the word with such hate that I winced, “never once wanted me, at least not after the accident with my father and brother. You know, it’s a funny thing; I always put your feelings before my own. I guess you affected me the same way you affected everyone else. Even though it was

you

that made it so that my mother couldn’t stand the sight of me, I still couldn’t bring myself to make you feel the pain I felt every day; instead, I just learned to hate my mother. She always wanted someone like

you

for a child, not a disappointment like me. And you want to know something else,

Rin?

” I feel I am on the brink of tears again. “I still don’t hate you for it.”
My eyes widen and the tears nearly leak out; I had never heard such a speech from him before. “You think that I never cared, that I only thought about

my

feelings?! You think that I never wondered how you were feeling?!? How can you possibly say that?”
“No, Orin, I don’t think that; you were always to oblivious to what others thought of you to be that self absorbed. But then again, who am

I

to even

wonder

at the thoughts of everyone’s idol.” His face is contorted into a sneer for a split second, an unfamiliar expression on his handsome face that chips at my heart. “And don’t you

dare

feel sorry for me. You did enough of that when we were still ‘friends’. Didn’t you ever realize how I felt?” He steps forward and I shudder as he grabs my jaw tightly in one hand, eyes narrowed; he is still angry. A small sound escapes my throat without my consent, and a piece of the old Shawn flashes in his eyes; but only for a second. His voice becomes a bit softer and he pulls my face closer to his, his warm breath tickling my cheeks and lips. “Like I said, Orin.

Everyone loves you

; everyone, in one way or another.”
My eyelids are beginning to droop as his lips get closer and his warm, sweet breath begins to work its spell over me. I cannot feel the firm hold of his hand any more, just his presence. I cannot bring myself to care that this Shawn is different; at least he is alive, and at least he is near me. His smell is intoxicating, his lips are merely inches away from my own, and I could easily close the distance, even with his hand… Suddenly, he stiffens again, jerking away, leaving me breathless and unsettled. He refuses to meet my eyes as he says, “Don’t get cocky, Orin, he’s smart. Remember what I told you.” Suddenly he turns, disappearing behind the buildings.

Remember what I told you

. How can I forget?
Then the affect he had had on me when he was so close began to weigh on my mind… I did

not

want to admit to myself what I thought it must mean. But, once again, my most honest side speaks up as I fall back into the grass.

Had I fallen in love with him, before he left?

I close my eyes and let the last of my tears drain away down my cheeks. The fading light begins to create shades on the back of my eyelids, and I know that I should be heading home; why would he come back now; just to torment me? Why was he so bent on me leaving?

V

When I open my eyes again the sky is significantly darker, but I can see perfectly clearly; I must have fallen asleep.

Wait… at this time of night, it should be pitch black, the lanterns shouldn’t even be lit…

My mind is racing; something is very, extremely wrong. As my encounter with Shawn rings in my ears, I jolt to my feet and run for the top of the hill, trying to get a better vantage point so that I might see what is so terribly wrong. From the top of the hill, it is possible to see nearly the entire village, but I do not allow myself or want to stop and turn around until I can see all of it; if I were to be truly honest, I want to stall as long as possible. Slowly, carefully, I pull myself into the great oak tree; climbing higher than I had ever dared before, all the way up into the highest useable branches. Straddling the branch, I hesitantly lift my head to look out over the valley, the fields, the lake, the forest; even the Towers.
I am met with the sight of bright reds, oranges, yellows, even blues and whites, all glowing hot against the backs of my eyelids as I close my eyes; a huge, blazing fire is consuming the whole village. Though I can make out figures streaming out of the houses, I can also see that it is too late. A few of the older, more experienced men had somehow made it to the well, but even on the small, secluded patches of flame they splashed water over, it made no difference. This was no ordinary fire; it couldn’t be put out with the pathetic flow of water one well could produce, one bucket at a time.
I yearned to run down the hill to help everyone, to save the town, but it was almost as if I had become the tree; my feet were rooted to the spot, I could not move. I nearly fell from the tree from the turmoil raging within me. Not even caring for my own safety, I slid down the trunk, saving time but nearly ripping my hands and feet to shreds. The grass at the bottom of the trunk glowed so red; it was almost the color of blood. My body was no longer under my control, my mind was much too numb; all I could see was the tears that were blinding me, all I could think was panic.

Remember what I told you.

