As the revel began, debauchery was not sparse in any corner of the castle.

By the spiral staircase of thorns and glistening gold, a boy playing a lyre sloppily kissed a pixie. Her lips were smeared with the remnants of a honeyed kiss.

A group of elves, adorned in rings and lavish dresses, drank from glasses of cream as they laughed, danced, and reveled in craze.

And even those who were most composed during the day, took the night of celebration to kiss, and drink, and enjoy the mirth of the moon. All except one.

In the dim corner of the ball room, a girl with sharp teeth and a red cap to match her gown swayed in place, watching as everyone got further and further from reality.

Soon they’d be too drunk to notice her slip into the chambers, and steal back what once was hers.

Death awaits you, holding a sign with your name written in sharpie.

You’ll head straight toward it, your bottom lip bleeding from you biting it in anticipation.

When you were twelve, you asked mom, “What happens when we die?” She just laughed, kissed your cheek, and said, “Ask me another time.”

And when you were thirteen, you climbed to the roof and tried to fly.

You met death that day too, except he didn’t bother with introductions.

He knew before you did that it wasn’t your time, so he just laughed, helped you up, and said “See you soon.” The next time you met death was on a foggy day in the month of June.

You swear he looked you in the eyes, carried your mom away, said, “Let life bloom.”

You skipped the funeral, sat in your room, and played your favorite tune.

You sold all your stuff that day, gave all your special things away, and set off to never see another day.

That’s when you heard him call your name, it sounded like it was from far away, but, he stood before you, darkness in his sway.

There were tracks in our backyard, overgrown with weeds, and Papa said they hadn't been used in years. Sometimes, though, I would hear it. It would start with a distant rumble, like the smallest thunderstorm, though the sky would be clear of clouds. The rumble would increase to a steady pounding, closer and louder until I could see it. Its black metal body glistened in the moonlight, carried forward on wheels wider than I was tall. Thick white smoke streamed from its chimney, spreading mist across the backyard. If I was outside when the train came, I would hurry up to my room and slam the door. The whistle pierced my nightmares, making me tremble from head to toe and pull all the sheets off of my bed. Papa and Daddy could never understand what I was so afraid of. No one but me could ever see or hear the train.

Can it be a coincidence? I open a recipe book and the word that catches my attention is precisely how I feel my brain is at the moment. Well, most of the times. I wonder what a tired brain looks like and why I associate it with porridge. Is it because I associate tiredness with melted things? Sharpness with solid things? Let me write no more nonsense. It ends here.

I cupped my hands around the crystal and concentrated on its center, letting the rest of the room fade away. It was all background noise, inconsequential; nothing mattered except the blue of the crystal. Once it would have been difficult to forget the floor beneath my feet or the buzzing of the electric lights or the woman standing at my side, but I had years of practice to rely on. I let the blue be the only thing I could see - and once I had succeeded, then I could see everything. Through focus, my consciousness expanded. There was the familiar initial rush of imagery - petals dropping from a flower, the flick of a tail disappearing into the sea, an asteroid circling a star. For a less experienced Seer, it would be overwhelming, impossible to think straight. I let the disjointed images wash through my mind, remembering myself. I raised a single question in my mind: where is Adric Spellslinger? Slowly, the shifting images settled into a single landscape.

“What do you think she’s got down there?” Skye asked, staring at the empty… well, it looked like a wasteland.

I imagine this is what the aftermath of the Harrying of the North looked like.

“Can’t be much!” Ivy laughed. “There’s nothing to defend!”

“A lot more than you guys think,” Ash sighed. “This place isn’t… welcoming, shall we say? Not for you guys.”

“What are you looking at?”

“Something worth defending. Her old home, a place full of memories… that’s how she’s hiding it, you’ve never known this place. Just, like, follow me, okay?”

awaking from the child-like costume worn occasion my patio lyes concealed with a candy wrapped evasion vastly grasping last nights pumpkin taste and that eerie scream from that ominous outside chase left unsettled clinging to my banisters waist ring ring ring my doorbell fully braced the echo lingering down my creaking stair case its all in my head its the morning after yet it feels present in my bed october 31st laughs erupting with horrors deathly friend

“Hey, just breathe. It’s ok.”

“I-I can’t.” He gasped.

“Yes you can. Innnn. Outttt.” She demonstrated.

He wheezed his way through a full breath.

But that was the last breath he ever took.

She took a deep breath, to calm her frenzied mind. As she looked at the man sitting in front of her, sobbing, with his face in his hands, she was overwhelmed. She had assisted him in so many plights in his life. She had been the one to carry him through so many of his difficult situations, whether that be by relieving his anxieties or coaxing him out of his depressions. And now, this. Coward, she wanted to scream.

The yellow ceramic jar stood on the counter, glaze shining in the fluorescent light of the kitchen. Susie looked from the jar to the nearest chair and back again. It would be easy enough to push the chair over, climb up, and reach the lid of the jar. If she did that, she could have a chocolate chip cookie. However, her mother had been very clear: no cookies until after dinner. If she were caught in the act, or even afterwards with her hands covered in crumbs, she would be in trouble. On the other hand, chocolate chip cookies were delicious, she did not currently have a cookie, and waiting was difficult. She could have one right now and solve the dilemma. Susie walked over to the chair, where she hesitated. Was she simply solving one problem by creating another?