Ammer's heart aches deep within him, as if a damn has broken releasing an ocean of grief.
He collapses to the earth beneath him. Cree's lifeless body lays untouched before him. Ammer watches for a breath, a stir, a single muscle movement - but there's nothing. Cree has never been so still, not even in his sleep. All at once, the sobs come. The wailing. A sound Ammer never knew he could make. Everything inside of him is collapsing, breaking, ripping, bursting apart. "Why?" The question stings and stains his lips. An anger completely unknown rises within Ammer and threatens to overtake him in a single heartbeat. Not even willing to fight, Ammer gives in. He rises, his head whipping left and right in search of the Creator. There, Ammer races to Him. "Why?" The question escapes him again, stinging just as much. He can't bring himself to finish his sentence. Why did you let my brother die? _ _The Creator says nothing. He merely blinks an eye, and stomps his great paw upon the earth. "Answer me!" The anger grips his heart so tight, Ammer wonders if he's about to die as well. Part of him wishes he would, then he could see Cree again. "Ammer," the Creator titls his head, an expression of pain written on his features. "What is done, must be done." "No," Ammer's pulse quickens. "You can bring him back. You can save him; heal him." "I could, but I won't. One day, child, you will understand. Cree understood. He knew what was about to happen." "Is this what you spoke about, the night before the battle began?" "Yes, child."

Kyah sits idly on the small chair held together by string and tree sap. Her eyes locked on the portly dwarf now pacing the short line of orphans, barely examining each child as he passes. Kyah knows he’ll chose one of the littlest. They always do. The dwarf pauses as the far end of the line and twirls on a single to reverse course. Keep eyes denote the silken shoes with guarded toe which allowed the portly man to nimbly about face, but Kyah notes the dampening of the sounds surrounding him. The ancient floor boards moan beneath the slovenly children adjusting their weight, and yet the belly-heavy dwarf makes barely the sound of a breath as he traverses the floor again. He pauses just to Kyahs left to look at Leroy. Leroy is a well build and smart boy. He will eork hard in any trade he is trained. But he’s not one for the shadows. “I require a nimble hand boy. Might you have one?” The silky baritone voice overwhelms the groans of the wood as he examines Leroy. “Yes sir. Very much so sir. “ the boys stands and Kyah notes the tremor in his hands. The dwarf takes a few steps closer, back facing Kyah. In his pocket a small bundle of papers pokes out, on which Kyah can see the names of a few of her peers. As the dwarf intently watches Leroy perform a card trick, Kyah traipses across the floor and stumbles behind the dwarf and toward the door to the street. Not an eye moved off of Leroy, especially not the dwarf. Smiling, Kyah pauses in the street outside the orphanage and thumbs through the paper. Sheet for virtually every child in the orphanage are stacked in a small volume and noted of theirs skills are annotated with used. Leroy’s reads, “Heavy handed, at best.” Smirking, she turns to look back at the demonstration, and her nose is met by the belly of the fat dwarf. “Well Kyah, clearly my notes on you are true. Natural blending. Excellent hands. Over confident.” The dwarf smiles as his thick hands take a hold of Kyahs face. “There’s work for you in the town. And you’ll do it for me. You’ll be rewarded for your success. Generously. And you’ll be punished for your failure.” His pauses making eye contact with her. “Brutallly”.

Justin paced the kitchen. His father should be home by now. It was getting dark.

"Hey, Justin, buddy!"

Justin perked up at the familiar voice. Finally!

"Hi dad! You're finally home!" Justin squeaked.

"Yes, buddy, I am. But only for an hour or two, alright? I assume you've already made yourself dinner? What do ya want to do tonight?" He ruffles Justin's hair playfully.

"I have made dinner! Broccoli and porkchops, just like you said!" Justin smiled.

His dad laughed once and smiled back down proudly. "That's good."

Justin watched him as his father stumbled away into the living room and slump down on the couch.

"Are you okay...?" Justin asked cautiously.