He had warned me. He knew this would happen. My feet pounded against the ground with such force that my teeth chattered wordlessly. My body shook so much that I could barely stand. I stumbled, pitching into the tall grass with a painful thud, and I rolled far past the point that I was dizzy. My thoughts were suddenly cleared as I fell into the chilled embrace of freezing water. The lake. The only safe place from the fire.
The next thing I remember after the shock that the sudden cold had placed on me was being flopped, choking and shivering, onto the deck of a small fishing boat. By the time I had recovered, we were already a mile out from the shore. Although I scramble for the side of the boat, trying to fight my way back, to help somehow, a strong hand pulls me back. I had already forgotten that someone else must be on the vessel alongside me. I am barely able to muster enough strength to spin around and face him. As my strength fails and I begin to slump, the strong hand is back, holding me up; the rush from the day has left me with nothing.
A voice, gentle but strong, is hard against my mind as my eyelids become heavier and heavier; “Do not fear me; I am here not to bear arms against thee, but with thee. Sleep now, child, foretold bearer of the Blade. I will let no more sorrow befall you this night.”

A soft light against my lids wakes me. My eyes, slowly opening, take in the full moon, bright against the storm clouds that soon envelope it. As I roll onto my stomach, feeling the soft grass of shore against my cheek, my drying clothes molded against my body, I take in the pain of what I now witness. In front of my wide eyes, the village has been reduced to embers. Not a building stands tall against the sky save for the evil Towers, miles out into the countryside, safe from the wicked reaches of the flames. For every charred blade of grass, every wreckage of a home, all of the rubble that singes my bare feet, my heart grows darker and all the more shattered. I can barely stay on my feet as nausea settles in my head and my gut; all the people I had known, all the people that I had loved… they are all gone. Nathanial, Lorelei… I would never read with them again on a hot summer day, I would never again cry with them, laugh with them... They were so young, why now?

Why at all?

My hand slowly comes to touch my cheek, and I can feel the torrent of tears streaming down them, even through the numbness that I feel inside and out; I feel… hollow. I find myself scaling the hill sluggishly, resorting to crawling on hands and knees when I fall. Clinging to the oak for support, I pull myself up and the nausea— the pain—grows worse and worse. Hugging the tree to stay standing, I tilt my face to the sky as it begins the heavy release of rain.
The rain is cold against my skin, the small droplets pounding lightly against my face and arms and wherever I am exposed. It washes part of the grime and ash away, but it fails to cleanse my sorrow. Strange how such a beautiful, sunny day could have gone so horribly wrong. The sky isn’t even visible now, through the mass of grey storm clouds. I am glad for the rain pelting down on me, soaking me through and through, allowing me to feel as though even my soul is drenched in tears. The salty tears streaming down my cheeks and dripping off my chin are mixing with the pure water of the sky. The sky… is it crying for me?
A strong, gentle hand drops softly onto my shoulder, but I don’t even try to turn around. The touch is slightly familiar, but not comforting; I know the hand only faintly, from the fishing boat. “Who are you?”
“A friend. We have not much time, Ombrishad. You have much to learn, but for now I can only give you this: I am a Guardian; I am here to protect you so that you may fulfill what has been set out before you. We must get you away from this place quickly, before it is too late; please, let me help you.”
The tears stream even faster down my face as I shake my head slightly, shivering against the drenched clothes that are pasted to my body. “I can’t leave them.”
The voice, already so gentle, takes on a sorrowful tone. “This place holds nothing more for you; all that is here is pain. We all must try to put one foot forward after we fall, even if we must resort to crawling, as long as we are moving forward. Take a step, young one; do not let the rain defeat your heart.”
Slowly, not able to go any faster, I turn to him. I stumble, unable to keep myself upright without the tree for support, and tumble down the hill. Feeling utterly defeated, I lie at the bottom of the hill and feel the mud slide down my skin as if it were blood. Strong arms pick me up; the same arms hold me against a broad chest, encased in a warm cloak.
“I thought you said to crawl?”
“Everyone needs to be carried once in a while.”
With every long stride, I feel slightly stronger, but the ease with which he carries me makes me wonder at who he must be. What would a Guardian be, and why was one with me? So many questions, and what was he talking about in the boat? Something about a blade?
I sigh against the cold; “Why did you call me an Ombrishad? What does it mean?”
A hand lightly smoothes my hair, and I feel the rocking as he steps into the boat once more. My back aches as he lays me on the hard wood floor, and I feel the vessel push off from the shore. “Ombrishad is a very old word, one of the only words my people remember from our native language. It is part of the prophecy of long ago; the Ombrishad would come to deliver the world from the Lamrinata with the Blade in hand. Ombrishad and Lamrinata are forever intertwined in the fates, foretold long ago by the earliest peoples, here before the world was even completely formed.”
I blink and sit up slightly, watching his silvery hair blow in the wind as he watches the horizon, holding the tiller steady. His face is young and strong, wide jaw and strong chin strange against the silvery locks about his face. “What are you talking about? What does this have to do with me?”
His eyes shift to me for a moment and he smiles kindly, letting his gaze drift once more. “You will soon learn, brave one. You have been fighting this war for many generations, only now the Blade has made itself known. This could be the end.”
Sighing again, my heart suddenly weighs heavily upon me. The bits and pieces that are left feel as if they are breaking again, and the sorrow engulfs me once more, paralyzing me. The weight of a thick wool blanket envelopes me and I press my tearstained face into the rough fabric, feeling as if my whole being is about to collapse from the chaos that is raging within me.

