They’re judging who will survive.

All of them only see us as the naive new initiates. They stand around the cavern with the pagan alter in the centre. Each hood up, stating we’re too insignificant to learn their faces nor names. Too short lived.

There are four others around me. A white, chalk pentagon on the floor connecting us. It soon licks of flames when the first drops of blood hit it.

Only one of us can join. Slightly arrogant the way they expect us to cower as the flames rise taller and swirl. Although the others do give in to the expectation.

Two horns rise from the inferno and I bring my dagger to my side.

They want to see who will survive?

I want to see them bow to me.

I never wanted to know.

Now I must.

Maybe I never should have pretended. Pretended to be nice and friendly. Now they all think I’m ‘on their side’. It’s almost humorous.

If only what they shared wasn’t so problematic. Maybe then I could keep pretending. Keep being ‘perfect’.

Too bad.

Now it was my decision. There were only really two viable choices. Although I’m sure I could get creative with either.

Really problematic. I never really enjoyed his company. Too boisterous. Too arrogant. I should have cut him off.

But it’s too late to regret that now. I had what? An hour to choose? Annoying.

But I did bring it about myself- in a way.

Option 1 or option 2. Either way, someone was going to die…

Too bad. They really should have realised earlier.

Some people have a monster under the bed. Skeletons in the closet. This of course opposed guardian angels and helpful spirits.

I had a guardian monster.

When I was a child I ran into the woods near our old house. I would all the time to play in the creek. That’s where I promised my parents to go.

But the little butterfly landed on my nose and I took it as a sign that it was vital to follow it.

It was only midday, so I skipped happily and clambered over the fallen logs. The little butterfly landed on such a log. It was the most iridescent butterfly and it captivated my whole attention.

So I didn’t notice the little creature shuffling from out the slowly rotting log. Not until it pulled at the wild tangles in my hair.

I leapt back; and so did it. The butterfly sprang into the air. But I refused to remove my gaze from the little creature on all fours with the strangest eyes and plagued seeming complexion.

It leapt into the air like a kitten with a string. Shuffling over to me with a wide smile, it opened its closed palms to show the unharmed butterfly.

It never spoke, but was so much more fun than the other girls who sneered at my unkempt hair.

No-one ever saw it, only ever joining me. We grew older, yet I always visited it.

Then Abigail snipped my hair in the school bathroom. “It’s so bad, this is honestly an improvement.”

I couldn’t go home so I sat by the creek. I told it everything, even though I was convinced it knew no English.

The next day Abigail was absent.

Rumours soon spread after that she became bald overnight. We moved away soon after. But it followed, rapping on my window with a caterpillar as a gift. And I was frightened.

I grew up, but I’m still scared.

Not of it. It would never harm me. But the lengths it might go to to protect me.

I was falling. Why was I falling?

Right.

“Apologies, my sage.” the figure said in a distorted voice. Even his shoulders refused to move in a show of breathing. Without a face, he might have been a statue. And yet the next moment, the bridge railing gave way.

The water was cold and forced me to gasp. But none entered my lungs as the thin fabric of water opened up into a free fall.

My autumn coat flattered, I had only meant to take the long way homeward from a pint after work. I guess the way would now be longer than I estimated.

I tried to move; angle myself in the rushing wind. The ground rushed up too, in parts. Giant islands floated unattached in an odd agreement with gravity.

Maybe I had a pint too many. Maybe Sarah brought me home to have fantastical dreams- or a nightmare.

There was one island, directly below. If I stuck out my hands…

A strong vine hung off the island. I held on tight as my weight swung around, threatening my grip. And the actual ground was still far beneath my dangling feet.

The vine twisted, gnarly and looking ill. If I could get my foot…

Perfect. The twists made for stable footholds. Adrenaline screamed to race upward, but sense said not to allow any mistakes.

Almost there.

I grasped the edge just as slender fingers secured themselves around my wrist. They dragged my over and set my down like a puppet.

A man glared at me as he retreated to stand with an audience. An older woman rushed forward.

“My sage.” she gave a brief bow, “We apologise for the suddenness.”

The glaring man scoffed, “What possible chance does she stand here? She couldn’t possibly _keep _the crown.”

“We’ll see.” the older woman said cryptically, “This way dear.” She held out her hand to me. I took the offer.

It was supposed to be a trick: harmless.

Now he lies there with his glazed eyes pinning the blame on me with a pin.

The old, leather-bound book still clenched in his hand. His fingers were still warm as I pried that damn book away. His hand now lay there, just like the rest of him.

A strange ruin was barely visible on his cheek. But I knew it would grow more apparent. I needed to hide him. ‘Six feet’ was the saying.

Blood stuck to the pages. The spell we tried. Fluttering sounded from the small blanket we brought. The magpie flew. And he was the price.

There was always a chance that the fine print was true. And that's why I dared him to recite the words.

I dabbed away at that yellowing page with my sleeves. All that potential. Now where would I find a shovel?