His dad said nothing, but motioned for his son to join him. Which Justin did.

They both settled peacefully into the couch. His dad grabbed the remote and began clicking through different channels, eventually landing on their favorite, TMNT.

Justin laid his head on his dad's shoulder and smiled as the show continued playing. Things flew across the screen as the bad guys tossed debris at the humanoid turtles

After an hour, his dad gently moved Justin off.

"Dad?" Justin asked. "Where are you going?"

"I have to get to work again, son. I'll see you tomorrow?" His dad gets up and quickly darts around the house, gathering everything he needs.

The show forgetten, Justin gets up from the couch and grabs his dad's hand before he leaves the house.

"Please don't go dad." Justin whimpered. "I can't live without you."

His dad sighed. "Buddy, you know pretty much everything there is. You can do this I promise." He starts out the door again. Justin doesnt let go.

"But what is you never come back?" A loud shout comes from the TV.

His dad sighs again and turns around to crouch before Justin. "I'll be back son. I will always come back." And with that, Justin lets go of his hand, and his dad stands up, turns around, and closes the door behind him.

Justin is left staring at the door. A single tear runs down his face. His father...never came back.

The first time he saw her she was trying to push into buy a ticket for the state film on opening night. He had taken the day off work and had his tickets early. Now he was sitting along the low wall across the street, watching the throng. She had ridden up in a rush, stopping short of the line. Everything about her was short: her hair tucked behind her ears. You could see her neck where a mole was on the curve of it. Maybe he should offer her the ticket. His brother wouldn’t mind too much. Across the way, he watched her try to push between people until she disappeared from view. He didn’t remember the rest of the night, not his brother eating popcorn or the name of the movie. The next time he saw her was the Quarter Fall Festival. Though, this time she had tickets and waited in line to the concession stand. In the movie theatre, once the lights dimmed, he liked sometimes to glimpse the light on the faces around him. He couldn’t find her in the big dark room. It ended up being easy finding out her name. It seems an unusual girl like her gets noticed by others.

As the story of Aurora in "The Mirror Maiden" unfolds, there is a key scene that shapes the protagonist into the powerful figure she becomes. It is a moment of transformation, one that challenges her in ways she never thought possible.

The scene begins with Aurora encountering a stranger, a woman unlike any she has ever met before. The woman is shrouded, her face obscured by a veil that seems to shift and change with every movement.

The woman begins to speak to Aurora, her words cryptic and mysterious. She tells Aurora of the journey she must undertake, and the challenges that lay ahead. Aurora, unsure of what to do next, asks the woman why embark on this journey.

The woman's response is simple, yet profound: "Because you are the only one who can."

The truth of the woman's words resonates deep within Aurora's soul. She realizes that she is more powerful than she ever thought possible, the journey the woman speaks of is not just about saving herself, but saving the mirror world.

As Aurora embarks on her journey, she is confronted with countless obstacles, each one more difficult than the last. She battles monsters and engages in epic struggles that push her to the edge of her limit.

But it is the inner struggles that she confronts that truly shape her as a character. She learns to overcome her fear and self-doubt, discovering a newfound sense of bravery within herself that she never knew existed.

Through it all, Aurora remains steadfast in her determination to save the mirror world, even when it seems like all hope is lost. And when she finally emerges victorious, having overcome every obstacle that stood in her way, Aurora is transformed into the Mirror Maiden, a powerful figure who represents love, hope, and resilience.

The key scene that shapes Aurora's character is a testament to the power of the human spirit. It demonstrates that even in the face of insurmountable odds, we have the power to overcome adversity and emerge stronger than ever before. And it is this realization that sets the stage for the incredible journey that Aurora undertakes, one that will inspire readers for generations to come.

Brady remembered the moment as if it were yesterday. He was only three years old, but his prodigious mind and amazing memory had etched that conversation into his brain; even now, years later, it hurt.