VI

Everything after that happened very quickly. When I woke, the man was carrying me again; the boat, and the lake for that matter, was no where in sight. We were in the forest, on a long, narrow path that wove itself within the space between the trees. I could faintly see light coming through the thickening tree tops, which told me two things; first of all, I had been sleeping a long while because it was nearly midday. Second of all, we were headed for the heart of the forest, the deepest and densest reaches. I feel myself trembling, and then I feel the pale gaze of his eyes on me. Slowly halting, he sets me down gingerly. With the faint light I can finally see his features more clearly; he has a strong face, wide jaw and strong chin, with startlingly pale blue eyes. His hair, which I’d thought silvery in the moonlight of the night before, was actually a pale, whitish blond. He was not young, but not old; he was well toned, evidence of intense training easily seen even to an untrained eye. Though his features were intimidating, his gentle smile showed him to be a kind man. Leisurely, he bowed his head to me and motioned that we should continue. I wondered at why he did not speak, but somehow the silence was comforting. After what had just happened, no doubt I was still in shock and I don’t think I could have trusted myself to speak.
In no time at all it seemed, though it must have been quite a long trek, we came across a clearing, probably near the center of the woods; like the eye in the storm of all the trees and plant life. The meadow was rather large, but most of the space was taken up by huge, white tents. The light fabric rippled gently in the cool breeze, but the cold made my bare skin hurt as I crossed my arms tightly across my chest. My hair, a mess from being submerged in the icy lake and the rainwater, hung in strings across my face and neck. Out of one of the tents to my left emerged a tall, beautiful woman of golden hair and skin, garbed in a loose chainmail dress with a knife tied at her belt. Her eyes lit as her gaze fell upon the man beside me. Without a sound, she sprinted to his side and threw her arms around him, chainmail clinking softly against his leather and bronze plate body. I took in the powerful emotions that were being shared by the two, and I began to hurt anew. My eyes fell, and the woman suddenly seemed to understand; she fell away from the man and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pushing the hair back from my face and giving me a sympathetic look. Gently, she led me back to the tent, the man following silently behind us.
The interior of the structure was impressive, seeming even bigger than the outside. Throw rugs and pillows were piled in the center of the grassy floor, making a giant lounging area. A makeshift cushion for sleeping was piled separately in the back of the tent, a water basin in the corner, and a low table filled with fruit, vegetables, and dried meat. Dozing on one of the pillows was a boy, about my age or a little older, dressed in the same fashion as the man; leather tunic with bronze enforcements, thick wool trousers, and golden bracers circling his wrists. At the faint rustling of the fabric as we entered, he was on his feet, so clear eyed that it would seem he had not been sleeping at all. His gaze fell upon me with a strange force and his eyes widened; he quickly sheathed his knife and bowed his head. This action surprised me—reminding me even more of the man—and I realized that I must look terrible, shoulders hunched and hollow eyed. I took his features in as he straightened; like the other two I had already met, the boy had blonde hair, though it was yet another different shade. His hair was similar to the woman’s golden locks, but it was a bit duller. His eyes, like the man’s, were a pale blue, but they had a bit more life and vigor in them. His face was a mix of the man and the woman’s; he had the woman’s high cheek bones and delicate chin, while he had the man’s strong mouth and high brow.

