My name means “freedom” in a lost language,

yet the freedom I knew was long taken

Metal pulls my limbs, surrounds my new world

The little light I’m gifted shows the birds

making their little escape, unnoticed

Boundaries drawn from tension, not safety,

set my life circling the inside,

inside of somewhere never home

I fear turning old corners, pricked by glimpses of spirits I thought I long abandoned.

What if I had once hidden my graveyard where no shadows could lurk in the alleyways?

Now they tread over my graves. In a city built on ghosts, everywhere is sacred ground

Bad, bad Santa doesn’t know what’s coming Bad, bad Santa doesn’t know we’re through

Bad, bad Santa cider-drunk again Bad, bad Santa needs to watch his mouth

Bad, bad Santa tripping through the snow Bad, bad Santa thinks he’s coming home

Bad, bad Santa can’t see us hiding Bad, bad Santa will find no toys

Bad, bad Santa stuck in our trap Bad, bad Santa keeps on struggling

Bad, bad Santa breaks his dying bones Bad, bad Santa curses our graves

Bad, bad Santa will be bad no more

Ever since my great escape, those who know and those who don’t praise me, my unending fate

“How did manage to you survive?” “You’re a breathing inspiration” “And I could never find such drive”

They see how I pushed through hell, but not how I burned my skin gone They see how far I flew and fell, but not how hard I hit the ground

Because I didn’t shatter, I let no cracks pause my path Because my heart held less matter, I didn’t let my blood feel wrath

Until here, until now

They speak of it like history, like a memoir in the writing, as if I’d left behind the worst of life’s never-ending curse

This relationship is transactional, but we both prefer it that way. Every piece you take of my soul, I get what I need in return.

I haven’t gone hungry since before we met, and now my wished-upon lover and I reside in the castle you supplied. What happened to the previous owners, no matter — I just requested you to release their anguished spirits into your realm.

With them no longer haunting behind these walls at night, I have the peace and quiet I always craved.

Maybe these halls and rooms are too quiet now.

When did my “needs” turn into “wants”? The version of myself from before I first summoned you would’ve found an answer eventually. Now though, I have much bigger questions: What should I do when my soul runs out? What could I bargain with then?

You gave me a new body I never tire of admiring, but you never cared for human desires. Each time we meet, I can see in your fire-red eyes that our agreements will end soon.

I know I must become your apprentice eventually. I didn’t ignore those warnings in the tattered book I used to call you. For now, however, I will relish in the life I always deserved.

She’s the only one who ever noticed.

I only admire you from afar Wondering what I’d feel like in your arms I repeat your smile in my mind Pretend you were smiling at me

Are you dropping these clues just for me? You mention the number nineteen Of course, you know that’s my age Really, who do I need to persuade?

I find your address and park behind the trees Car running quieter than my heartbeat Leave, slam the door and run through the rain Please, don’t damper the flame

Rose thorns prickle my fingers Blood rushes, heart swells bigger Trainers kick puddles too loud You hear, then you turn around

Give you my hand, but petals fall You look just like a perfect doll Still stiff, wide-eyed, mouth so silent ‘Til you open words of violence

My veins tighten, skin on fire Hand clenches thorns, still tighter Scrape the thorns against both your eyes The voice that I once craved now cries

Rain stalks my bad luck to my car My least successful date so far Leaving without my movie kiss Time to burn your name off the list

The last parent heads towards the parking lot, his childrens’ hands in his.

A breeze blows through the playground, distilling the cold air that seemed unmovable. Leaves scatter, and I stand up from the picnic table, putting my phone away.

I bunch up Tyler’s coat in my arms, the closest thing I have to a security blanket.

He needs this more than me.

Normally, calling out his name and telling him he’s won sends him crawling out from wherever he’s hiding, giggling all the way.

But that hasn’t worked this evening.

Chains begin to creak behind me.

I look over my shoulder.

A girl sits slumped in the swing furthest from where I stand. Her bare feet trail along the mulch, not resisting the swing’s movement.

I step toward her, old trainers squeaking, and step again, and again, and again, like someone’s telling me how.

What she’s wearing can’t be more than pajamas, a dull, grey cotton I don’t imagine any child choosing over the normal colorful patterns, like Tyler’s firetruck PJs waiting for him at home.

“Hi, there,” I say to the girl, my voice a higher pitch than normal.

Her eyes stay wide open, staring straight ahead. Her eyes are glazed, seemingly seeing through the woods not far ahead.

I open my mouth, close it, and then open it again. “My name is Leah,” I tell her, sounding much too formal, “and I’m looking for my brother. His name’s Tyler.”

I pause.

No response.

I shift from foot to foot. “Have you seen him?”

She blinks for the first time, slowly, mechanically.

“He’s a bit younger than you, and he has dark hair like mine, and he’s wearing a blue football jersey.”

I should never have let him take his coat off in this weather. He said it made running around too warm to be fun, and I didn’t want him to make a fit over nothing.

The girl’s eyes focus somewhere on my face that isn’t my eyes, the way Tyler looks at all of us when he sleepwalks at night.

The girl mumbles something, only a few syllables.

“Sorry, can you speak up? This wind is really loud.”

The wind wasn’t that loud.

“Millie.”

I crouch slightly. “Millie?”

She sits up straighter, her head almost level with mine. I’m short, but she’s taller than I realised.

I smile, cracking my face muscles out of hibernation. “You’re Millie? That’s a nice name. It’s good to meet you, Millie.”

She turns forward again.