“Look, Nan, I get it but we’re stuck with him. I tried to tell you deciding to keep him was a bad idea.” Bradford Junior, father of the small boy called Brady, was knocking back his sixth, maybe seventh, beer stretched out on the dilapidated couch in the shabby hotel room, his stockinged feet propped up on a saggy coffee table. He wasn’t aware that his son, just a toddler, was curled up under the chipped desk playing with a tiny Matchbox fire truck he had found in a corner of the room, left by some other child.

Nan, his mother, was sitting on the bed, her back against the wall and her feet stretched out in front of her. She had a beer in her hand, and a line of bottles on the bedside table. She took a long pull from the Bud and looked across the room at her husband and shook her head.

“Oh come on, Bradford. That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it. We never talked about any of it until I was too far along to get rid of him, so here he is. Besides, you gotta admit he isn’t much trouble. Kid hardly says much of anything, just stares a lot and always seems to be judging us.”

“That’s stupid. He’s three years old.” Bradford set down the beer bottle and picked up his guitar and strummed a few chords. “Whatever, we got an issue because Marco says we can’t drag him to the bar with us again tonight. He’s afraid somebody will report a minor being there and shut him down.”

“So what’s the solution, big shot?” Her words were slurred, and her eyes were at half mast. She desperately needed a nap before their gig, and it was already three p.m.

Bradford looked over at the desk and saw Brady staring at him from under the desk. “Hey kiddo. What we gonna do with you, eh?”

Brady, as usual, said nothing. Oh, he could have. He was already talking at a seven year old level, and unbeknownst to his parents could even read, but he had learned pretty early in life that staying quiet when his parents were drinking from those bottles was in his best interest. He pretended he hadn’t heard the conversation, but he had heard it all before. He knew he was a problem for them. He knew they hadn’t ever really wanted him. It was just a fact of his life.

Nan yawned. “We’ll just lock him in here. I mean, what could happen? I’ll leave him a juice box and some crackers and put the TV on that kid channel and he’ll be fine. Won’t you, Brady?” You can stay and watch TV and if you get tired just go to sleep with Bud-Bud.”

Brady crawled out from under the desk and nodded at his mother. This was new. He had never actually been left on his own, but he figured at least he wouldn’t have to sit in that dark, loud, icky bar and if he had his stuffed bunny, Bud-Bud, he’d be fine. He wouldn’t have to listen to his mommy and daddy screaming at each other, either.

“Books?” He walked over to his mother and she glanced down at him.

“They’re over there in the blue bag. Mommy’s going to take a nap now, so you be quiet, you hear?”

Brady nodded. His dad was already asleep on the couch, his mouth hanging open. He knew they’d be asleep for a while, so he got out his books and curled up under the desk again.

Such was a normal life for Brady.

My Dearest,

NewEarth is the color of despair. I remember your dad’s postcards of the space station resorts and I thought everything would be bright cartoon. The walls are dingy, the floors dark with grease and neglect. I’m surrounded by other soldiers and I’m completely alone. I’m light years from Mars. But your arms are my home. I guess I don’t know what to write. I’ve never written a letter before. I accessed every file in my memory bank even remotely related to correspondence. The scratch of the pencil on actual paper is weird. How did people do this all the time? Never mind. I’m not being flippant but I don’t want to talk about the fight. I know I broke us. I know you won’t forgive me. I know you won’t even read this letter. But I also know you will keep this letter, you will keep all my letters. You may place them in a small box the color of your warm hands. You may place them in one of those tin cans the color of your childhood memories. You may shove my letters in the bottom of your underwear drawer tied with a ribbon the color of your lips. Feel my love when you hold this letter. I know you don’t understand why I left to fight in this war. How I could risk what we had for freedom freedom for me and those like me how I could risk us. The truth is I can’t be without you and the boy. I can function but everything that makes me me is with you my love. The thought of you holding these letters my letter is the tether back to me, to us. Tell the boy I love him. Tell him I miss him. Tell him I will be back because I never left and I never could leave. Let me come home one day. —b