They must be a family…

His hair had a bit of wave to it, and it lightly brushed his cheeks and he tilted his head to the side; the action was oddly birdlike. “Charoum, tell me, is this the only survivor? Is this the Ombrishad?” His voice was strong, like the man’s, but much less mature; and it was sweeter.
The man, Charoum, places a hand on my shoulder gently, reassuring. “I believe so, Riel. Welcome her kindly with open heart; she has been dealt a great sorrow as of late.”
The boy, Riel, bows his head again, this time to the man, and smiles kindly to me; delicately, he steps over the pillows and comes to stand a few feet away from me. Gently, he extends his hand to me and takes my hand in his, guides me to the pillows, and sits with me. The woman follows after a few seconds, sits on my other side, and takes my free hand quietly.
“Do not worry, dear one,” she murmurs, “We will let no harm befall you.”
“Mara,” Charoum says softly; this must be her name. “Riel and I will discuss what must be done. For now, please take care of her and provide her with food and clothing.”
Mara slightly bows her head, just like Riel had done. Riel, glancing at me quickly, stands and crosses to Charoum, hesitating only briefly before exiting through the flap. Charoum nods to me and departs as well. Gently, Mara takes my face in her free hand and turns me to face her; her eyes roam over my disheveled form and she seems to be assessing the work that she has been set to do. Quietly, absentmindedly, she makes a small “tsk” sound with her tongue. Then, of all things, she begins to laugh. Her laugh has a beautiful sound to it; it is soft at first, like the ringing of a small wind chime, but it grows into a more hearty sound, like the echoes of a church bell through the empty hall. Still chuckling, Mara wipes at her watering eyes; “Please forgive me, precious child. I do not intend any offense. I just thought of the first time I met Charoum; he was soaked to the bone, but he still somehow managed to look so sure of himself, like he was going to be the savior of the world.”
She shakes her head gently and brushes my hair back, off of my face. “What do you say we draw you a nice hot bath, find some clean clothes, and take a brush to that mess of hair, hmm?” She smiles kindly. “You are very pretty underneath all that you have been through, I can tell.”
I feel my cheeks heat at the compliment. “Thank you, but I can’t compare to you and your family…”
A puzzled expression fills her eyes, before understanding dawns on her features. “You mean Charoum and Riel? You are mistaken, dear one; Charoum’s and my relationship is… complicated, but Riel and I are but friends, warriors of the same mission.”
Now it is my turn to be confused. “But… you all look so… alike, like brother and sister or mother and son.”
She chuckles again. “You would think that all of us—Guardians, I should say—are related in some way or form, but most of us have no relation at all.” Her expression became thoughtful. “For some reason, all but a few of us are born with the same range of features; all of us have different shades of blonde hair and blue eyes, for example.”
I feel my eyes widen; “You’re a Guardian? And Riel?”
She smiles again and nods. “Of course, what else would we be? Now, about that bath…”

The hot water felt nice, and somehow the clothing that Mara found for me fit like a glove. I had skin tight, warm wool trousers like the men I had seen, but I also had a thigh length, form fitting green tunic that tied at the top with a leather strap. The sleeves were cut just below my shoulders, and fingerless, leather gloves covered my forearms and palms. Mara sat me back down on the cushions and, against my protests, began to brush my hair. Her long, gentle strokes reminded me of how my mother would brush my hair when I was little, and yet more tears escaped from my eyes. Mara seemed to understand, as she continued brushing and began to hum a warm, relaxing tune. My eyes begin to drift closed again as I let myself slip away from the sad feelings and just focus on the good memories that Mara had exposed.
I hear a faint rustling in the background and something is lightly placed in my lap. My eyes open slowly and I find Riel staring back at me, across from me on the cushions. Looking down, I see that a small plate of fruit and dried meat has been set in front of me; though I feel as though I am starving, I cannot find the will to eat. Not wanting to offend anyone, I nibble half-heartedly at the food.
“What news have you brought, Charoum?” Mara asks, quiet as a dormouse.
Somehow, he hears her. “I think it best I let Riel explain, Mara. Let us leave them; I will explain to you what must be done.”
I turn to see her as she stands; she has a sad expression on her face, but smiles sweetly when she finds my gaze on her. A cool wind makes its way through the tent as Charoum leaves once again, taking with him the person I had grown to trust in this strange place. When the two are gone, I turn my gaze back to Riel, only to find him standing with a hand out to me. Puzzled, I take it and allow him to pull me up. His expression is weary and he guides me to the back of the tent. But instead of stopping at the end, where the makeshift bed lay, he pushes a curtain aside and leads me into a separate room. Impossible to see from the inside, this room is darker; the fabric of the tent is stained a dark red, and a table sits at the center. The table is the only thing in the space, and atop it is spread an old leather bound book; the open pages depict a dark sword. A chill passes down my spine as I step up to the tall, narrow table; my hands gingerly fall to either side of the leather cover. There are no words on the page, but I dare not turn either ahead nor back for fear of damaging the magic obviously hidden within this page alone. The illustration is of a dark weapon of war, blade completely ebony and utterly devoid of color of any other sort; or perhaps the blade was of so many rich colors, one could no longer specify them by name. Hilt of dark silver and obsidian, it seems to jump off of the page toward me. Shadows from the unknown source of light in the room cast gloomy figures across the blade, a primitive and hypnotizing dance.
“It is all right with the world for the moment, Ombrishad;” I was more entranced than I had imagined, for his voice scares me witless, “Go on, I can see the longing in your face, the itching in your fingers; touch it. It is for your hands alone…” With a gallant sweep of his hand, he backs away from me slightly, lowering his eyes. There is a catch in my breathing as I nod slightly.
But, just as easily as I had been spellbound before, my attention is once more locked onto the mysterious sword; the pages seem to be alive with their own light. I am victim to an exhausted and fascinated imagination, for this can be the only explanation; the glow from the pages seems to grow and swell with life, as if it were breathing. It seems to suddenly yell, for the pages grow much too bright for my tear burned eyes. My tears must not have been completely depleted, however, for the brightness causes my eyes to water mercilessly. I faintly hear Riel whimper behind me, and I somehow clearly see him with his arm across his face, wincing; I never turn around, but I can still imagine it in my minds eye. The brightness at last begins to die down and, though the pages themselves are still golden with light, the light seems to be contained instead of spilling into the ordinary world. The pages contain so much light, in fact, that the image of the sword has been blotted out by the golden aftershock.
I feel myself trembling, but reach out a hand despite my ominous feelings. The pages continue to “breathe” steadily throughout all that has happened. My fingertips tingle as they come in contact with the rough, aged paper. It feels as if the pages will turn to dust at any given second. But as my hand brushes along the surface, the light dims and reveals words that had been hidden; the illustration is lost from the pages. There is a pricking at the back of my neck as Riel approaches; he hovers over my shoulder and begins to read the foreign words. I do not understand either the written or spoken versions.
“The way has been revealed,” Riel says at last, apparently finished with the reading. He turns to me, eyes bright, leading me away from the table a few feet; my eyes burn and everything is tinged with the golden light. “You are indeed of the Chosen, Ombrishad, for the path to open before you.”
“Would you stop calling me that?”
His pale blue eyes widen, and he sets upon me a curious expression; his temperament is mild, I can tell, for there are no lines in his face to indicate any emotion of displeasure. “Have I offended you?”
I sigh, averting my eyes from the startling intensity of his gaze. “No, but I do tend to prefer people using my name when they speak to me, not some foreign word I barely know the meaning of.”
With a small sigh of relief, his lips curve into a kind grin. “Of course, I understand completely. I suppose I have been utterly rude, not to have introduced myself.” He makes a deep, gallant bow, in a playful sort of mockery; I am stunned at the gracefulness of the gesture. “Please call me by my Christian name, for I have not a surname; extremely pleased to make your acquaintance, I am Riel of the Guardians.”
I feel a small blush creep into my cheeks and incline my head slightly. “Please call me Orin.”
“Orin…” he murmurs, only saying my name for the purpose of remembering it, and bends to kiss my hand lightly; the scene is ruined as he chuckles softly, smiling cheerfully at my confused face. “We are fast friends already, I can tell. But there is still much you must learn; still much you have yet to understand.”
With a last, wistful look back at the tome, I allow him to lead me by the hand once more. As we pass into the larger marquee, I feel an exhaustion take over. All of my energy, physically and mentally, seems drained. Even with Riel’s strong arm, I feel my knees buckle, my vision blurring. I have pushed myself farther than I can stand, though I have not even exerted myself. Confusion clouds what little is left of my conscious thoughts. In the distance I believe I can hear Riel, his voice frantic, worried; I feel myself falling, more mentally than anything. Riel would have caught my physical self, but I still feel the whirling of free fall, as though I had jumped from a high cliff towards glassy water. My mind smashes through the mirror of pure liquid, plunging me deep within my subconscious. I know that I am no longer “awake”.
My dreams, if you can call them that, are vivid and plagued with images of fire and war. A face, above the flames, grotesque and pale, glares at me with strange red eyes. Not red-rimmed, as one who had been crying, but the irises are a deep, glowing blood red.