Her hand reaches up from the side, and my insides jump. She scratches at her face, leaving white lines and dirt along her cheek. Each nail is longer than it should be, like an animal’s claw.

I swallow and take a step back. Tyler’s coat is tighter in my arms than before.

My phone sits deep in my pocket, still warm. If I call Mum now, will she pick up?

“If you’re cold,” I begin slowly, part of myself wanting the other to stop talking, “I can give you my brother’s coat. I think it would fit on you until we find him.”

The playground seems oddly quiet, and then the silence hits me: The chains stopped creaking. Her swing sits unmoving, and the girl’s toes sink into the mulch, like quicksand pulling someone under.

I look up and around. No one else is in sight, not even down the street or along the woods.

“We should find your parents, too,” I say. I turn back to her. “Do you know where your parents are?”

“Parents?” she asks as if dazed, like she’d waken from a long nap.

Maybe I should find an adult. Any adult.

I nod, although to who, I don’t know.

“I think I’m just going to keep looking,” I tell her, and begin walking backwards to who knows where. “Thank you anyway, though-“

“Does Tyler need parents?”

I stop. His coat slips in my hands.

“What?”

Still facing forward, her eyes slide towards me, slower and steadier than they should be.

“I don’t think he needs to be found,” she says, and her voice sounds croakier, like something unearthed after years of being buried.

I keep moving backwards, quickly, then turn, turn to the woods and its trees, blocking most of where the sun should be in the horizon.

“Leah?” she calls, sounding closer.

I stop again, but not because of her.

Tied to a branch on the forest’s edge is something blue and smeared in dark red.

A football jersey.

“Sir, did you hear something?”

Thompsom didn’t falter. “Hear what? The wind?”

The snow pulled my boots in, slowly. My goggles had clouded, but I stared past the fogginess and into the gaping hole.

“I… don’t know,” I told him. “Maybe.”

Wind whipped through the valley, fluttering the thick fabric of our clean-up suits, designed to withstand temperatures even as skin-biting as these.

The ice had frozen over this unidentified object, a cocoon our team had been working to chip down. Now I stood near the entrance - or at least, what we thought was the entrance.

Something lower than the wind called from inside there. Not out to me, I didn’t think, but out to the world.

I pulled my boot out and stepped forward. It sank, slower this time. I took another one, and another.

The calling grew louder.

“Evans?” someone said somewhere behind me. Possibly Thompson. His voice distorted like words under water, and the features of his face blurred in my mind.

I stepped close enough to the doorway Sanchez and a few others had pried open with the crane. The gaping hole, jagged edges and all, was impossibly dark in this light. I had to get closer - I had to see more.

Whatever called me, it needed help.

Was it hurt?

Was it trapped?

In the corner of my eye, the metal walls, dark grey and rusted, began shifting.

For the first time since hearing the calling, I blinked.

All movement stopped.

“Evans!” shouted the people behind, voices blended together. “Evans, get back here! It’s not safe!”

I would not let them stop me.

My boot set down and connected with metal, and it released a strange whine, like I’d stepped on something living. The calling raised in volume, raised in intensity, like a thousand voices howling at once.

The walls moved again.

And they didn’t stop.

The hole moved downwards, towards each other, closing in.

The sunlight behind me dimmed.

The light inside glowed where it hadn’t closed before.

Somewhere within, the calling stopped, a choir cut short of their grand finale.

I turned, weighed down by my snow suit, and looked at the veins of where metal had melded together, not seamlessly.

I didn’t turn back to where the calling came from.

Lottie is independent.

Despite having little education, she taught herself to read properly and how to incorporate magic with household items. At nineteen years old, she lives in a tiny apartment by herself and, until recently, she paid for everything she owns - which isn’t a lot - as a factory worker.

She has a strong work ethic, as she feels motivated to prove that she is capable and doesn’t need to rely on others. Sadly, this didn’t help her from being fired after a manufacturing accident that destroyed much of her arm.

Lottie is resentful.

While she doesn’t realize this about herself, part of the reason that she’s so self-reliant is because she has little trust in other people.

She’s experienced many disappointments and injustices, from parents that were too sick and preoccupied to raise her to living in a dangerous area to a workplace mutilation resulting in her losing her only source of income. Lottie harshly judges people more privileged than her, mostly out of envy and seeing their apathy firsthand.

However, her sensitivity to injustices deeply imbedded a sense of fairness in her. She doesn’t screw over other people, even when doing so could benefit her.

Lottie is adaptable.

Growing up, her environment was limited in opportunities. She had to make the best with what she had, which included finding second-hand clothes and sometimes making her own, working around problems in her family and in society, and making decisions when no one else could.

She had to leave school as a young teenager, and even before then, she hadn’t learned very much from the shoddy system. Now though, she frequents the run-down library down the street, not just for free food, but also to read their fiction and learn from their non-fiction. What Lottie found the most interesting (so far) is the history of the city she lives in, Albrecht, and how to use magic.

Her preferred method of learning, however, is through hands-on experience.

Before she lost part of her arm, she experimented with infusing magic with physical items. Her favorites are a pair of gloves she made to be fire-resistant and a pair of goggles that can detect magic, although the latter are somewhat faulty. Even after losing one hand, she still doesn’t let that stop, even when she feels like a failure, even when she feels like giving up.

Lottie doesn’t place as much value on human relationships, as she’s used to having to adapt to people’s roles changing in her life. However, throughout the story she stars as the main character in, she learns to connect with people more and becomes more sentimental.