VII

Suddenly my plain room swims back into focus. As the aging memory of my first meeting with Riel fades, I swing my feet over the edge of the bed. Always, abruptly, my flashback ends at this moment, the moment when I first witness the master of the Towers. The Blade inked across the pages always vanishes, the blood red eyes always tear at my soul. Panicked and frightened, I always push the images away. There is much more to this story that even I do not fully understand, things Riel has not deemed fit to share with me. My memory has wiped itself clean of that time, when I collapsed and remained submerged within myself. I remained unconscious for over a week, they tell me.
Sighing, I push myself to my feet, crossing to the small dresser opposite my bed. My hands, as always, are shaking as I open the familiar, cedar drawers. Numbly I pull a soft blue tank top over my slim shoulders, smooth the fabric across my clammy flesh. Barely seeing my hands, I pull a pair of worn, slightly singed pair of plaid shorts from the dresser.

Excerpt from Part Two

When I reach my current “home” I’m only slightly surprised to find that the front door is unlocked. Riel usually enters through the back door, but he sometimes uses the front like a normal person would. Who am I kidding? Riel could never do anything a normal person would, he’s just not normal, period. The soft color of the stained glass is a pleasant, familiar sight after such a long day; it’s nothing compared to the back porch in my old home, with all its memories, but… I shake my head against the thought; now’s not the time to be depressed about something that no longer exists. My home is gone, end of story.
I sigh sadly as I push the door open and step into the house. The hallway splits into two openings, the left leading to the dining room/kitchen and the right leading into the living room. I drop my bag to the floor beside the door and freeze as my eyes drift to the living room. There, standing in front of the large wall to floor window and china door, leaning against the short table that took up the space in the middle of the room was the one person that could have ruined the rest of my day. So it hadn’t been Riel after all.
Somehow I manage to reach the alcove without completely losing my head. I clench my fists and feel my face flush with rage. As I stare at him from the edge of the room, all that runs through my head is fury; how

dare

he come into my home, after he’d ruined the only home I’d ever known?
“Hello, Orin.”
My eyes narrow suspiciously, and he smiles casually, as if talking with an old friend. Which, I suppose, we were, once. Not anymore. "Get out, Shawn."
His smile fades and he takes up an expression of mock disappointment; had it been under any other circumstances (such as him not being a black hearted idiot I could no longer stand) I would have laughed at the familiar expression. I’d seen it on the familiar face so many times when we were kids; I’d even seen it in the mirror, when I was practicing to be just as good as him at fake expressions.
"That's no way to greet someone. Come on, Ori, you can do better than that." I feel a prick at the back of my eyes; it had been forever since he’d called me “Ori” instead of stupid “Rin”. Even now, after what he’d done to me, I can’t stand him calling me “Rin”; for some reason, I still care what he calls me… I shiver a bit, and I’m absolutely sure that it wasn’t because of the cool of the house. I try to cover the shudder before he can continue. He peers around the room as if it were full of gossiping people and leans a little closer, one hand against his mouth to "protect" the "conversation", and whispers, "Come here, I'll give you a gift." His eyebrows raise and fall suggestively.
Instantly, I feel the corners of my mouth pull down as I glare at him, arms crossed over my chest, both for affect of stubbornness and to protect myself, who knows how. I find myself wondering how much force it would take to throw him backwards, through the window. “Aww, is someone deprived of love? Hmm, here’s a thought; you wouldn’t be if you hadn’t killed every last person who loved you! Thanks, but no thanks; you can go screw yourself for all I care. Get out.”
Shawn’s eyes flash dangerously and I know I’ve struck a nerve; I smile privately to myself and raise my chin proudly and defiantly. Suddenly, he is completely indifferent, and a cold smile matches his cold eyes as he strikes back. “I didn’t kill you, did I?”
I wince slightly and take a deep breath. “You didn’t have to. You said yourself that I’ve never cared about you or your feelings. If I had felt anything for you before you left, you definitely destroyed it with what you did.”
Slowly, he shakes his head and pulls himself up from the table, kicking a chair out of his way and sending it crashing to the floor as he takes a step toward me. I flinch at the sound but stand my ground. He’s no longer smiling, and suddenly he sighs a tired, old man sigh, as if he’d aged ahead of his time; “Don't be stubborn, Orin, you know why I'm here. Give me the Blade. Oh, and that little pet of yours, the "guardian" that follows you around like a lovesick puppy? Tell him that I'll be back for what else is mine, and to slit his throat."
I grit my teeth as I try to control my anger; what did he know of Riel? They weren’t even in the same category; Riel would always seem more human to me than this monster. But I fail in my attempt at control, and I feel my feet leave the ground as I launch myself at him, knocking his stunned frame back against the table. The tackle knocks the wind from my body, but I pull my arm back, ready for the punch…
By now he has recovered from his initial shock, and is waiting to catch my fist. Shawn grips my bunched up fingers tightly and forces my arm back to my side. In the same instant, his free hand reaches the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine and preventing my escape. Slowly, he tugs me closer, bringing my face inches from his own; it takes all of my force of will not to hyperventilate. His lips, so close to my own, curve up at the corners in an absentminded kind of way; the hand that had caught my own is now free, and his arms snakes around me just above the small of my back. As I am slowly and inescapably pinned against him, I feel my eyes widen with something not unlike fear, but somehow I am not afraid. The black eyes are watching me, searching my face, my eyes; they seem to see beyond the fear, seem to see something else…
"It's your choice," he whispers, acting upon some hidden emotion that I cannot see, or perhaps that he has found in my eyes. His lips brush mine when he speaks, and mine would have brushed his if it had been my words; that’s how close we were. Leisurely, the hand on the back of my neck begins to make small, soothing circles and works its way up my neck to play in my hair; my eyes drift closed automatically and there’s a catch in my breathing against my will. "Don't fight it; the longing is there. Let yourself have what you want."
Somehow, we're even closer, but our lips still only brush when speaking. "How could you possibly know what I do and don't want?"
"I can feel it, and it's written clearly on your face, your stance. You're the easiest person to read I've ever known." He's leaning in so close I don't even dare breathe. "You're gullible, too." He smiles harshly, but doesn't pull back or let me go. "Give me what I want, and you can have what you want, what you crave."
I glare at him with and intensity I didn’t even know I could harbor. "Even if I did want what you're implying I want, what's stopping me from taking it?"
His arms loosen a little as I feel his laughter rumble through his chest, a laughter that held no malice; this laughter wasn’t harsh, it was a laugh that I would have heard from the old Shawn, a laughter that I had missed for all these years. I feel the prick at the back of my eyes again, but don’t miss my chance. Though the pressure around my midsection had barely lightened, I find enough room to maneuver. Matching his leisurely pace, I study his face as my fingertips skim their way seductively up his chest, around his shoulders, and meet behind his neck. He has stopped laughing by now and has his eyes narrowed on me, but not before I see them flash with some other emotion. "I can read the want on you, too," I say in a low, innocent, flirtatious tone. "You can't hide behind that mask of malice. Not from me, Shay."
I tilt my face slightly, taking my lips out of range of his. "You'll never—" I kiss his jaw lightly "—even—" I move up to his cheekbone "—get—" My lips brush along his cheek, down toward his mouth "—a taste." I kiss the very edge of the corner of his mouth. A low groan, barely audible, escapes from deep in his throat. Shawn’s eyes drift close, and I can tell that he can’t control his reaction. He leans into me, trying to get closer, I suppose; he’s heavy.
I’ve had enough; the torture I’m putting him through isn’t even enough to lift my spirits today. Before I let him get too comfortable, I burst out with an exasperated sigh and shake my head frowning. "And you say I'm gullible. This is pathetic."
As I begin to pull away, he seems to have regained control of him self, at least partially. I’m almost free when he suddenly pushes me backwards and forces me up against the wall. There’s a dull thud on impact and a small sound escapes my lips; yeah, I definitely should have pushed him out the window instead. He releases my head and waist, just to capture my wrists and pin them against the wall beside my head; I’m breathing hard, but I clench my jaw and meet his stare with a hard glare of my own. His old, signature harsh, evil grin works its way onto his face; at least the old one had been fake, this one looked utterly real. “Pathetic. Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
The comment surprises me almost as much as the pain and misery I see in his eyes. I blink and struggle not to shudder or shake my head. What had happened to this person I’d once called my best friend? Suddenly, he rests his forehead on my shoulder and something cold and metallic hits my collar bone. I wince slightly and look down to investigate; hanging on its silver chain, blue-grey opal gleaming, was the half-twelve-pointed star. The pricking is back, but this time I cannot suppress the tears. I hadn’t seen the partner necklace to my own in three years. I hadn’t even thought he’d kept it; why had I even kept mine? Suddenly, the half that I carry around my neck becomes heavy against my skin; I long to pull it out but my hands are still pinned.
His cold hands loosen their grips on my wrists just too absently weave his fingers through mine. Somehow, I don’t mind; not that I had a choice anyway. My legs go weak and the small weight he’s leaving on my shoulder is at this point too much. I begin to slide down the wall and onto my knees, and he comes with me. Our hands fall from the wall as well, now my knuckles are against the floorboards; it doesn’t hurt. Something warm presses against my skin at the base of my neck and I jump, turning my face to look at him. He’d turned so that his cheek was resting on my shoulder. His eyes are closed, but when he feels me turn to look at him, they open and watch me with a strange expression.
Unhurriedly, I pull my left hand free of his and his eyes narrow slightly; he must see that I’m not trying to escape because he makes no move to restrain me. Blushing a bit, I pull the silver chain from under my shirt and squeeze the sliver half-star in my hand. I can see his eyes drift away from mine to see what I’m doing; his free hand comes up to cup his own necklace. I reach out and pull it from his fingers, twisting the two chains together once and letting the now complete star hang, as if locked together. The silver points gleam, the center looking like a blue and black yin-yang sign. Shawn pulls off of my shoulder to look from the necklaces to me and back. Gently, he pushes my half and makes it swing away from his, before watching it settle back into a perfect star.
He smirks, not unkindly. Gradually his eyes come back to my own; neither of us bothers to untangle the necklaces. I’d forgotten how alluring his dark eyes could be; I can’t look away. The fingers of his free hand come up to touch my cheek. The cool touch is familiar, but it still hurts a bit when I think of how different it used to be. He drags his fingertips down my cheek and gently caresses my jaw. A loose fist forms under my chin from his index to pinky finger, his thumb draws small circles along the front of my chin. It’s hard to breath, and he seems a little unsettled as well. His eyes are half open and I feel mine drift farther closed as well, the soothing circles relaxing my frayed nerves. My heart beats hard against my ribs, picking up speed as he leans closer and closer. Absentmindedly it seems, he tilts his face; I surprise myself by not pulling back. The last time he’d almost kissed me had been a year ago, but this is different; this time he doesn’t seem to be changing his mind at the last second.
A banging coming from the back kitchen door announces the arrival of Riel, along with him calling out, “Orin! Are you back yet?” I flinch and Shawn jumps back abruptly, startled; the only thing that kept him in front of me was the fact that his hand was still tangled in mine and our necklaces were still twisted.
“Hellooooo?” Riel’s voice chimes again; I wonder why he’s no closer?
Indecision and the boarder line of panic cloud Shawn’s expression, he seems very unsure; his hand tightens on mine and he reaches up absently to touch the necklaces. Hadn’t he earlier been planning to slit Riel’s throat? Somehow, I don’t think the conflict is finding the nerve to kill, though it would have been at one point in his life, but what to do beforehand. I don’t even plan on trying to fathom what runs through his head anymore.
A soft step on hard flooring calls attention to the fact that Riel is no longer in the kitchen doorway. I can make out a thud as he drops something heavy on the marble countertop. But my attention is soon drawn back to Shawn as I feel his cool fingers on my chin, turning my face. Earlier emotions evaporate from his expression without a trace as he searches my face; I can see clearly in his eyes that he’s made a decision.
As the footsteps grow louder an expression of annoyance and determination take over his features. With no warning and no clue as to what is happening, I am suddenly pressed against the wall once more, head hitting wood with a dull “thwack”; my eyesight goes blurry for a fraction of a second. In that fraction I feel a hard, warm pressure against my lips. My eyes widen and out of the corners I can make out the shape of Riel entering the room.
But soon, all but Shawn is blocked from my senses. Instead of the hard forceful kiss from only moments before, he has softened; his muscles have relaxed, his mouth opened slightly. His lips are soft and warm, inviting; I’m surprised to find that my eyes have closed, my lips slightly parted, and my whole self unresisting. All there is is Shawn; all I can feel, taste, smell, breathe. It’s all intoxicating, alluring, exhilarating. His sweet taste, the hard lines of his arms and back, the familiar scent of home. Though I know somewhere in the recesses of my mind that I should get away, I cannot act upon the thought. Even the ache in the back of my head where it hit the wall seems distant, unimportant.
I don’t want the moment to end. “Orin? Where a—“ The footsteps halt and I can feel Riel’s wide-eyed stare.
Shawn tears away from me with such force that I’m nearly thrown to the ground; the pain in my head becomes awful. I open my eyes just in time to see Shawn glare; “So you’ve decided to show up after all.”
I turn my head to look at Riel, cheeks burning, my hand coming up to gingerly touch my lips. Riel’s eyes shift from me to Shawn and back again; anger begins to cloud his expression. Without warning, and against all I’d thought of Riel, he jerks into action, delivering a powerful blow to Shawn’s jaw. Our necklaces still tangled together, choke me as he is thrown across the room; the pressure is released, however, as the chains of both shatter. Tears cloud my vision, and I gasp as my hand comes to cover my entire mouth. I shake my head slowly as Riel pulls me to my feet by my arm, a furious expression in his eyes; my dark hair falls into my eyes and I bite back the emotions that are trying to break through.
Cursing, Shawn throws himself back onto his feet; “Let go of her.” His eyes flash, and Riel smirks maliciously, pulling away from me and throwing himself at Shawn once more. Shawn, ready this time, grabs Riel’s fist, twisting it behind his back, and flipping him with his face to the floor. Riel gives a slight cough, but somehow rolls and throws Shawn off, who then slams against the wall again. Riel loses no time and advances once more, pressing his forearm into Shawn’s throat; Shawn glares at him with a snarl on his face. “I’ll kill you.”
Riel’s eyes don’t widen, his expression never wavers; “I’d like to see you try, wretch.” Riel doesn’t even flinch as Shawn spits in his face, he just easily draws his hand back and smashes his fist into Shawn’s jaw once more with great force, bone shattering force. Blood dribbles out of the corner of Shawn’s mouth, but he smirks defiantly, eyes giving away nothing except for hatred. Shawn meets my eyes for a few seconds, but turns away sadly and punches Riel hard in the gut. I gasp again as Riel doubles over and Shawn knees him in the face. Suddenly my mind flies into action, and I run across the room, placing myself between the two, arms stretched to protect one from the other. Who I was protecting from whom, I’m not sure. Shawn’s arm had already been cocked for another blow; his eyes widen before narrowing with hurt.
“Get out of the way, Orin.”
I shake my head and lower my face.
His voice hardens, and I know that I’ve lost him again. “Get. Out. Of my. Way.”
Taking a trembling breath, I shake my head again, feeling Riel rise to his knees and staring at me.
A growl escapes Shawn’s throat as he seizes my jaw and forces my face up. The expression in his eyes was far beyond furious. His eyes narrow and he throws my face aside, striding away and looking over his shoulder only once; “You’ve made a mistake. Any more will cost you dearly.”
And just like that he was gone; when he was gone, I guided Riel up the stairs and left him to rest in the guest room. When I returned to the living room, something crunched gently under my boot. Taking a startled step back, I crouched to search the floorboards. There, laden with the shattered chains, was the completed twelve pointed star, each stone cracked and falling from the center.

Impressum

Texte: The events and characters are works of fiction of the authors imagination. All rights reserved.
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 15.12.2010

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Widmung:
To my best friends, who helped me think of the positives of the story :)